184

“184”

Christie Harkness

      Jerking awake once more, I stare into the pre-dawn darkness.  Hearing Gus in the shower, I know it’s really time to get up.  I try to calm my mind.  Panic is already screaming, “No!  No, no, no, no, no!  I don’t want to face this again!” The same refrain for weeks.  Now more strident.

     Reason attempts, “I’ve done this before.  I can make it again.”  About as effective as logic-ing a tantruming two-year-old. 

     The sound of the shower cutting off snaps my attention to the task at hand.  Get up.  Get everyone in the car.  Drive to Subbase New London.  Send my other half off with the second woman in his life, his submarine, the USS ANNAPOLIS.

     Thundering silence is the morning’s soundtrack.  Everything important has been said except good-bye.  Putting that off until we can’t is a game.  With Panic copiloting anything I say may be a plea not to leave.  I won’t give in to that.  I can’t.  Not when it would send him away not trusting that I will keep our family safe and sane. 

     The beauty of the sunrise over the Thames sets the river aglow.  Gus plops his sea bag next to our car.  It carries a copy of Harry Potter, spine unbroken, a handmade bear from the girls and six months’ worth of handwritten letters from me.  Knowing how often the e-mail goes down and remembering our first deployments when the only reliable communication was packed in the sea bag we’ve worked to make certain he carries these touches of home.

     Today the witch is docked close enough to see, her black hull catching reflections of gold from the water.  A silent plea to bring my husband back safe just once more overflows my heart while he climbs in back to say good bye to Kiers and Lu.  He then ducks back out to hug me.  I cling for a moment, fighting tears.    Watching him walk through the gate postpones the moment when we’re only three quarters of a family. 

     The morning routines are accomplished in a daze.  But the Tuesday goodbyes at the steps to Mary Morrisson Elementary still arrive just like this was a normal weekday.  Except we cleave together instead of passing  a jaunty wave goodbye. 

     A wandering drive alone allows me time to let go.  Escape from the responsibility to stay in control.  Now Panic can let everything out and ultimately sleep.   Tears wash over the pain of loss and water the seeds of strength, sending tiny tendrils growing through me. 

     Still fragile, I head towards my lunch date.  Linda Morales’ soft Texas drawl greets me.  “I guess we can ‘see’ each other now.  Not like this mornin’ when we only had eyes for our guys.”  Joking recognition of our near meeting at the back gate.

      “Yea, I would have asked you all for coffee…” Sally McBride’s crisp New York tones chime in, “but I really needed some time alone.”  She trails off a shameful admission.  This is Sally’s first time at this dance and she’s still unsure of the steps.

     Before I can say anything Michelle Lyson throws out her down to earth Midwest logic, “Don’t worry, everyone handles goodbyes differently.  Just do what feels right to you.”

     The smiles go around and conversation flows.  What’s said isn’t important, but being here to say something is.  Coming together this circle of friends celebrates bonds that will make us stronger than any one of us is alone.  This fountain of encouragement flows through Heidi Caudle who invited me to my first deployment lunch and will flow on through the sailor’s spouses these women will pass the tradition to.  Communing together today designates the differences in our lives from this moment on.  More, it’s recognition that challenges will not go unmet.  These allies promise to be there for the child’s broken arm or the spurting washer hose.  Even when our words are only of plans to work out and books we’ve read.

     Fortified, I face the rest of my day.  Dinner and homework, tasks Gus and I normally share, are now divided between different family members.  On our best behavior the girls and I help each other through this first night.  I manage the next chapter of Harry Potter sharing it with Gus if only in our thoughts and his. 

     One final task to end the day.  I draw out the calendar pages and hand them to Kiers.  Lu takes the first crayon she finds and marks a blue X boldly on Tuesday.  Day one down, only 183 to go.