Memorial Day 2012

It's the middle of the night and something scratches my arm. 

I'm awake and rubbing the sting. 

I remember... 

His bracelets. 

The black ones.

The ones etched with the birth and death dates of fellow soldiers.

It's the middle of the night, and I wonder which bracelet he's wearing. 

Whose name is carved into it. 

But it's the middle of the night, so I roll over and wrap my arms around him.

I whisper a prayer and drift to sleep...

safe. 

protected. 

loved.

and free...

SPC Ja'mel A. Bryant

HHC 40th CSD

12 May 1986- 27 September 2008

Operation Iraqi Freedom

CPT Michael Newton

SVC Battery 1-84 Field Artillery

11 June 2011

Operation Enduring Freedom, Afghanistan

"Let us not mourn for the men who have died fighting, but rather let us be glad that such heroes have lived.” -General George S. Patton

stronger than the Army...

There are moments in your life that you'll never forget. 

I remember the day I met her- mom of two boys, a toddler and a little still-nursing babe in her arms.
I was a mom of one, almost two... my belly, still growing Cade.

She was a calm, loving mama of two boys, and had it all together. 

I was run ragged, and wondering how I'd ever survive.

The seasons changed, babies were born, and deployment happened. 

We celebrated homecomings, trudged through cloudy, gray days, and enjoyed sunshine at castles. 

I learned her life was just as crazy-wild as mine, and somehow, I survived we survived together.

As I pulled away from her house for the last time earlier this week, she raised her hand- thumb out, two middle fingers folded down... sign language, for I love you.

I signed back and waved... averted my eyes to the road ahead.  

I choked back tears, because my mom signs I love you to me, something I don't think I'd ever mentioned...

five years, five kids between us.
six, five, four, three, two.

strong husbands, by our sides. 

friendships, stronger than the Army. (cheesy, yes. truth, absolutely.)

tschüß, dear friend. 

can't wait to hug you in the u.s. of a.

leaving here

David called asking for information for our ERD (Early Return of Dependents) paperwork. 

My heart sank. This is all really happening.

The moving home this summer... 

The ETSing (Expiration, Term of Service) from the military this fall... 

The unknowns that follow that- job? roof? where?

He called again, said he needed a date. I asked what kind of date.

He said, a tentative fly date. "What's your preferred timeline?"

I blurted out a date in the middle of the summer.

I really wanted to say, never.

It's not the going home that's hard. 
It's not the ETS that's hard.

It's the leaving here.

I know what going home means... It means family. It means familiar roads and laws, southern accents. It means hometowns, and cherry limeades, and no more international flights.

I know what ETSing means... It means no more Army bullshit, no more deployments, no more rank. 

And while all of that will be nothing short of amazing... 

I don't know what leaving here means.

This place, this post, this country has held my heart and my hand for a little more than half a decade.
This dirt holds our blood, our sweat, our tears. 
These trees have seen our laughs and these walls have heard our anger. 
My heart breaks here (deployments), but it also mends here (homecomings). 
Our youngest was born here. 
Our oldest has the perfect scar in the back of his head, sewn up by German hands. 


I want to rip the paint off the wall and take it with us. 
I want to dig up the dirt, the grass, the weeds and pack it in a neat little box and mail it back to Alabama. 
I want to burn this fourth floor view into my eyes, so it'll never fade from my memory. 


That Christmas my parent's visited, and my dad said this place was a different color green. I'd never said it out loud, because I thought it was a crazy thought... But I thought that, all those years ago when I first came to just visit...


I'm panicked. I'm heartbroken. I'm torn. 
Our weeks here are numbered. 


I want to drink it in, and not waste a drop. 
I want to see and hold and touch. 
I want to clutch this place in my arms and squeeze until it shatters... 


I think, really... 
It's just that... 
In the future, a year or two, maybe ten, down the road... 
If someone asks, "If you could be anywhere but here..."
There was a time, my answer would be, "Hawaii! Australia! ... London! Paris! Rome!"
I fear my answer will be, "Baumholder, Germany." 





**I've tried for the better part of the afternoon, to find the words worthy enough... Our roots are in the South, naturally, that's home for us. But this place? It's magic. How do you leave magic?**

i promise they love each other

from a few weeks ago, when they hid under the table, telling secrets

Austin climbs in a kitchen cabinet.

Cade closes the door on him.

Austin tries to open the door.
Cade pushes back with all his might.

The little kid is actually quite strong for a 3 year old.

The big kid screams, "Let me out! It's not funny! It's not funny, Cade!"

There are tears involved...

Then... Wham! The cabinet door hits the wall.

Austin caught Cade, distracted and weakened.

Cade flies across the kitchen and lands on his butt...

Austin climbs out laughing.
Cade cries, "It's not funny, Bubba!"

give, and let go...

I was hollering at one boy to get out of the road, nudging the other to pull his back pack onto his back before he dropped it in a puddle.

Quietly pleading with them both to hold my hand! stay on the sidewalk! stop splashing! don't wander too far ahead! CAR!

And I saw her, with her littlest one all snug on her chest. She was walking with a friend, casually chatting about their day. Two little ones danced around them and her free hands grabbed the hand of her oldest, and I knew that feeling all too well.

She saw me, too... Her eyes met mine, her arms wrapped tighter around the baby all snug on her chest, and a smile graced her face... 

I smiled back, and stopped micro-managing our five minute walk home from school... 

----------

I sold my beloved Ergo a few weeks ago at our yard sale... 

I came inside and told my husband, "I, uh, just sold my Ergo." 

"Why'd you do that?"

"I'm not sure exactly. She asked how much- I didn't even have it out to sell, I had it out showing our neighbor how awesome it was... She had a babe and a toddler and it's cold and windy and her arms were full... And I just blurted out a price, and when she asked, 'are you sure?' I said, 'yes."

And just like that, I ended our babywearing days.

 Truth be told, it'd been a few weeks since I'd pulled the Ergo out of the back of the car. Cade is three and quite capable of walking here and there. Austin is five and wouldn't be caught dead on his momma's back in a carrier with a flower on it. 

But both boys are well under the suggested 45lb weight limit and I can't imagine taking an international flight, trekking through airports without one of the safely strapped to my back... 

Then there's the whole thing where we live in Europe for only a few more months and exploring European cities and castles is no fun with a stroller, and even less fun with a tired three year old... 

And just like that, I ended our babywearing days. 

---------

I mourned that dang baby carrier for weeks days. I couldn't think about it without a knot in my throat and tears in my eyes. 

It stung to plan a weekend away, and know we'd need to throw a stroller into the car just in case. 

We have to leave a few minutes earlier to get to school pick up on time. I can't toss Cade on my back for the walk there anymore. I have nothing to toss him in. 

When he misbehaves and refuses to walk on the sidewalk with his brother, I can't discipline him by scooping him up to safety onto my back again... 

We went on an exciting weekend adventure recently and we didn't miss the Ergo. We survived. The boys had an absolute blast and I quietly let my fears go... 

---------

And so, when I saw her today, with her baby snuggled in on her chest, I smiled and knew that she already loved my Ergo as much as we did- her little one safe on her chest and her arms free to pull the older one to safety. 

That was me, once, not all that long ago. 

But time marches on, and it changes things... 

Mostly, it changes you. 

You learn to let them wander a little farther away. 

You learn to let them walk home with wet feet because they splashed in that puddle. 

You learn to let go a little...