I spoke to a friend today. The kind of person that totally understands. Even though he is not yet married and doesn't have any kids. He has suffered through loss in a tremendous sense.
He is leaving for Iraq tomorrow for the 3rd?...no, I am pretty sure 4th time.
He is someone both Tim and I miss a lot.
And although we have said good-bye to him numerous times...
It always puts a pit in my stomach.
Talking to someone before they go to the sandbox (our term for Iraq) is hard no matter if it is your husband, friend, or neighbor.
You fear for them all the same.
Our conversation was what it normally is...discussing what is happening over there in Iraq and Afghanistan (no, I do not watch the news. I prefer to hear what is really happening from someone who actually knows)...this crazy election, and how Pendleton is yet again burning down (another routine event every fall and the range/bullets seems to ignite fires daily). We laughed about who he's dating now, and how I was trying to get back in shape with yoga...he is one of those people who scares me with how physically fit he is.
Then he asked how I was.
And I told him the truth.
And I knew he believed me. He understands those conditions in which crappy things happen, yet you just deal. Because that is reality of it, you either deal or you don't. He is again, one of those people that has every single right to complain...but he doesn't.
And I admire that.
So as I hung up the phone, something tugged at my heart again.
I hate good-byes.
I've said enough of them to last a lifetime.
But I know he is in good hands...and this tour he'll have a little angel watching over him.