Last year, at this exact moment, I was on my way to the
gymnasium at Courthouse Bay on Camp LeJeune in North
Carolina. It was down pouring in rain, and had been
for almost a week.
About 1/2
hour earlier, I had gotten the most exciting text message I had received in at
least 8 months, probably my entire life. One of my fellow military wives and I
had been driving around look at the “Welcome Home” signs notoriously hanging on
the fence. The fence surrounding the military base is always COVERED in them.
Someone removes them every Thursday, and by Friday, they are covered again.
It’s become a permanent and familiar fixture in Jacksonville and the other towns surrounding
the base. It is a good indication of how many families are reunited each week,
and how many Marines return home safely after fighting for my freedoms for 7+
months. And what a good reminder they are! We were taking it all in, when I got
it—the text message.
It was 3 words, but spurred the excitement I was already
feeling to new heights you wouldn’t even think imaginable. “Through the gate.”
I read it to my friends who was driving and we were immediately done admiring
signs and off the gymnasium, through the flooded roads in the pouring rain. We
had endured 7 long months without so much as a phone call from our husbands, a
grand total of 4 delays, and what seemed like a ridiculously long drive
bus ride (for our Marines) from Cherry Point, to Jacksonville.
And they were finally here. When we got the gym, we
waited, and waited, and waited. The top priority of whoever was in charge of
our Marines was to get the guns to the armory and get them locked up. I guess
that’s a reasonable top priority…but not much fun when you are waiting for them
to arrive.
After what seemed like two hours of waiting, but was
probably really just 1/2
hour (in the rain, no less) we finally saw the bus. At a turtle’s pace, it
pulled closer and closer and…kept going. Chinese Water Torture, anyone? It continued
to go at a turtle’s pace around the block and finally came to a stop in front
of the crowd of rain drenched, but still excited family members.
I find it kind of funny. I don’t really remember the rain. I
mean, I know it was raining, but I don’t really remember it. I don’t remember
wishing that it wasn’t raining, I don’t remember complaining about being wet,
and cold while standing outside waiting for the bus to get there. I think I was
so excited to be there. To be able to be at the homecoming. To be a part of
something so exciting. And to be living my life, that the rain was completely
irrelevant, and unimportant.
Apparently one of the people “in charge” (perhaps the same
one who ensured the safety of the weapons at the armory?) had some compassion.
I had never been to an ordeal like this before, but was informed by others who
had, that generally they get off the bus, and are led in front of, and past the
crowd of people standing in the rain waiting for them, without the ability to
acknowledge their presence, and would meet in the gym for one final formation
(as if someone would be careless enough to miss the bus that was bringing them
home) and one final “debriefing”. Does this sound familiar to anyone? Perhaps
from reading about my boot camp experience?
I think some people were rather surprised when the first of
our Marines stepped of the bus, and almost impossibly instantaneously located
his wife/girlfriend/sister/whoever, and with one swift motion, picked her up
and hugged her. The Marines continued to file of the bus—some picking their
family members out of the crowd unbelievably quickly, while others—presumably
those who did not have family members there to greet them—went straight to the
storage compartment of the bus, and began unloading the bags.
While I stood their waiting for Steve to get off the bus,
part of me wanted so badly to go to the guys who didn’t have family or friends
their to greet them, to tell them how much they missed them, to thank them for
what they did, and to welcome them back to the US of A. But even being a
military wife, and being involved in the military lifestyle, and being exposed
to Marines on a regular basis, it seems words fail you in a situation like
that. So instead, I said nothing. Instead, I stood and observed that slowly,
but surely, as more and more Marines filed off the bus, the crowd was overcome
more and more with desert cami color, as families—mothers, fathers, children,
wives, aunts, uncles, and friends were reunited with their Marines. Two of these
men held their first child for the first time on this day, after missing the
birth of their babies while they were in Afghanistan.
I continued to wait, and wait, and wait, beginning to think
that Steve had somehow been left in Afghanistan,
or Bulgaria,
until he FINALLY stepped off the bus—one of the last ones—I should have known
he would do that to me…
And there we met, about 3 feet from the bus, in a sea of
other men in uniform and reunited families. There I finally got my turn to be
picked up, and hugged. There is where I finally got to see my husband, and
finally start BEING husband and wife—even though we had already been married
for 9 months. It’s more or less where my married life started—maybe we should
count THIS day as our anniversary, since we are having so much trouble deciding
which date to use as our “official” anniversary.
There is so much more that I could say about this day, but
for now I think I will leave it at that. It’s so hard to come up with words to
describe something that few other people have experienced, and will ever
experience. I am hoping some day I will find the words to describe what it’s
like the moment you see someone you love for the first time after 7 months of
only talking to them on the phone. But much like when I was watching Marines
step off the bus with no one to greet them, words fail me now as well.
I will say this though, although I have said that this day
was a beginning, it was kind of bittersweet, because I knew it was an ending
too. I knew that this would be the last homecoming of this caliber, that we
would never again be separated by the military (unless there is a war of epic
proportions—knock on wood that doesn’t happen), and I knew that from here on
out, the rest of Steve’s military career would merely consist of “going through
the motions” to make everyone happy. All of the things that had made me feel so
strong, so independent, and so supportive, were coming to and end. And although
there is excessive amounts of stress that came with the job title, there was so
much pride, and so much courage that came with it also, that cannot, and will
not, ever be able to be replaced.
There was so much that I learned during the 7 months that
Steve was in Afghanistan,
about who I was, what I was capable, and what I wanted to do. Perhaps some of
it was spurred by the sight of Marines with no one to greet the, perhaps some
of it was from knowing that Steve shared his care packages with a buddy who
didn’t get very many, perhaps it was a desire to continue to be connected to
the military and supportive of our troops in any way that I could, but
following this deployment, I had a desire. I’m still working on what all that
desire entails, and how I want to go about it, but hopefully in the next few
weeks, I will be able to find some way to go about it, and have enough
information to post about it, and maybe involve some of my readers who want to
be a part of it as well (is this the longest run-on sentence you have every
seen, or what?!). Only time will tell if I find a way to fulfill my desire!
In the meantime, I will bask in this day, knowing that last
year, at this time, the best part of life (the married and actually getting to
be together part) was just beginning. Just remembering the events of this day
last year, makes my heart beat faster, and harder, and brings tears to my eyes.
And makes me wish that I could remember exactly how it felt, exactly how it
happened. Although I still cling to a past lifestyle that I miss dearly, I am
starting to be more comfortable with moving on to something new, and continuing
a life being married to my best friend.
