Twenty years ago, I packed by duffle bags and in a few short weeks of training, medical updates, and briefings, found myself in Baghdad, Iraq. Lisa and I were only engaged a few weeks at the time. Samantha was seven years old. We departed each other's company at Syracuse International Airport. I distinctly remember Samanth running past security to give me one more hug. I remember a lot of tears, even from bystanders. I was something right out of a movie.
I remember getting into Baghdad in the middle of the night. It was hot. I was tired. I was scared. I was scared not so much for myself but for the family back home who would worry about my safety.
The deployment passed. There were moments of terror and some personal trials of leadership under fire. Through it all, I had the light at the end of the tunnel of seeing Lisa and Samantha and my family again. Somewhere in late June 2005, we all happily reunited.
And life fast forwarded twenty years. We married. We moved to North Carolina. We had children. We grew up - including Samantha who went on to graduate from a prestigious university with an Army ROTC Commission.
Earlier this year we learned that Sam was going to deploy. My heart both rose and sank at the same time. It rose knowing that she was going to go into harm's way and learn firsthand some of the lessons I learned. Some stories can be told. Others require the experience.
Earlier this month I took her to her unit at zero-dark-early. Flooded by sodium lights, families gathered in the parking lot as Soldiers moved gear into trucks and exchanged last hugs. So, this is what is feels like to say good-bye from this side. Sam was in work mode, a convenient excuse to not get bogged down in the emotions of the situation. I was in let-her-do-her-thing mode for the same reason.
She kept her phone on for a long time. Long enough to watch her plane taxi on the runway heading to someplace over there. There was a heavy sigh. It came from me.
Welcome to graduate level parenting and adulting.
No comments:
Post a Comment