The postman delivers and the phone company forgives....

2 weeks into our 227 weeks of wondering, waiting and praying for news.

With the call from the Reception Batallion, all our hearts settled down and life settled into a level pace of normalcy.   Back to work, home and the gym,  finding peace in the gift of a daily routine. 
The mailman has either decided to ignore my nose on the window, or is used to it by now, or perhaps is too frightened to address it.
I'm grateful that the phone does not have video output.   Both the cell and the house phone are within reach no matter where I go...the kitchen, the bedroom, the office and yup.....you guessed it, the shower.  I've got it down to a science...I can turn off water, mute the radio and say hello in 2 seconds flat. Were there Olympic Gold for such behavior, I'd  be standing on the top of the podium glistening in gold.
No coach needed,  neurosis needs no tutor.
We've now received two letters.  The first took 5 days to arrive from the date written, so it was hard to guess how much may have changed since it was penned.  He says he is still doing well, has been bunked with a fellow he really likes..and who "takes it pretty seriously, which is nice because a lot of guys don't".  Threw up after all the vaccinations, as did many of the guys.  (At this point I wonder if the army needs my help down there taking care of those poor guys).  Holding my breath with every word, I wonder if each letter and small scrap of news will cause my now familiar sensation of gasping for air.  
There's a smattering of .initialed mumbo jumbo like ACU, BCT and at least one I recognize, the PX.  I have no idea what those things mean, so off to google I go.
It's reassuring to read the comfort in the words written.   A settled peace in each sentence.

On Thursday, he called briefly one more time, this time with the news of his pending move "downrange".  The real world of Army basic training. 
And  blessed with one more split second of a call to tell us that the address he sent is not correct..and that we should wait until we get a new one before we send letters. 
So it's back to stalking that poor mailman and bathing with the phone. 
Praying, waiting and gasping for air.

Clinging with all I have, the peace that transcends all.









 

Stalking the mailman

I've become one of those slightly nutty ladies peering from behind the curtain as the mailman approaches.  Hopefully he has not noticed that I've become obsessed with his timing and each step as he carries news to each doorstep. .  Watching his every move as he works his way around to our house, at the very end of his lap around the block. 
We'd read  that the new soldiers were strongly "encouraged" to contact family sometime in the first 48 hours after arriving at base.  36 hours after watching Michael move out of our sight...we're waiting.
I'm terrified that our phones will all die.  Worried sick that our mailbox will fade from view and we'll miss "the call" or "the letter". 
Heading to work is a real dilemma...what if the call comes while my phone is in my locker.  What's Michael going to think if there's only voice mail to hear him?
I trust God..but I'm not so sure about Sprint and the US Postal service. 
Dragging my sleep deprived self to work on Friday morning I am discouraged, convinced that I going to miss the first call from our family soldier.  Disappointed at having to leave my post behind the curtain. 
My coworkers had put up with and supported my tears yesterday, but I was ill prepared for their greeting today...."do you want to go home?".  Well, duh!  My feet never touched the ground as I race out the door.
Fifteen minutes late my phone rings.
Time stopped as I heard the first news.  He's fine, has had no sleep, has no hair left and is full of holes from all the vaccinations he got yesterday.  Food is "not bad at all", and uniforms come tomorrow.  His voice is light and he sounds genuinely happy.  We part with I love you's and we're praying.  Wow.
In seconds it's over.

Now it's back to stalking the mailman.  Waiting and watching behind the curtain.
Living life as normally as possible, pretending not to notice the empty space in the house.

And finding joy in each precious day.