the homecoming

It was Valentine’s Day and I was sitting in my car trying to figure out if the sweater I had chosen to wear was actually pink, or faded to the point of an awkward grey. I decided to give up this particular endeavor, and go into the CMR (community mail room) to continue my errands, when my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. “Mrs. Willey, I’m just calling to let you know your husband is on his way home.” I am sure the caller said some things after that, but that was all I heard. I half cried, half giggled as I hung up the phone and skipped back to my car. I had to just sit still in the car before I was able to drive, I felt like the world looked different- brighter, sharper. I finally gave into the tears and let them come. The tears were no stranger to me, but these were different. They were the same big, warm drops that had fallen down my cheeks since last February, but these tears consisted of pure joy, thankfulness, and promise.

I finally pulled it together long enough to grab an energy drink from the store (I knew sleep was not in the cards for me that day) and make the 20 minute drive home. I honestly cannot remember what I did in the hours since I got that phone call and driving back to base to pick my husband up. I know I took an obnoxiously long time to get ready, making sure each tendril of hair was in its proper place, and redoing the upwards flick of my kitten eye makeup four times. 

The hours inched by, taunting me I just know it, until at last it was time to drive to base. It was 11 PM, the night was a cold, beautiful darkness that seemed to be celebrating with me. The thick snowflakes flying madly around my car seemed to be twirling to a frenzied, elated dance that said, “We know! We are so happy too!” I made it to the gym where the ceremony was to be held, and I rushed into the big, bright, and warm gym. Although it was nearing midnight, the gym was packed with spouses, children, friends, and fellow soldiers. There was an energy buzzing throughout the place that was palpable, you could taste it and you could certainly feel it coursing through the veins of everyone there. I have the greatest friends in the world, and they all showed up with cameras in hand, sleepy and happy for me. 

For a girl who cries at the thought of a drop of a hat, I held it together surprisingly well. I think I was too numb, too in shock at what was about to happen, to truly let the emotions and magnitude of the situation get to me. I busied myself chatting with my friends, reading the welcome home banners made with so much love, and studying the other spouses. Besides the perfect face of makeup at 1 AM and the 4-inch stilettoes, I could spot a spouse in an instant. Whether it was the nervous jiggling of a leg, or the mile-wide smiles that left no room for any other expression, we were easy to pick out. I remember having to take really deep breaths, and remind myself to keep breathing, as it got closer to the time. Finally, a soldier grabbed the microphone and said, “Are you ready to welcome your soldier home!?” As the gym erupted into cheers and clapping, the double doors burst open and the soldiers began marching in. 

They all looked the same in their multicam hats and tired, but hopeful faces. I began to panic as soldier after soldier marched in and I still had not seen mine. Just as I began to feel the frightened tears well up, I spotted him. “ZACK!” I screamed, flailing my arms wildly and jumping up and down. My antics worked, because he looked directly at me and smiled that beautiful smile that makes my insides dissolve. A few words were said, a quick prayer, and then, “Okay, now go get your soldier!” I hopped off the bleachers and my eyes began their quick, darting survey of faces with three day old stubble and name tapes. It was a sea of browns and greens surrounding me and I felt as though I was drowning in anticipation and multicam.

For a brief, blessed moment, the ocean of people swallowing me parted, and he was standing there. In reality it was probably only a millisecond, but it seemed like eternity as we took each other in with our eyes and crossed the distance. He scooped me up in his arms as I buried my face into his neck, and as cliché as it is, at that moment we were the only two people in that gymnasium. The noise and sight of everyone around me ceased to exist, and all I could comprehend was the thud of my heartbeat in my ears, the feel of the back of his neck, and my silent song of, “thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.” He was home- my husband and best friend was home for good. I let out of a sigh of relief that I didn’t realize I had been holding in for a year. No longer did I have to worry whether or not my husband was alive or go to bed lonely. The year-long ache, tenseness, and sadness tore themselves out of my soul, and flew away. 

On the drive home my face was flushed with emotion, and I remember wanting to put my hot cheeks against the cool glass of the window, but I could not tear my eyes away from him. I was afraid if I even blinked, he would disappear and this would all have been an elaborate dream. I couldn’t stop touching him, because he was so solid, so real, sitting not three feet away from me. His smell and taste that I had come dangerously close to forgetting came flooding back, and we spent the night attempting to play catch-up on the past year of our lives we had missed. Our mouths couldn't get the stories out fast enough, or the kisses out quick enough.

That night in bed, as my eyelids began to grow heavy, I did as I always did and stretched my leg over to the other side of the bed. But unlike all the other nights when I felt nothing but chilly sheets, this time I felt a warm body. A warm body that sighed in its sleep, wrapped its arms around me and pulled me in close. A warm body that was half of my soul, had all of my heart, and would be staying with me for a very long time. And that night I fell asleep with the weight of the world somewhere else. 

My husband was home from war.