Living Through Others . . .

I 'met' MQ almost a year ago . . . isn't it funny how many people you meet by blogging? She emailed me asking some questions after a soldier in her husband's company was killed. She was so sweet and nice. She too has a blog that I read often. I have followed her ups and downs of having a husband in Iraq while she is at home with their two boys but just last week her husband came home. I was so happy for her. I have loved reading her posts about the reunion she had and that their boys had too . . . of course I cried happy tears for them. I have found myself laughing with her and crying from time to time too. I never got to experience that type of homecoming so it was exciting to see how a homecoming should really be . . . it is how I always imagined it would be but I never got to experience one for myself. I loved her photos and descriptions. She is too funny and wears some pretty sexy shoes. I also found myself 'comparing' my homecoming with hers . . .

MQ wrote: I get pointed in a couple of wrong directions and suddenly someone yells, "He's behind you!" I spin around and before I can even blink he hoisted me up into his arms and I cry for a good minute.

My version is a little different . . . there were no banners or flags (okay so there were banners at the DFW airport for the soldiers coming home on R&R which was the first shocker I experienced but I kept the tears inside) or people smiling real big . . . we made arrangements with the guy at the cemetery to pick out the plots the day after Thanksgiving . . . I got up that morning and put on a nice flowy skirt, sweater, and strappy sandals . . . I wanted to look good for Sean. At this point I had not seen him so it still was not real. We get out of the car at the cemetery and walk to a big open green space . . . he starts telling me plots that were available . . . all I could think was why am I doing this? I finally decided on three plots near a beautiful tree that had leaves of many colors . . . very unusual for Texas . . . our leaves are usually green or brown. I sign on the dotted line and start to prepare myself mentally for the trip down the street to the funeral home for my homecoming. I think I am still in denial at this point. All I wanted was for my reunion to play out like I had always imagined, I flashback in my mind to the homecoming I wanted . . . Sean picking me up off my feet and giving me a huge hug and then watching his eyes tear up as he sees our little boy . . . I know he would be shocked at how much he had changed, after all he was only 5 weeks old when he left and now a year has gone by . . . so I bring myself back to reality as we walk into the funeral home . . . Jon is there and some other guy in his Army greens . . . who the heck is he? It turns out to be my new CAO . . . of course he was the last thing on my mind because my go to guy was Jon . . . Sean's escort; our good friend from Germany . . . all I wanted to do was see Sean. Jon and I sat down in a room and he gave me a small black velvet bag that had Sean's personal effects that were on his body . . . his dog tags, a couple of saint medallions, his watch . . . that still goes off everynight at 10:30, 10:35, and 10:40! It was that time . . . I wanted to just sprint right in to see this was just a big dream and see Sean sitting there playing his guitar or drinking a beer, something, anything but what I had been told . . . as I round the corner to the room, I am immediately taken back by the sight of the flag on the casket . . . now that is something very powerful . . . it was so amazing and emotional. Jon then folds the flag back so professionally . . . he opens it up and I think I almost jump to get a better look. I remember letting out a huge sob and begin to cry loudly . . . my parents come in and they too are taken back. It looked like Sean but was it really him? I remember repeating, "it doesn't look like my Sean." It had been exactly two weeks since he died and his face was puffy . . . I asked Jon to remove the gloves . . . if you really knew Sean you knew his hands had very distinct markings . . . I always knew that no matter what his face looked like the truth would be in his hands . . . I was right. Instead of Sean lifting me up in the air in happiness, it was my parents holding me up in sorrow so I did not fall to the ground . . . my sweet husband was there at his homecoming and there was nothing to celebrate in my eyes. All I could do was look at him . . . for hours . . . each day I went and just stared at him . . . I could not get words out or talk to him . . . how could this be true?

While our homecomings are very different we share a common bond . . . thanks MQ for sharing your homecoming with me!