Trying to Catch Up

Brian called on Dec. 11th and said, "They gave me two days off. I bought a flight and I'll be home at 11 pm tonight." It was a huge surprise. We were all so excited to get to see Brian one last time before he headed out to Afghanistan. The kids didn't know he was coming home. He flew in late after they had gone to bed. The next morning, Sophia came into my bedroom to talk to me. I told her to go to the other side of the bed and climb up by me. When she tried, she realized Brian was there. She squealed and giggled and began covering his face with kisses. She kept patting his face, and with little giggles repeated, "It's my daddy, it's my daddy." We enjoyed every minute of the 56 hours we got with him. We made gingerbread houses together and the kids all got a present from Brian (bathrobes). The night before Brian had to fly out, Florence climbed up onto Brian's lap and began sobbing. Florence clung to her dad’s neck, sobs shaking her tiny frame as she said several times, “But, I don’t want you to go, daddy.” Brian hugged her a little tighter as he shot me a desperate glance. He tried to reassure her, “I’ll come back, sweetheart, I always do." I turned back to stare out the kitchen window as I scrubbed the dishes. I didn’t want her to see my tears, too. Of course, none of us wanted Brian to leave, but Florence seemed to struggle with it the most. Brian and I both knew why and it made the separation hurt all the more. Florence’s tears were shed, not just for her new daddy’s deployment, but for every other adult in her life that had promised to return, but never did. For her twelve-year-old birth mother who didn’t know how to be a mother and left her with a neighbor. For the neighbor who became the only mother she really knew but then abandoned her to the orphanage. For me, the adoptive mother who took her from the only country and people she had ever known. To her, it must seem that everyone and everything she loves abandons her. Now, once again, all of those feelings of desperation and anxiety have surfaced with Brian leaving. With each tear that rolled down her sweet little face, I could imagine those same tears being shed each night in the orphanage. We knew this time was different, but how can you explain that to a child who has only ever known sorrow and abandonment? It really made everything that much sadder. But, on the other hand, I think it will make everything that much better next Christmas when he comes home.

Brian flew back to Kentucky (Ft. Campbell) and finished getting ready to go. He flew to Germany, then Kyrgyztan, and then into Afganistan. He is finally getting over jet lag and settling in. He starts work in the clinic today for him, tomorrow for me. (This twelve hour difference thing is really throwing us all for a loop. When one of us says good morning, the other is saying good night. The kids don't get it.) He lives in a plywood cubicle, which he says is better than what a lot of the soldiers have to sleep in or on. He thinks the food is good--mostly because there is lots of it. He is very lonely and misses us as much as we miss him. It is going to be a hard year for all of us, I suppose. For the most part, we are all hanging in there. Today was really hard being Christmas. I've never been without him on Christmas. Then the other day was very difficult as well because I'm a bit of a drama queen these days. Brian informed me that day that one week of the month he will be flying meddevac flights into combat zones to bring out casualties. I was less than thrilled to hear that because I only personally know one person that died in combat and that was in a helicopter accident. Two hours after hearing this, the UPS man knocked on my door with a document delivery. Inside was Brian's last will and testament. It was too much for me and I spent the evening in tears. I know I am being so silly. Brian actually has a great set up all things considering. I guess you can't send your husband to war and expect that he'll just sit in a recliner and watch the action on T.V. My husband is a good man and rarely complains about his situation. I am trying to learn to be a tough woman like all those other army wives that I am friends with whose husband's are on their fourth deployments. I probably will finally say, "Okay, I'm tough, this is no big deal afterall," sometime next November right before he gets home.

Here are some pictures Brian posted on Facebook. Top: Bagram Air Field, Afghanistan, Bottom: Brian's living quarters for the next year.

As a final interesting note, Diamond's birthmother Miatta has been calling lately. It has been a whole year since I brought them home and now she decides to call. I knew why right away--she wants money. I asked her if she wanted to talk to Diamond, which she really didn't seem to want that. She asked for money and I told her that I wasn't sure I felt comfortable about it, first of all, and second of all, I don't have a way to get it to her. There's no postal service there. It really irritated me that she would ask for money. Isn't feeding, clothing, and educating her son enough? It made me feel like she had sold her son to me for a connection to money in the United States. I've not sent any money because that concept irritates me and it probably encourages other people to give up their children for that reason--which is more like selling your children. Also, I don't want Diamond to figure out as he gets older that the only time his birth mother calls is when she wants money and that she isn't that interested in him. The first call was several weeks ago. She called again yesterday and this time asked to talk to Diamond. I don't know if she was going to ask him to ask me for money or what, but it didn't matter Diamond pretty much ended the matter. I handed him the phone and he kept saying, "What are you saying? I don't understand you." Finally, he handed me the phone and said, "She just can't understand anything I'm saying." I told him that's because you speak like an American now and she speaks like a Liberian. He smiled really big, very proud to be an American. I suddenly felt like he was all my son now. Not that I want to discredit Miatta, I am thankful for her sacrifice--but I have finally now fully filled the role as his and Florence's mother. That is a good feeling.