See you later, friend.

I want to let you in on a little secret: goodbye is an ugly word. It is so final. It is so permanent. The lobster and I never say it. Seriously. I can't think of one time when he and I have ever said goodbye. We always say "See ya later." When he deploys, all of our conversations end with either "I'll be seeing you" or "See ya later." We never say, "goodbye". Truth be told, he and I will never have to say goodbye. He and I both believe, and love Jesus. So even if he, or I, should leave this earth, we will see each other again.

Okay, so that was a long paragraph to attempt to segway into my emotional mind frame. Right now, not too far away from me, one of my best friends is having her "see ya later" night with her husband. I know what that night feels like. Every play moment between daddy and children is so powerful. Everything is emotional. You try so hard to put on a brave face...you try so hard to make it all beautiful. You try so hard to memorize it all, just in "case". 

It's funny because the "just in cases" always seem to be a part of our lives. They are a constant. We have a friend who went to training and was shot by a  live round. Life is so short. 

To be honest, I don't believe he will die. I don't think they do either. In fact, I am almost certain he will sit over there for a year and say at the end of it..."What the crap!?" and come home happy as a clam. But what people don't realize is that isn't the only thing that hurts. In all honesty, the death aspect is what hurts the least, as strange as that may sound. 

It's the in betweens that are painful. It's the moments when you are having the best day ever, and he isn't there to share it with. When the kids do something absolutely hilarious, or when they experience a heartbreaking moment... It's when you have simply had the worst day ever and you don't have him to cuddle with. It's the countless dinners spent without him, it's the oil changes, the changing of the seasons, the rainy Saturdays, the Sunday mornings, the alarms that don't go off at the crack of dawn anymore...

Funny how you miss the things that can be so completely aggravating when they're around. I am a neurotic freak about the things my husband leaves on the floor when he's gone. I won't let anyone touch them. I need them there. I need his shoes scattered about the house. I need his keys sitting on the bedside table. I need his toothbrush in the cup holder. 

I suppose it's all the little lies that we tell ourselves. 

I was trying to explain to a friend what that final moment together is like. You are standing there hugging, and you feel all of your willpower fading away. You honestly feel like your knees are going to buckle. Yes, you find a strength within yourself that you never knew existed, and you hear them say something like, "You have to let me go now." You are trying to memorize every final gesture. You are trying to remember it all, because this might be your last. I mean, honestly it could. If he doesn't come back, this is your final memory of his warm skin against yours. You want to make that count. So every touch, every word, every embrace, every kiss is powerful. When you finally leave from there, and find the strength to drive yourself home...

It is overwhelming. 

You cry. You laugh with your best friends. Your scream at the top of your lungs. You wish it all away. Then you put on your uniform, your combat boots, your camouflage, and blend in to society. You will be all you can be, you will be an army of one, you are Army strong. 

Praying for God to comfort my dear friend and her soldier. Praying for God to give me a thousand jokes in my head and heart, an enormous box of tissues, a BIG glass of wine, and embracing arms. Praying that His peace will transcend all understanding and that He would comfort all of our grieving hearts.