The Long Goodbye

The sound of Luca's snoring buzzes in relief against the still quiet of the house. That and the sound of the clock ticking down the seconds until K is gone. These days the passage of time is first and foremost in my mind. Precious days left, followed by nine months of quiet. Nine months when these soft sounds – Luca and the clock – will be my constant companions… plus the sound of my own voice. I fully anticipate that by the end of my husband's deployment I will be talking to myself.

At first I will talk to the dog because I do that now anyway. This will be peppered with the utterances of early onset CRS.* ("Why did I come upstairs? Was it the laundry? No… Something to do with the bathroom? Why did I bring this pen up? Oh yes, I remember now…") Again, something I already do. But as the quiet sets in and I find myself missing the sharing of thoughts and feelings each day, I'm quite certain I will end up sharing with a room full of rapt nobody. I'm OK with that… as long as I don't deteriorate into maniacal cackling and delirious rambling.

Over the past few weeks, my little family's world has been contracting. I've been struck by this myopic shift as K has said his goodbyes. It's been difficult on beloved family and friends who say, "let's talk again" to which K replies "no" with a heavy heart. It's the deployment version of getting off the phone in high school. ("On the count of three, hang up. One… two… three… You didn't hang up!"). No one wants to say goodbye.

Our goodbye has been stretching out for months, years even. Yes, we knew we would be facing this when he joined the Army. Yes, we've been lucky to have so much time together. Yes, we have had the luxury of advanced warning. But I can feel our world tightening in these last few days as we cling to each other in our final hours before the great unknown. From here, our world will burst open, expanding across the globe like our own little big bang. From here we will each be navigating new worlds. From here we are already looking forward to homecoming, to when things get back to normal, while knowing that can never be. We will each be changed by this upcoming experience. But aren't we all always?

In the meantime, we can only do our best… even if it ends up involving maniacal cackling and delirious rambling.

* Can't Remember Shit: a medical condition that occurs with advancing age.