In God's Hands

We stood in what was called the "Common Area", smiles were pasted on everyone's face. But despite everyone's effort, you could feel a dark presence of sadness and fear. I was no exception. It was 3 a.m. August 14, 2006; it was warm and humid, a sticky heat. I shivered, even though I wasn't cold. I was a jumble of nerves, I felt like crying, but for his sake I smiled, forcefully. I had replayed in my mind how this was going to go, exactly what I was going to say, how I was going to act. But now that the time had came, I was blank, an empty canvas.

We stood on the sidewalk as all the Marines threw bags of gear into the dark, olive green trucks. We were surrounded by friends, jokes were being told to lighten the mood, and I even laughed at a few. I looked at my husband, he seemed so cool and collected, and he was prepared to leave. I wasn't prepared at all, I had thought I was. I had kept telling myself that I knew this day would come, but somehow my mind tricked me into believing that something would interfere.

He hugged me close, "Don't worry, I'll be fine," he whispered in my ear. I fought back the tears, what if he wasn't fine? I couldn't help but watch the news constantly, at the numerous soldiers who were dying over there, what if he was one of them? What would I tell our newborn son?

Instead of arguing with him, I lied, "Oh yeah, it's going to be like boot camp, just a few months longer." He would be gone for 9 months, maybe even a year. What was I going to do?
The chartered buses pulled up to take them to the air base, two hours away. It took my breath away, this was really happening. In my mind I kept hoping against all odds that something would happen, that the sergeant would come out and tell everyone to go home, the deployment was off. It was wishful thinking.

All around, people were hugging; children were saying goodbye to their daddy's, you could hear their cries. I didn't want to leave; I wanted to spend every second that I could with him. This may be the last time I see him, I thought. I knocked those thoughts out of my head, the last way I wanted him to see me was crying. So I once again, pasted on a brave smile. The Sergeant called out, "30 minutes were loading up!"

My husband pulled me close, "Why don't you head on out? You have a long drive ahead of you," he said, putting his arm around me.

I reluctantly agreed, the longer I stayed, the harder it was going to be to say goodbye. We walked hand in hand

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