Relief
The receptionist at my office came over to my desk...
"Your mom is on the phone." My mouth went dry, my heart was pounding. I knew what she said she'd do if it was bad news, and instead of a call, I'd be getting my husband showing up at the office, but I still practically ran for the phone.
He's out of Iraq.
But the war goes on without him. Unfortunately, he will still have the war within himself. While I have a deep, deep sense of relief, I also know what he was like when he came back last time, taut and jumpy, scanning every shadow, jumping at the sound of trucks, ready to react at any second, yet sometimes sitting and staring at nothing - watching the program listings on the television just to have something to look at, sometimes just staring at empty walls. This time, at least I know what to expect.
And this is what disgusts me when representatives of this administration claim to understand the sacrifices my family has made. Have they ever anxiously scanned the face of someone they knew and loved, looking for some trace of that person in the familiar face? Have they sat up nights, worried beyond belief, knowing that all they can do is send an email that may not be read for days? Waited hopefully for a phone call? Prayed that some trace of the person they know will survive in the body that returns?
When I went to send Dad off this time, I was literally sick to my stomach, my stomach refusing to accept the situation. Ms. Rice, Mr. Bush, until you've had to lay your hands right quick on a clean shirt because you're so sickened by what's going on but still have to carry on, don't you DARE to tell me you understand.
"Your mom is on the phone." My mouth went dry, my heart was pounding. I knew what she said she'd do if it was bad news, and instead of a call, I'd be getting my husband showing up at the office, but I still practically ran for the phone.
He's out of Iraq.
But the war goes on without him. Unfortunately, he will still have the war within himself. While I have a deep, deep sense of relief, I also know what he was like when he came back last time, taut and jumpy, scanning every shadow, jumping at the sound of trucks, ready to react at any second, yet sometimes sitting and staring at nothing - watching the program listings on the television just to have something to look at, sometimes just staring at empty walls. This time, at least I know what to expect.
And this is what disgusts me when representatives of this administration claim to understand the sacrifices my family has made. Have they ever anxiously scanned the face of someone they knew and loved, looking for some trace of that person in the familiar face? Have they sat up nights, worried beyond belief, knowing that all they can do is send an email that may not be read for days? Waited hopefully for a phone call? Prayed that some trace of the person they know will survive in the body that returns?
When I went to send Dad off this time, I was literally sick to my stomach, my stomach refusing to accept the situation. Ms. Rice, Mr. Bush, until you've had to lay your hands right quick on a clean shirt because you're so sickened by what's going on but still have to carry on, don't you DARE to tell me you understand.
posted by Plain Foolish | 7:42 AM
3 Comments:
*hugs*
So, so glad he's at least out of the shooting. More to be done, but tat's the big first step.
Yeah, I know. And I'm very relieved, but I'm also still ticked.
Oh yes, absolutely. And likely to remain so until well after the war's finally over, because it'll be a lifetime and more until its effects have eased. :/
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