I'd be remiss to say that I've been just a little down since yesterday afternoon. I drove the twenty minutes from the airport back to my hotel in silence. I've talked about how hard it is to say my goodbyes, and I've just said my last one in person that I have to make. A part of me is relieved that I'm done with it. I've only had to say goodbyes to Heidi four times now. It's gotten rather old doing so. Each time it's gotten a little harder.
I'm thankful that I have a wife that understands me the way she does. Over the course of the weekend it came up in conversation that I was not going home on "block leave." For those of you who do not know what that is, it's the amount of time that we are allowed prior to deploying overseas. I was not going to volunteer the information to Heidi that I was voluntarily choosing to not take any block leave to go home one last time. I figured that she would assume that if I had the opportunity to come home that I'd be there in a heartbeat. I figured she'd be upset with me for not wanting to come home. When she found out about it, she understood without having to ask why I'd made the decision that I had made. She knew that I am ready to go. My bags are packed, I've said my goodbyes, and I'm just ready to get there to get the clock started.
I don't fully understand my own rationale sometimes. Why on earth would I not want to see my little ones one last time while I have the opportunity. Why wouldn't I want to sleep in my own bed, with my own pillow, one last time. (I'm assuming that I still have the same pillow, that is unless someone stole it....AGAIN!) Why wouldn't I want to spend time with those that I love. I cannot describe it with words other than to simply say that I am mentally prepared to deploy again and I can't change that. The next airplane I get on is the one taking me to the other side of the world.
Riding in silence yesterday, and sitting in my quiet hotel room yesterday and today has afforded me the opportunity to reflect on how blessed I am being allowed the time I have with those that I have. I know that if you'd ask her Heidi would say she's the fortunate one, or the lucky one, or whatever else, for being married to me. I'm not quite sure I agree with her on that one. She definitely puts up with more than I realize. She makes more sacrifices than I care to admit. She carries more of a burden than any husband should put on his wife. She wouldn't tell anybody any of that, but it's true.
I sat down today to compile my thoughts into some fashion that is this blog. I decided to check Heidi's blog before doing so. The words and actions of my wife never cease to humble me. She always seems to put me back in my place and to refocus my priorities. I always kick myself for taking so long to realize how truly fortunate and blessed I am for having Heidi. I am definitely a better man for having Heidi as my wife.
You say you just miss me...I know how you feel.
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I cannot remember if I've plugged Heidi's blog. For her side of the story check out musings.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
Greatest Generation
I've recently watched the HBO series "The Pacific." For those of you not familiar with it, it's about the United States Marines during World War 2. The series briefly touches on three and a half years of the island hopping campaign as much as a couple hours of a drama possibly could. All the way from Guadalcanal to Okinawa, and back home again. The show portrays the Marines that are idolized in today's Corps. These were the men that solidified the purpose of the Marine Corps. These were the men that Admiral Chester Nimitz heroized when he said "Uncommon valor was a common virtue."
My grandfather was a veteran of the South Pacific. He never really talked about it. Few of you could understand. Those of you who cannot, count yourselves blessed. I know that by the very few stories he'd tell that he experienced the horrible things that men do to one another in war.
I understand why he never talked about those things. Those stories are not ones that are brought up sitting around the camp fire let alone some idle Thursday night sitting around in the living room. There are some stories I will never tell. There are stories that I've regretting telling and wish I could take back so that no one else knows them. There are memories that I will remain silent about for the rest of my life...as it should be.
I never had the chance to tell my grandpa how much in awe of his military service I am. Not just him, but my Great-Uncle Jack as well. He too is a veteran of the South Pacific. I never tire of listening to him talk about his days during World War 2. I respect and admire him more than he'll ever know. I certainly look forward to getting back home to see him again.
I'm not really sure where I'm going with all of this. It's mostly just a feeble attempt on my part to let you know how much I respect and admire our Greatest Generation, namely those that I'm fortunate enough to be related to.
Before I wrap this up tonight I will pass on this short story that my grandpa told me about on a few rare occasions when he'd talk about the war. His unit was on a train moving from southern Australia to northern Australia in preparation for the taking back of New Guinea from the Japanese. As they were moving along my grandpa, as well as many of the other men, were firing their rifles and pistols at the kangaroos that were hopping parallel to the train. My favorite part of the story wasn't the story itself. It was always the mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he'd tell it to me. I certainly miss him.
My grandfather was a veteran of the South Pacific. He never really talked about it. Few of you could understand. Those of you who cannot, count yourselves blessed. I know that by the very few stories he'd tell that he experienced the horrible things that men do to one another in war.
I understand why he never talked about those things. Those stories are not ones that are brought up sitting around the camp fire let alone some idle Thursday night sitting around in the living room. There are some stories I will never tell. There are stories that I've regretting telling and wish I could take back so that no one else knows them. There are memories that I will remain silent about for the rest of my life...as it should be.
I never had the chance to tell my grandpa how much in awe of his military service I am. Not just him, but my Great-Uncle Jack as well. He too is a veteran of the South Pacific. I never tire of listening to him talk about his days during World War 2. I respect and admire him more than he'll ever know. I certainly look forward to getting back home to see him again.
I'm not really sure where I'm going with all of this. It's mostly just a feeble attempt on my part to let you know how much I respect and admire our Greatest Generation, namely those that I'm fortunate enough to be related to.
Before I wrap this up tonight I will pass on this short story that my grandpa told me about on a few rare occasions when he'd talk about the war. His unit was on a train moving from southern Australia to northern Australia in preparation for the taking back of New Guinea from the Japanese. As they were moving along my grandpa, as well as many of the other men, were firing their rifles and pistols at the kangaroos that were hopping parallel to the train. My favorite part of the story wasn't the story itself. It was always the mischievous twinkle in his eyes when he'd tell it to me. I certainly miss him.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Parting Moments
I haven't really felt like blogging the last couple of weeks or so. My thoughts keep going back to my last hug with Kennedy. It has been a memory that as soon as it comes up I have to quickly move to another thought or my eyes begin to tear up. It's always hard leaving saying goodbye to the girls. This time was definitely different for me. I knew that this was the last time I'd see them till I returned from Afghanistan.
I knew that when K-K didn't break her embrace that something was wrong. Then I could hear her start crying. Absolutely broke my heart. Words were difficult with Kennedy. She, unlike her sisters, is way too aware of what potential dangers lie ahead for me. It's hard knowing that she's growing up so quickly.
It's taken me a couple days to put these thoughts in writing. In the meantime I've kept myself busy writing. As I've done for all my past deployments, I painfully and tearfully put together my "Just In Case" letters for each of the girls. Those have always been difficult to write. You never realize how hard it is to put words on paper that are supposed to represent a lifetime of advice, wishes, and expressions of love. Try it some time. I guarantee it will remind you how truly blessed you are to have the children you do. You'll better appreciate the time you are with them. You'll wish you could go back and read "Goodnight, Moon" just one more time to them as they sit in your lap. Anyways...I will hold on to my letters. I certainly do not anticipate them being needed, but I wanted to be fully prepared. I will hang on to them and let the girls have them when they're older.
It's taken me a dozen nights of sitting in front of the computer to put the previous three short paragraphs together. I've typed sentence after sentence only to end up deleting it. At this point I need to finish these jumbled thoughts.
I keep going back to Kennedy crying as I'm holding her, Reagan already counting down the days till November, and McKinley telling me that she misses me. I miss my girls more than these black characters on a white background can ever spell out.
The "firsts" that we all got to share together while Heidi and the girls were in North Carolina were ones that I will forever remember and forever cherish. Their first time in a hotel room, on a vacation for that matter. Going bowling and spending time on a battleship. Splashing in the Atlantic Ocean and picking up loads of seashells. Reagan talking to the seagulls. Heidi and her tank crossing signs. Kennedy constantly wanting to go prank Uncle Tim down the hall. McKinley being her "normal" self (those of you who know her know what I mean!).
Since I left in November I've said goodbye to them four times. One when I left for predeployment training in Quantico. Two when I left for Camp Lejeune. Three when I came back to Camp Lejeune after Christmas and New Year's leave. The fourth was a few weeks ago when they departed North Carolina after spending the long weekend out here with me. Number four was definitely the hardest.
I knew that when K-K didn't break her embrace that something was wrong. Then I could hear her start crying. Absolutely broke my heart. Words were difficult with Kennedy. She, unlike her sisters, is way too aware of what potential dangers lie ahead for me. It's hard knowing that she's growing up so quickly.
It's taken me a couple days to put these thoughts in writing. In the meantime I've kept myself busy writing. As I've done for all my past deployments, I painfully and tearfully put together my "Just In Case" letters for each of the girls. Those have always been difficult to write. You never realize how hard it is to put words on paper that are supposed to represent a lifetime of advice, wishes, and expressions of love. Try it some time. I guarantee it will remind you how truly blessed you are to have the children you do. You'll better appreciate the time you are with them. You'll wish you could go back and read "Goodnight, Moon" just one more time to them as they sit in your lap. Anyways...I will hold on to my letters. I certainly do not anticipate them being needed, but I wanted to be fully prepared. I will hang on to them and let the girls have them when they're older.
It's taken me a dozen nights of sitting in front of the computer to put the previous three short paragraphs together. I've typed sentence after sentence only to end up deleting it. At this point I need to finish these jumbled thoughts.
I keep going back to Kennedy crying as I'm holding her, Reagan already counting down the days till November, and McKinley telling me that she misses me. I miss my girls more than these black characters on a white background can ever spell out.
Since I left in November I've said goodbye to them four times. One when I left for predeployment training in Quantico. Two when I left for Camp Lejeune. Three when I came back to Camp Lejeune after Christmas and New Year's leave. The fourth was a few weeks ago when they departed North Carolina after spending the long weekend out here with me. Number four was definitely the hardest.
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