Friday Favorites - Homecoming

If you've been a long time reader of this little blog, you might remember reading THIS POST I wrote back in October, a few days before my brother-in-law was getting deployed to Afghanistan (his second tour). 

Here's a snippet:

"...it takes a special and honorable person to do what he does.  To want to be an asset to this country despite having to leave his family for 9 long months - through birthdays, holidays, and, more importantly, random ordinary days.  To live in a converted shipping container with only a cot, a scratchy blanket and a flattened pillow to sleep on.  To not have the luxury to enjoy the changing seasons or to take an evening walk or to snuggle with your pets or even take a boring trip to the grocery store.  

To not be able to go to Target." 

Last night, after nine months -- nine months -- he returned safely home. 

I could easily end this post right there, as those four words are favorite enough for this week — and the previous 36 — but (as usual) I have a little more to say. 

Like how I'm ashamed of myself for sometimes letting weeks at a time go by after that first month without being conscious of where he was. And how after awhile I grew comfortable in feeling he was safe which all but erased the uncertainty and fear I had for him before he left. 

My sister, on the other hand, lived it every day. Because they don't have kids and because they're hundreds of miles away from family, she was very aware of his absence and where he was, for all of those 260-odd days. 

To say she bonded with their cats in a new way would not be an exaggeration. 

But the point is, for the men and women who are serving overseas as well as for the families they leave behind, "homecoming" is so much more than a compound word and a lame dance you're expected to go to in high school.  It's the exhale; the release of the fear and tension they've had bottled up for the past 9+ months that is at long last able to be replaced with excitement, happiness and relief. It's gratitude. It's jubilation. It's everything.  

I wish you all could see the photos I've been looking at today on his Calvary's Facebook page that illustrate what I'm talking about. Over the past week there've been three platoons that have come home, with ceremonies and celebrations attended by bleachers full of family members. 

There's a million poster board "Welcome Home" signs and balloons; small children dressed in Army fatigues; American flags painted on faces and fingernails; and babies -- so many babies! Babies with onsies that say, "I've been waiting all my life for this hug." &/or holding signs that say, "I've been waiting my whole life to meet you!" along with their proud (and tired) mamas who are all dressed up waiting nervously to, at last, have their family complete. 

There's photos of the soldiers getting off the busses, the sparkle in their eyes far outweighing their obvious fatigue.

There's photos of the ceremony, where the soldiers, standing straight and proud, are welcomed home by other Army officials and congratulated for their service and their accomplishments. 

Then there's the photos of the soldiers finally -- finally -- getting the hugs they've been craving throughout all those long, fearful, dusty days in the desert and that the family members at home have been imagining during those lonely, never ending days and nights.  Dads (and moms) hugging children who are crying with happiness; men who look like babies they're so young holding tightly to their girlfriends; families in group hugs; new dads holding their baby for the first time...

Homecoming. 

The word takes on a whole new meaning.

So to my brother-in-law I'd like to say, "Welcome Home!" -- but it's not enough. 

Those two words aren't enough to convey the happiness and thankfulness I feel that you're home safely and the pride I have in what you do and what you sacrifice.

To my sister I'd like to say, "Congratulations!"??  "Well Done!"?? 

Nah...I think to my sister I'll just say, "Go drop some scratch at Victoria's Secret and enjoy." 

Oh, and D? For the love of god, man, get your butt to Target. 

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