In ten days, my Airman will be on sandless ground. Then, I will begin to breath, sleep, and live again. This has been the longest six months of my life. At least when I was pregnant with him, I could feel his movements and knew Just Where He Was. These months, I haven't. It has been tough. I think that is part of why I have shut down for nearly the past year. I haven't been able to bear anyone asking about him because I would force back tears. Is that understandable?
The Airman said that seeing the two HumVees in front of you hit a land mine changes how you see the world. It changes for the Mum of said Airman as well. I have always seen life as a series of ticking boxes: house, check; husband, check; college, check; job, check; check, check, check. I have a tendency to be too busy... to try to do too many things in too short a time. Thus, nothing is a pleasure. It is a check mark. It is D O N E.
My Airman has taught me that it is the moment that matters. To slow down and really savor what one is doing Right Now. To stop and look at the frost on the windshield before I scrape it off; savor the berries I pop in my mouth; sip my tea; and, just be. I have learned to say "no" to the things I don't really want to do. It isn't because I don't want to be with someone, see something, go somewhere. It is that I want to be more focused and less rushed. Less busy. And I have started, when someone says, "I know you are busy..." to stop them right there and say, "yes, I am, but thank you." It feels good.
In 21 days, hopefully, my Airman will be flying through this continent long enough that I can see him somewhere, hug him a million times, and try not to cry while doing it. He hates for me to cry. "Ah, Mum, be cool. It's not that big of deal," he'll say. And I will reply, "Hush, sir. I am busy savoring the moment."