Reuniting Part II

I arrive two days before he does and I’m telling you it was like a mini vacation not having any responsibilities for two whole days. I read a new book (20 Times a Lady.) I went to a movie. I had lunch with a friend. I shopped. I slept aaalllll night long. It was awesome!

The day before they arrived my battle buddy Shannon and I sat at Arby’s and talked about what it would be like to see our husbands again. She had been there for previous lifts and gave me a detailed account of how they would come in and how different families reacted to see their soldier for the first time. I started to tear up. Then she started to cry. I cried, “Stop, stop! I’m going to start crying.” All the while an angelic two-year-old girl was sitting in the booth next to us with her family. She couldn’t help playing peek-a-boo with us during our conversation and her mother kept apologizing for the interruption. Shannon laughed, “It’s ok, we’re crying happy tears,” and told them that our soldiers were coming home the next day. They gave congratulations all around.

So the big day arrives. We decided we needed something to calm the nerves so Shannon sought out the only bottle of champagne in this small town. It was terrible! (It cost three dollars, ok?) But just what we needed…We toasted in the parking lot and I actually think I got a little bit sick trying to drown the butterflies in my stomach.

Finally, we go outside and wait for the buses to arrive. There are six. Six white school buses carrying almost 300 of the last soldiers in our division to come home. As they pull up I seriously think I am going to have a heart attack.



He doesn’t know I’m here so he won’t be looking for me. We’re all screaming and clapping and waving flags and signs…they start getting off the buses and we’re standing there just waiting for them to come to us. I literally blurt out, “Screw this!” and start running (in heels) from bus to bus hollering, "Capt R!? Where’s Capt. R!?”

I get pointed in a couple of wrong directions and suddenly someone yells, “He’s behind you!” I spin around and before I can even blink he hoisted me up into his arms and I cry for a good minute.

I could tell he wanted to lose it. He wanted to cry all the tears he didn’t for the past year; for the soldiers (Iraqi and American) who were killed, for living in the suckiest of suck, for the time he missed with us, and the relief that it was finally over - but he didn't.

More pictures:

Kissing American Ground when they landed at the airport.

Trying on his gear