8,143 Days and She Is Out of Here

You close your eyes and you're living the memory of your first walk together: from the delivery room to the nursery down a darkened hall. The nurses and other patients are watching, but you pay them no attention because at that moment, your whole universe is your hands. She is so small and light in your hands, and her blue eyes are so big. A few minutes ago, you were a newlywed couple. This little creature has come along and now you're a family.

The bond you share is stronger than the common bloodline because there's the memories and perspectives you will build together over the next few years. You will sing together, breathe the same air, and generally believe in the same ideas and morals (at first, anyway). There's the shared waiting time in so many different places: the grocery store, the principal’s office, the restaurant's waiting area, and the emergency room, but the passing of time is easier because you’re there together and you are a family.

And intellectually, you know the baby will grow, mature, and will eventually leave you behind, often emotionally at first, but the physical separation will follow because that's Nature's way. You did it to your parents, they did it to theirs, and so on since babies turned couples into families. Honestly, though, you're never prepared, even when you know it's going to happen. You can count down the days and the minutes and steel yourself for the moment, but when it happens, it's still a shock. What's worst, it's a life changer.

So today is the eight thousandth, one hundred, and forty-third day that the three of us lived together, and it is the last. And how painful is it to write those words, much less go back and read them.

I admitted earlier that I haven't been handling these last few days very well. I locked down my feelings, thinking that maybe I could hold back the tide of emotions with some brainless rationalizations. Some of them sounded good at the time, and my favorite is, "This ain't the eighteenth century. When she gets done with boot camp, she'll have access to phones, email, and web cams. So she ain’t really leaving.”

Bullshit.

Got up Saturday morning (10/15) and went to work to grade papers. Had scheduled lab time at the prison, but the idea of being locked up with the dudes when I could be spending time at home was not a tasty thought, so I cancelled labs and headed home as soon as I finished. Trina and I went to a movie in Reno, then tooled around Meadowood Mall and a bookstore before heading home. Really didn’t do much of anything on Sunday or Monday. In fact, except for a bike ride and religiously sticking to my diet, I can’t think of anything I accomplished. Oh yeah: I woke up at 3:00 AM on Sunday morning for no particular reason (yeah, right) and did a lot more of nothing while waiting for the sun to rise. It does that every day, you know.

Liz and Trina spent a lot of time trying to clean her room and get things ready for storage, but I suspect they were in a bit of denial, too, because I just went in Trina’s room and there’s still a lot of packing to do, two hours after she left the house.

Today started pretty much like every day: got up at 6:00 AM, ran to Wal-Mart, and got a DVD that came out new today because there was a slight chance Trina might get to it before she left (she didn’t). Watched the replays of the two games I saw last night and was impressed with the Indy Colts (my homey Edge James scored three TDs) and felt Houston’s pain when they lost the game at the top of the ninth on Albert Pujols’ three-run homer.

Then out of nowhere, it was 9:40 AM. Danielle was already at high school and we dropped Lara off at the college, both of whom handled these events far better than I did. We got to the recruiter’s office, where Petty Officer Sam had bunch of papers for Trina to sign. He said she’d be on the road in a few minutes, would spend Tuesday night at the hotel, would get up early Wednesday for the usual rituals and swearing in, then the Navy would put her on a plane for Illinois at the first opportunity. Having done his job, Sam left us alone.

Liz and I got our last hugs from The Blonde One and we drove away, the three of us no longer.

So now begins a new phase in our family: we get to use the adjectives “extended” and “blue star” to show our love and commitment to our sailor on the other side of the country.

I’d give just about anything to take another walk with her down the hall, though.