*sigh*

I've got a week left. One measly week before the worry takes over again.

Dad's going soon. Friday and Saturday, I get a weekend with my parents, and then...

When he went the first time, I spent 2 days waiting for news after we'd been told that he was travelling the road to Bagdad. It was during those two days that I realized I couldn't read or listen to the news. Someone who had been kidnapped was beheaded that week, and my sadness for their family was compounded by the ulcer inducing worry for my dad.

I mean, this isn't like the Christmas I begged for a Nerf fencing set and Dad and I (and my sibs) had those foam foils pretty thoroughly destroyed by Christmas dinner. We were Errol Flynn's Robin Hood, buccaneers, and Wesley from the Princess Bride rolled into one,all over the living room, down the hall, even up the tree in the front yard. With each successful round, the victor would call out, "Hey, you're dead. Toss the sword over." and the next round would begin, while the defeated person would catch their breath and snag some applecake and cider.

Guns and explosives don't allow for cider breaks afterwards. This isn't like historic reenactment, where the two sides often retire to a neighborhood pub after practice for something to eat and a game of darts.

And neither fencing nor reenactment leave behind participants who visibly shake when a coal truck goes past on the road outside. I want my dad back.