a not-so happy new year

To be honest, New Years' is a holiday that has always annoyed me. I'd rather be asleep in my bed than partying the night away, and I'd much rather make a goal for myself when I'm good and ready and not simply just to make one. Oh, and people wishing the world "Happy New Year" tend to make me want to scream. "Bah Humbug" is my response (or maybe something like "Screw you," even though a good girl like me shouldn't think that), even though that's more geared toward Christmas than the new year itself.

So yesterday, New Year's Eve, I cried a lot. Not because I was attached to 2010 and sad to see it go, but because I am attached to my husband. And celebrating the New Year means that I'm looking toward a year spent alone, without my best friend. No thank you. I knew it was pointless to try and hide the tears quickly slipping down my face. Reagan, of course, was the first to notice. When I told her the reason behind my tears, that I would miss Daddy, she did her best to comfort me, wiping each single tear away. McKinley soon discovered my pity party and immediately reported its presence to Dad. "Mom's crying cause she's gonna miss you. But we have a picture to look at!"

There was nothing he could say to ease the sadness except to slip his arm through mine and place a kiss on my forehead.

A few hours later, all five of us greeted (well, honestly, I wasn't laying out the welcome mat) the new year in. The What-If portion of my brain, which is rather large these days, posed a not-nice question.....What if all five of us won't be ushering in 2012--together? Later on, I fell asleep in my bed, pushing that question and all others like it to the far, dusty recesses of my mind and snuggling up to my husband. Sleep came quickly....a good thing, that way I couldn't remind myself that it'd be the last night that I'd sleep beside him for a while.

This morning was a mad rush. Kids awake, dressed, no don't eat breakfast because we'll eat something at the airport. Husband awake, showered, dressed, don't forget to pack this, when do the cars need an oil change next, it's probably time to go.

Somewhere along the stretch of Perimeter Road, between two flashing stop signs, the floodgates opened again. I had been doing so well at blocking out the inevitable events of the day, until he told me what had been on his mind a lot over the past two weeks at home. It was always in the back of his mind....how could he come up with a way to get out of this deployment, to simply stay home. That topic, like my tears, fell into the category of Things I Cannot Control.

The plan for breakfast at the airport turned into lunch (since when does McD's start serving hamburgers at 10:30?), and we five crowded around a small silver table. The girls were chattering away about their new Happy Meal toys, and I cried yet again. Happy Meals.....but no happiness for me. The girls then discovered that their (not-so) Happy Meal boxes had punch-out hearts on them, but they were two halves that made up a whole. The next thing we knew, each girl was on Daddy's lap, and he found the halves to three hearts in his hand. The girls insisted that he carry them with him so that he'd always have a part of them with him. Tears. Do they have any clue that they, on their own, carry on so much of their father, wherever they go?

Tears, hugs, kisses, good-byes. I fought hard to keep putting the escalators and moving walkways between my husband and me.

Home....not the same without him. The couch was there, where he had sat just hours ago. The clothes he wore yesterday were in the hamper. The box of chocolate covered cherries that he opened was still on the table. Why do those simple reminders make my life so hard right now?

I forced the hours to pass with cleaning out drawers, closets, and scrubbing and cleaning. The girls even joined in my madness. Every time the text message tone sounded on my phone, they quickly and happily delivered it to me, because they knew it would make me smile.

8:00 he called. Each of the girls had their turn telling him about the events of the afternoon, and then it was my turn for 40 somewhat happy minutes. I was content to hear about delayed flights, who else was on the plane, the weather in NC, the battle for a lost suitcase, what housekeeping didn't clean in his hotel room, etc. I know I'll talk to him tomorrow, but these goodbyes never get any easier. I'd much rather he be back on the couch in the living room....

How am I going to get through the seven months in Afghanistan, when I won't talk to him for days at a time?

The minute that I start considering the notion that I'm a crazed, pathetic, overly-attached woman who's a sap for her husband, I remind myself of what a friend told me in confidence a few weeks back. She said it was much better to feel so connected and close to your husband than, after many years together, to be left wondering what it was that brought the two of you together in the first place. Maybe I am crazed, pathetic, and overly-attached, but I am blessed to have a husband whom I miss so much.

Reagan just hopped up on my lap and told me how she can't stop thinking about the doll that she's going to buy tomorrow with her Christmas money. She's so excited, and rightfully so. "I think I'm just going to go to sleep soon, because I know that will help me stop thinking about the doll. I just can't wait!" I think I will follow her lead. Sleep sounds good, and if it helps me to stop thinking.......