Trevor and Donovan had drill this weekend. But that is normal because they have drill the second weekend every month. However, when Trevor got home he reminded me that he flies out this coming Sunday. This? Sunday!! True, he will be back on the 30th for a couple of weeks and then he is gone again until Thanksgiving when he will be here for 2 days, then they are gone for the duration. Overseas. To the war. Where people want to kill them.
I realized something this weekend. All those times that people asked me if it would be hard to have two of my boys gone, or if sending them to war is scary, and I flippantly said, "Nope, not scary. I'm proud of my boys." Well, all those times, I was lying. Trevor reminded me of his flying out and I started hyperventilating. I almost cried (which really isn't saying much, I cry all the time). I went and washed the dishes.
To keep my mind off of the fact that he is leaving, I started making a list of all the things I need him to do in the next week:
The brakes on the Durango are squealing, I need him to check them out. Oh and change the oil while he is at it. Oh, and the furnace will need a new filter and the water drained from the swamp cooler. I need help cleaning up the garage and re-arranging all the camping stuff, hauling all the junk away. Then there is the Christmas decorations to get down and put back. And what if the vacuum breaks? And there is a cracked tile in the bathroom and I think there is water leaking under it. I know the bathroom ceiling downstairs needs redone. And, and, and...
I know I will get by and these things will somehow get taken care of, but I'm not fine. I'm proud, I'm scared and I'm not going to think about it any more tonight.
Indeed.
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