Guess who’s coming to dinner?
I am not talking about the 1960’s Spencer Tracy movie that was dealing with race relations. I am talking about an unwanted guest. I am talking about a visitor who showed up tonight, not welcomed — he is unwanted, and he is deeply hated.
We had a pretty laid back day today. My son is tired and he pretty much stayed around the house with me all day. We watched a movie. We chatted some. We raked leaves into a pile that is sadly beginning to look surmountable to Mt. Fuji. We laughed some and we yawned at times too. Emma was in the middle of it all. She would run, jump, play and scatter the leaves as we worked, collected and gathered them. It was a beautiful day here, weather wise. Maybe this is why I was taken off guard when our unwanted guest showed up for dinner.
Tonight I made one of his top ten favorites. I have everything I need to make several of his favorites while he is home. I think that this is something that almost all military moms do when their soldier comes home from war. We feed them. We watch them and we feed them. I guess that is really just about all we can do at the moment. So, I was working on getting the preparations done for the big family dinner and I noticed my soldier’s demeanor change quickly. He went from being interactive to very sullen and withdrawn. He walked toward the kitchen after a while and I could see it on his face. Grief. It was then that I knew that our night was going to be interrupted by this rude and unwanted company. He had just received bad news from Iraq.
Three soldiers are dead. One is a friend and one is an acquaintance. He made an effort to sit and eat with us, but he could only go through the motions. He excused himself, and we all understood. He’s sleeping now and that’s good. All I could do is tell him how sorry I am for what has happened. He knows it. This is not the first loss he has had to face, but I pray it be the last.
I went through the motions myself tonight. I feel a little disconnected. I didn’t know if I should gently place my dishes in the dishwasher, or throw them through the kitchen window. I chose the route that allowed me to exercise that self-control muscle. So, here I sit blogging. He’s asleep and I am blogging and tonight three families are devastated beyond belief. Damn it.
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