Originally written on March 1, 2008
Philip is on his way home, or at least I think so. Last I heard, he was going to board a C-17 in the wee hours of March 1 and then a commercial airline for the rest of the trip home. He’s been calling almost every day, so I assume that since I have not heard from him, that he’s en route. I guess I’ll know when he either calls from the airport or shows up at our front door.
I’m trying not to think about it.
I’m tired of driving. I hate driving. With a passion. Yes, “hate” is a strong word and if I could use a stronger one I would. “Despise” might do the trick. Yes, I despise driving. I’m tired of dragging everyone to folklorico class, 30 minutes each way, every Saturday. A few Hail Marys each time I start the car, the GPS and snacks for the kids to keep them quiet got me to and from my destination safely. On our way home today, as we took the exit that would bring us back to the safety of our base, I was filled with relief. This will be the last time I have to drive to folklorico class. Next week I can stay home and let Bip nap and have quiet house to myself. I almost cried with relief as the MP inspected my ID and waved me in. This was the Last Thing I Had to Cope With. Phil will be home tomorrow.
I hope. Maybe he was delayed along the way and he won’t make it until Monday.
But I’ll try not to think about it. Sunday or Monday, it won’t make that big of a difference. Which ever day he shows up, all the weight of sustaining our family alone will be off of my shoulders. I know I was lucky in that this could have been a year or longer deployment. But I also know my own limits and I have to say that if this had been a longer deployment, many of our outside activities would have been dropped. And I would have found a nice babysitter who was available late afternoons to come by so I could run to the commissary or PX while Bip napped.
So in 24 -26 hours, this will all be over. Maybe. It’s the not knowing for sure that’s doing me in.