A year ago today was three days after I first got the phone call that Seth was alive and a little banged up. Three days, or a lifetime of sleepless nights and heart-in-your-throat moments and crying jags and waiting for phone calls from the road, depending on how you measure it.
A year ago today I fled some fiscal law class hours early, grabbed my already-packed bag, changed outfits three times, got 20 minutes down the road before I had to pull over at a gas station and- I am not joking- gulp most of a 40 of some cheap beer or other leaning on the hood of my car, nearly had a nervous breakdown when I hit traffic, and eventually made it to Andrews Air Force Base where I promptly lost the directions I had carefully written down and spent an hour wandering around lost and panicked and wishing desperately that I had the rest of that 40.
A year ago today I nervously waited in some colonel's office for that plane. Watched the sun start to set over the runway. And felt my heart leap into my throat and my blood pound in my ears as I saw the plane, Seth's plane, circle lower and lower and prepare to land. I stood off to the side, out of place and feeling both ridiculous and hysterical while customs officials got ready to board. I couldn't wait any longer, and was elated when some general officer brushed them aside, told me imperiously to "come with me" over protest, and shoved his way on board dragging me in his wake. The sides of the plane closed in around me as I looked from face to miserable face, and raced past the rows of stretchers. And then I saw him, bearded and beat up and druggy but reaching for me.
People ask me sometimes whether it was hard to make the decision to be "all in" with a guy I had been dating for only a few months before the IED blast changed everything. The answer is no. I didn't think about it for even one second. If you're ever lucky enough to feel the feeling that washed over me on that evening at Andrews, you hang on and never let go. And so I have.
Today, on this oddest and most wonderful of anniversaries, I remember the wait. For the plane to get there, to land, to open its doors, to let me just see the person who meant everything in the world to me. I feel gratitude for and cameraderie with the people who know that wait. Danielle Kelly and Jess Klein and the women who I now think of as sisters, because no one else will ever quite exactly understand. I am grateful for the parents- Seth's, especially, who I met for the first time the following day at the hospital, and who never made me feel like that was weird. Their wait, and their journey, is hard- and not quite the same, but there is so much love and shared understanding. For my own parents, who did cooking and yardwork and were always just solidly there. For my best friend who met Seth at the emergency room on a work night because I was stuck in traffic, and who brought me a flask and a hug. For Jackie and her Air Force friends who didn't know me but who jumped through hoops and bent a rule or two to allow me to be there, for that moment on the runway. And were happy to do it. For my roommate who did my laundry and made sure I ate, and our friends and family who were patient and understanding and supportive in little ways and big ones.
Today, too, I think of those whose wait is at Dover instead. My heart will forever bleed for those who watch for a different kind of aircraft.
Today we celebrate life and love, and are grateful. And will never forget.
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