Several years ago, Adam and I went to the Hillel (Jewish Student Union) on campus to celebrate Passover. I met a woman there who had just returned from taking students on a travel abroad to Israel. She said the trip was fantastic, but she found that Israelis have a much different awareness of things--their environment, other people, happenings around them--because of the incidence of suicide bombings. People there are prepared...to run, to defend themselves, or even, to die. Right before our conversation ended, she said that things in America are going to change as terrorism leaves a stronger mark. It won't be long before Americans lose our innocence and find ourselves preparing for the same unknown threats that could be lurking in our public places. The thought left me feeling vulnerable and scared.
I have found, however, that in the years since I met that woman, my overall sense of discomfort has been heightened not by the foreign terrorism we hear so much about, but rather by the domestic mass murderers who seem to have become ever more pervasive. The Virginia Tech shooting was the clincher for me...and then, random shootings on college campuses just seemed to keep happening. Most recently were the shootings in Arizona and in Grand Rapids, Michigan. It doesn't stop. I'm not going to get into a whole diatribe here about gun control versus gun rights...my conversation today is more about how I've reacted.
There are very few public places where I feel safe. At work, my mind wanders to where I will go to escape a gunman who wants to take revenge on tree-hugging environmentalists. I'm on the third floor of my building, so I actually have a whole hide-jump-hang-run scenario in my head in case I have to flee.
When I'm at a mall or store, I usually look for emergency exits, hiding places and hard items that I can improvise to use as weapons. When I'm in a classroom, I usually survey the room for large items to barricade the door, and cabinets and closets for hiding. Whether or not my mental state will actually allow me to put any of this planning to good use in an emergency remains to be seen, but I am prepared.
I'm not consumed with fear; I don't allow it to dictate where I go or what I do, but I find that I can't help but assess my surroundings these days, just in case. Just in case I have to fight, flee or hide. I'm not yet ready to die.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
L'Chaim
Each time Adam deploys, he leaves me with words of optimism and support, and one simple request: to take care of his Chai for him. Chai (pronounced "hkhiy") is a Hebrew word that loosely translates to "life", and with its simple sawhorse structure, it is often worn as a pendant by Jews.
With this most recent deployment, I have once again donned the Chai around my neck. This time, however, it seems to draw more attention than ever before. Bryony, for one, seems to remember that it belongs to her daddy, because she'll often point to it with a knowing look and say, "Mama? Daddy's necklace?"
At a rummage sale a few months ago, I ran into a woman whom I'd met at a party a few weeks earlier. As we re-introduced ourselves, her eyes travelled down my neck and she smiled, saying, "Hey, I really like your Chai. Are you Jewish?" All at once, I remembered that I was wearing it. It was such an unnerving feeling to wear something that allows people to have knowledge about you and your life. I immediately blabbered out, "Oh, no, my husband is...but he's serving in the Middle East...and thought maybe he should leave it here with me..." She smiled nicely and nodded, and I felt a bit idiotic.
Two weeks ago, on my birthday, Bryony and I were walking in the parking garage to our car after an evening of music at the Great Lakes Folk Festival. Suddenly, a young man in full dress Marine uniform appeared out of nowhere. I guess I'm sensitive to all things military these days, so without thinking, I blurted out, "Marines!" He stopped and smiled and nodded. I thanked him for his service and explained that my husband is currently serving overseas with the Army. He nodded, and then abruptly asked me if I attended Temple Beth Such-and-such in town. My first reaction was to cringe. Another religious recruiter! Ugh! I lowered my eyes vaguely and said no, hoping not to be invited to a religious function and then having to politely decline. Then he surprised me. "Oh, I saw your Chai and wondered if you attend temple around here." I laughed. "Oh, my husband's Jewish. I'm just taking care of this for him while he's deployed!" The guy laughed and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that might be best," he added. As soon as I got home, Bryony and I brought up Skype on the computer and told Adam this story. He laughed, partly because I was mistaken for a Jew but mostly because some guy was running around a parking garage in full dress Marine uniform.
Today I was relaying the story to my friend while we pushed our daughters in strollers through the local farmers' market. Seconds after I finished telling her the story, I ran into a woman from the community I've met on a handful of occasions. We had barely exchanged pleasantries before she said, "Hey, you've got on a Chai!" I just about fell over, looking at my friend for confirmation on the coincidence. I turned to the woman and exclaimed, "I was just telling my friend about someone else who recently commented on the Chai! It's so strange!" The woman laughed and said, "That's just because there are only like, fourteen Jews in this city, so we're always excited to meet a new one!" I laughed but countered her, saying that I felt like I've gotten to know several Jews in Lansing. She shifted her eyes sideways and giggled before coming back with, "Okay, so maybe there are forty of us!" At the same time, we both said, "And I/you know them all!" (which, of course, is not at all true, but was funny to think about anyway.
I guess these moments mean so much to me because yet again a piece of my husband has stayed with me during his absence. While I am agnostic/aetheist when it comes to religion, I really value the cultural aspects of Judaism. Adam and I usually observe the High Holy Days with celebratory foods, fasting, and festivities. Honoring his traditions (even though I don't believe in the religious doctrine surrounding it) is a way to feel closer to him, and to pay respect to a part of who he is. I get to do that now, even in his absence, and it's so refreshing and rewarding that his community--the Jewish community--is recognizing that I carry that piece of him with me.
To Adam. to community. To life, family and love. L'Chaim.
With this most recent deployment, I have once again donned the Chai around my neck. This time, however, it seems to draw more attention than ever before. Bryony, for one, seems to remember that it belongs to her daddy, because she'll often point to it with a knowing look and say, "Mama? Daddy's necklace?"
At a rummage sale a few months ago, I ran into a woman whom I'd met at a party a few weeks earlier. As we re-introduced ourselves, her eyes travelled down my neck and she smiled, saying, "Hey, I really like your Chai. Are you Jewish?" All at once, I remembered that I was wearing it. It was such an unnerving feeling to wear something that allows people to have knowledge about you and your life. I immediately blabbered out, "Oh, no, my husband is...but he's serving in the Middle East...and thought maybe he should leave it here with me..." She smiled nicely and nodded, and I felt a bit idiotic.
Two weeks ago, on my birthday, Bryony and I were walking in the parking garage to our car after an evening of music at the Great Lakes Folk Festival. Suddenly, a young man in full dress Marine uniform appeared out of nowhere. I guess I'm sensitive to all things military these days, so without thinking, I blurted out, "Marines!" He stopped and smiled and nodded. I thanked him for his service and explained that my husband is currently serving overseas with the Army. He nodded, and then abruptly asked me if I attended Temple Beth Such-and-such in town. My first reaction was to cringe. Another religious recruiter! Ugh! I lowered my eyes vaguely and said no, hoping not to be invited to a religious function and then having to politely decline. Then he surprised me. "Oh, I saw your Chai and wondered if you attend temple around here." I laughed. "Oh, my husband's Jewish. I'm just taking care of this for him while he's deployed!" The guy laughed and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that might be best," he added. As soon as I got home, Bryony and I brought up Skype on the computer and told Adam this story. He laughed, partly because I was mistaken for a Jew but mostly because some guy was running around a parking garage in full dress Marine uniform.
Today I was relaying the story to my friend while we pushed our daughters in strollers through the local farmers' market. Seconds after I finished telling her the story, I ran into a woman from the community I've met on a handful of occasions. We had barely exchanged pleasantries before she said, "Hey, you've got on a Chai!" I just about fell over, looking at my friend for confirmation on the coincidence. I turned to the woman and exclaimed, "I was just telling my friend about someone else who recently commented on the Chai! It's so strange!" The woman laughed and said, "That's just because there are only like, fourteen Jews in this city, so we're always excited to meet a new one!" I laughed but countered her, saying that I felt like I've gotten to know several Jews in Lansing. She shifted her eyes sideways and giggled before coming back with, "Okay, so maybe there are forty of us!" At the same time, we both said, "And I/you know them all!" (which, of course, is not at all true, but was funny to think about anyway.
I guess these moments mean so much to me because yet again a piece of my husband has stayed with me during his absence. While I am agnostic/aetheist when it comes to religion, I really value the cultural aspects of Judaism. Adam and I usually observe the High Holy Days with celebratory foods, fasting, and festivities. Honoring his traditions (even though I don't believe in the religious doctrine surrounding it) is a way to feel closer to him, and to pay respect to a part of who he is. I get to do that now, even in his absence, and it's so refreshing and rewarding that his community--the Jewish community--is recognizing that I carry that piece of him with me.
To Adam. to community. To life, family and love. L'Chaim.
Sunday, August 14, 2011
And Now, A Word From Our Sponsor...
Hello from the Land of 120-degrees-plus, where the eggs fry on concrete within five seconds. Life is getting back to normal for me, now that my vacation in the States is over. I provide legal assistance to deployed servicemembers at a major installation here in Iraq. I receive e-mails from folks throughout the deployed region, including Iraq and Afghanistan, needing legal help. We deal with every major legal and non-legal issue that comes into the office and we never turn anyone away.
I'm doing well. I find the work challenging and very interesting. I'm glad that I get to be here to help, although I'm really looking forward to going home to my family. The scenery here leaves a lot to be desired, with just sand, sand and more sand. What little vegetation exists is already dry and burned up from the extreme summer heat.
The exodus from Iraq has begun and so things are starting to wind down. It seems as though both Americans and Iraqis are ready for our troops to be out of this country. Hopefully, law and order will remain once we're gone.
Although I can't comment on when I'll be back in the U.S., I do hope that once I've returned I'll have an opportunity to catch up with all of you. I want to find out what you have been up to over the last year, too! Thanks for all your support and best wishes; they always help to make a difficult situation less so. Thanks, too, for your support of Lauren and Bryony, as knowing they are being cared for back home sets my mind at ease.
Regards and best wishes
Adam
Friday, August 12, 2011
And Then...
...this morning, on my birthday, I went through the Starbucks drive-thru to treat myself to a good cup of coffee. Just as the barista told me what I owed, I asked, "Do you happen to have a discount for a gal on her birthday?" He smiled at me and gave me my coffee (all $4 of it) on the house. It's good to ask for things; sometimes you get what you're looking for.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
What Women Want
I used to suffer from Nice Girl Syndrome. This was a pesky little disorder, with symptoms that included not speaking up for myself, letting people walk all over me, and not getting things I deserved because I didn't ask for them. Then, I turned thirty, and everything seemed to change. Or, I guess I changed. I took charge of my "health", and with the help of some general kick-myself-in-the-ass (and plenty of vitamins!) I recovered from a lifelong illness that had kept me in a place I really didn't want to be--unfulfilled and disappointed.
How many of us grew up suffering from (and in some cases inflicted with by well-meaning parents and adults) Nice Girl Syndrome? How many time were we told that "nice little girls don't do such-and-such..." or "be nice and kiss your Uncle Bob" or even "Shhhh! It's not nice to raise your voice!" How many young girls grow up thinking they have to be nice in order to be a proper and acceptable member of society? And just how many boys do you think grow up thinking that way?
I know of far too many young women who have done (or not done) things that went against their every instinct because of some deep-seeded inclination to be nice. For me, this phenonemon has manifested in my friendships (the other girls won't like me if I speak my true feelings!), my professionalism (I should've gotten the praise for the idea on that project, but well, I guess I won't make a stink...) to my intimate relationships (He really hurt my feelings, but I'm afraid he'll leave me if I tell him...). Instead of speaking my true feelings about situations that really mattered, the Nice Girl stepped in, reminding me not to rock the boat, to just accept the situation with a smile and move on. Problem is, I'm not that good an actor. If something's bugging me, the whole world knows it. So instead of speaking my mind and getting my point across in a clear and productive way, I'd try to bottle up my feelings but end up with anger and hostility pouring out passive aggressively. It was a mess.
Recently, I spoke to a girlfriend--we'll call her Remy--who was saying how much she dislikes working a 9-5pm workday when all her coworkers take advantage of the company's flexible workday schedule. She has a relatively long commute and said she'd like to work earlier in the day to avoid the evening traffic she inevitably runs into during her current 5pm commute home. I asked her why she didn't just talk to her supervisor about changing her hours. She smiled and said that her supervisor is pretty "by-the-book" and unlikely to accomodate Remy's request. I pushed back at her, pointing out that she'll never really know what her supervisor will or won't approve until she asks. "I know," Remy replied sheepishly. "I just haven't gotten up the nerve to ask. My husband gets so annoyed with me for that." I reminded her that the worst that will happen is that her supervisor will say no, in which case Remy could let the matter drop, or propose an alternative: let her work an earlier schedule three days a week, and a normal schedule two days. She liked this idea and said she might have to use it soon. Then, she fell back into her comfort zone and said, "One of these days I'll ask. I'm just too nervous now." As parting words, I told her to act like a woman but think like a man. Men, for the most part, don't have these issues of Should I or shouldn't I? and What happens if someone gets annoyed with me? Men, as a rule, go after what they want, which probably accounts in some part (or large part) for the continued pay discrepansy between men and women who work the same job. Men ask for raises; women hope for raises and think of all the reasons they should get one but we never actually approach the boss. Men negotiate higher salaries, more vacation time, and even promotions...and women, well we know that we are equally deserving of these things but we talk ourselves out of fighting for them. We know what we want, we just don't know how to ask for (or demand) it.
I am by no means claiming to be an expert at this stuff myself. I still can get flustered around authority figures in a workplace, and the idea of negotiating a salary makes me want to run and hide. However, I'm old enough now to realize that if I don't speak up for myself, no one else is going to do it for me. I'm not such a coveted biologist that an organization is going to offer me any higher a salary than it has to when offering me a job. I have to ask for what I know I'm worth. I know that my friends love me, but they don't always understand or appreciate the demands I have on my time. So, I have to be the one to set limits on the time devoted to my social life versus time to my family and household. People will get pissed and upset. But, I know the responsibilities I have and what is most important to me--my husband and kid--so the rest of the world can be angry when I make a decision that's unpopular. I no longer tell the waiter at the restaurant that the meal is fine if I didn't get what I ordered or if the food was awful. I know that if I've paid $5 for a meal or $35 for a meal, either way I've spent my money and the meal should be the way I expected it. I'm not rude or wasteful, but I also don't pretend to like food if I was dissatisfied. If the farmer at the open-air market is trying to get rid of extra produce at the end of the day, I ask for a better deal than his sale price. I ask for military discounts all the time now, because many merchants have them but don't advertise, so they'll only grant it if you ask.
I now ask for the things I want in life and I'm taking control of me.
I once asked Adam to go birding with me, even though he could care less about the yellow-breasted whats-it bird. But, he came into the field with me and acted as my field assistant for entire week while I was conducting my graduate research. Nowadays he hikes with me, entertaining a squirmy Bryony so that I can bird in peace. And, even though I had waited two whole years for a job offer, when I finally got my current position, I knew my family situation still had to come first. I accepted the position, contingent on getting a week of vacation off when Adam was home, even though a temporary job like mine doesn't come with annual leave. But I asked for it and I got it.
I haven't mastered the art of taking care of my own interests, but I'm getting there. Acting like a woman but thinking like a man. I think, at least for me, that that's how this woman will get what she wants in life. But, I think I'm going to need some chocolate and a copy of "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" to get my hormone levels back into balance.
How many of us grew up suffering from (and in some cases inflicted with by well-meaning parents and adults) Nice Girl Syndrome? How many time were we told that "nice little girls don't do such-and-such..." or "be nice and kiss your Uncle Bob" or even "Shhhh! It's not nice to raise your voice!" How many young girls grow up thinking they have to be nice in order to be a proper and acceptable member of society? And just how many boys do you think grow up thinking that way?
I know of far too many young women who have done (or not done) things that went against their every instinct because of some deep-seeded inclination to be nice. For me, this phenonemon has manifested in my friendships (the other girls won't like me if I speak my true feelings!), my professionalism (I should've gotten the praise for the idea on that project, but well, I guess I won't make a stink...) to my intimate relationships (He really hurt my feelings, but I'm afraid he'll leave me if I tell him...). Instead of speaking my true feelings about situations that really mattered, the Nice Girl stepped in, reminding me not to rock the boat, to just accept the situation with a smile and move on. Problem is, I'm not that good an actor. If something's bugging me, the whole world knows it. So instead of speaking my mind and getting my point across in a clear and productive way, I'd try to bottle up my feelings but end up with anger and hostility pouring out passive aggressively. It was a mess.
Recently, I spoke to a girlfriend--we'll call her Remy--who was saying how much she dislikes working a 9-5pm workday when all her coworkers take advantage of the company's flexible workday schedule. She has a relatively long commute and said she'd like to work earlier in the day to avoid the evening traffic she inevitably runs into during her current 5pm commute home. I asked her why she didn't just talk to her supervisor about changing her hours. She smiled and said that her supervisor is pretty "by-the-book" and unlikely to accomodate Remy's request. I pushed back at her, pointing out that she'll never really know what her supervisor will or won't approve until she asks. "I know," Remy replied sheepishly. "I just haven't gotten up the nerve to ask. My husband gets so annoyed with me for that." I reminded her that the worst that will happen is that her supervisor will say no, in which case Remy could let the matter drop, or propose an alternative: let her work an earlier schedule three days a week, and a normal schedule two days. She liked this idea and said she might have to use it soon. Then, she fell back into her comfort zone and said, "One of these days I'll ask. I'm just too nervous now." As parting words, I told her to act like a woman but think like a man. Men, for the most part, don't have these issues of Should I or shouldn't I? and What happens if someone gets annoyed with me? Men, as a rule, go after what they want, which probably accounts in some part (or large part) for the continued pay discrepansy between men and women who work the same job. Men ask for raises; women hope for raises and think of all the reasons they should get one but we never actually approach the boss. Men negotiate higher salaries, more vacation time, and even promotions...and women, well we know that we are equally deserving of these things but we talk ourselves out of fighting for them. We know what we want, we just don't know how to ask for (or demand) it.
I am by no means claiming to be an expert at this stuff myself. I still can get flustered around authority figures in a workplace, and the idea of negotiating a salary makes me want to run and hide. However, I'm old enough now to realize that if I don't speak up for myself, no one else is going to do it for me. I'm not such a coveted biologist that an organization is going to offer me any higher a salary than it has to when offering me a job. I have to ask for what I know I'm worth. I know that my friends love me, but they don't always understand or appreciate the demands I have on my time. So, I have to be the one to set limits on the time devoted to my social life versus time to my family and household. People will get pissed and upset. But, I know the responsibilities I have and what is most important to me--my husband and kid--so the rest of the world can be angry when I make a decision that's unpopular. I no longer tell the waiter at the restaurant that the meal is fine if I didn't get what I ordered or if the food was awful. I know that if I've paid $5 for a meal or $35 for a meal, either way I've spent my money and the meal should be the way I expected it. I'm not rude or wasteful, but I also don't pretend to like food if I was dissatisfied. If the farmer at the open-air market is trying to get rid of extra produce at the end of the day, I ask for a better deal than his sale price. I ask for military discounts all the time now, because many merchants have them but don't advertise, so they'll only grant it if you ask.
I now ask for the things I want in life and I'm taking control of me.
I once asked Adam to go birding with me, even though he could care less about the yellow-breasted whats-it bird. But, he came into the field with me and acted as my field assistant for entire week while I was conducting my graduate research. Nowadays he hikes with me, entertaining a squirmy Bryony so that I can bird in peace. And, even though I had waited two whole years for a job offer, when I finally got my current position, I knew my family situation still had to come first. I accepted the position, contingent on getting a week of vacation off when Adam was home, even though a temporary job like mine doesn't come with annual leave. But I asked for it and I got it.
I haven't mastered the art of taking care of my own interests, but I'm getting there. Acting like a woman but thinking like a man. I think, at least for me, that that's how this woman will get what she wants in life. But, I think I'm going to need some chocolate and a copy of "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" to get my hormone levels back into balance.
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Picture Postcards
Some shots from our travels to the U.P. and Mackinac Island while Adam was in town. I'll let the pictures tell the story.
Friday, August 5, 2011
The Soldier's Return
And she cries for the soldier's return
Despair, at being alone for so long
By the light of the candle that burns
For his life, and for the day of the soldier's return
--Erasure
My husband came home and it was glorious. I left work in the middle of the day to pick him up from the local airport, and when I saw him I fell into his arms and cried. He was home, safe, in one piece and I was so incredibly lucky.
We picked up Bryony later that afternoon, with some trepidation about what her response would be. After all, she hadn't seen her daddy outside of " the box" in five months. How would she react? She exceeded both our expectations. As soon as she saw Adam, a wide, toothy grin erupted all over her tiny face and she ran to him. When asked if she knew who he was, she immediately said, "Daddy!" followed by "poopie!", which made us all laugh. That's how we knew she was going to be fine.
However, she didn't let him out of her sight the entire time he was home,as if he might disappear forever if she allowed him to turn the corner. If he even left to use the restroom, Bryony started whimpering for her daddy. I realized early on in his visit that his imminent departure was going to be just as difficult on her as it would be on me.
But we made the most of our time with Adam. We planned a magnificent trip--four days camping in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, one night's stay in Canada, and then two days' stay on Mackinac Island...the weather was beautiful, everything worked out perfectly, it was a dream vacation. And yet, we knew that only days after vacation ended, Adam would be leaving us, again. I didn't want our trip to ever end. I didn't want to say good-bye to the beauty of northern Michigan or to the beauty of being with my partner again.
But I did. Wednesday morning we arose early to finish packing his seabag (the same one, he pointed out, that he had used his first day in the military twenty-two years ago). We woke up a sleeping Bryony and gently told her that Daddy had to leave to go back to "the box." Thankfully she was too sleepy to understand. Upon arriving at the airport, the reality of his leaving hit me all at once and I felt weak. How could I go back to being alone after the tease of being with my partner again? How would I pick up the reins and become a single parent once more? How would I deal with a baby girl who was about to be devastated by the absence of her father yet again?
He held me and kissed me and told me it would be okay, and then he was gone. And I cried, even though I tried not to for Bryony's sake. But, as I suspected, she didn't realize what was happening, at least not until that evening, when I picked her up from school and she asked for him. She came home looking for Adam, opening doors and peering around them, calling out his name. My heart was breaking and I forced myself not to cry so that I could explain to her that Daddy was not here anymore. She picked up a pair of his sneakers and dirty socks that he left on the floor, and she brought them to me, asking for Daddy...how do you explain five more months to a two-year old?
Friday Adam arrived safely back in Iraq, and we were able to Skype with him that evening. It was good and familiar and bittersweet. Bittersweet because he's there and we're here, and because this separation is our current state of normalcy; having him home for two weeks was a special treat. And yes, I know that this current state of affairs won't last forever, but Bryony is growing so fast! and we won't get this time with her back. It hurts to know how much he's missing out on.
But because everything comes full circle, in Adam's absence remains the presence of him in his daughter. Bryony is so tall and lanky--she is her daddy's daughter--towering over her peers. And when she smiles...that's Adam's smile. I look at her, and I'm reminded...Adam is never very far away.
Despair, at being alone for so long
By the light of the candle that burns
For his life, and for the day of the soldier's return
--Erasure
My husband came home and it was glorious. I left work in the middle of the day to pick him up from the local airport, and when I saw him I fell into his arms and cried. He was home, safe, in one piece and I was so incredibly lucky.
We picked up Bryony later that afternoon, with some trepidation about what her response would be. After all, she hadn't seen her daddy outside of " the box" in five months. How would she react? She exceeded both our expectations. As soon as she saw Adam, a wide, toothy grin erupted all over her tiny face and she ran to him. When asked if she knew who he was, she immediately said, "Daddy!" followed by "poopie!", which made us all laugh. That's how we knew she was going to be fine.
However, she didn't let him out of her sight the entire time he was home,as if he might disappear forever if she allowed him to turn the corner. If he even left to use the restroom, Bryony started whimpering for her daddy. I realized early on in his visit that his imminent departure was going to be just as difficult on her as it would be on me.
But we made the most of our time with Adam. We planned a magnificent trip--four days camping in Michigan's Upper Peninsula, one night's stay in Canada, and then two days' stay on Mackinac Island...the weather was beautiful, everything worked out perfectly, it was a dream vacation. And yet, we knew that only days after vacation ended, Adam would be leaving us, again. I didn't want our trip to ever end. I didn't want to say good-bye to the beauty of northern Michigan or to the beauty of being with my partner again.
But I did. Wednesday morning we arose early to finish packing his seabag (the same one, he pointed out, that he had used his first day in the military twenty-two years ago). We woke up a sleeping Bryony and gently told her that Daddy had to leave to go back to "the box." Thankfully she was too sleepy to understand. Upon arriving at the airport, the reality of his leaving hit me all at once and I felt weak. How could I go back to being alone after the tease of being with my partner again? How would I pick up the reins and become a single parent once more? How would I deal with a baby girl who was about to be devastated by the absence of her father yet again?
He held me and kissed me and told me it would be okay, and then he was gone. And I cried, even though I tried not to for Bryony's sake. But, as I suspected, she didn't realize what was happening, at least not until that evening, when I picked her up from school and she asked for him. She came home looking for Adam, opening doors and peering around them, calling out his name. My heart was breaking and I forced myself not to cry so that I could explain to her that Daddy was not here anymore. She picked up a pair of his sneakers and dirty socks that he left on the floor, and she brought them to me, asking for Daddy...how do you explain five more months to a two-year old?
Friday Adam arrived safely back in Iraq, and we were able to Skype with him that evening. It was good and familiar and bittersweet. Bittersweet because he's there and we're here, and because this separation is our current state of normalcy; having him home for two weeks was a special treat. And yes, I know that this current state of affairs won't last forever, but Bryony is growing so fast! and we won't get this time with her back. It hurts to know how much he's missing out on.
But because everything comes full circle, in Adam's absence remains the presence of him in his daughter. Bryony is so tall and lanky--she is her daddy's daughter--towering over her peers. And when she smiles...that's Adam's smile. I look at her, and I'm reminded...Adam is never very far away.
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