Welcome Home, Daddy?
Mood:  sad
Now Playing: "Dirty Wings," by The Megan Slankard Band
Something happened today that compelled me to start this journal.

This morning I took my dog Loki outside to do his business, like I do every morning. It was a cool, crisp morning, the chilly air giving an indication that Fall is just around the corner.

Then I see them. Hanging and flapping in the summer breeze. On two houses directly across the street, and one on my friend and neighbor's house nextdoor, were large, white homemade "Welcome Home" signs for their daddies and/or husbands returning home from Iraq.

My husband, HM3 D.C. Fraser, III, a Navy Hospital Corpsman stationed at Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune, NC with the 1st Battalion of the 8th Marines, has been there with his unit since June 24, 2004--the longest day of my life. Close to three months have gone by. Almost five more months to go.

After witnessing the joyful banners--Welcome home, daddy!; a big yellow smiley face; red, white and blue; big red hearts--so many mixed emotions came over me. My gut felt twisted and ill and my heart ached. I wanted to vomit. I mean, I was happy their husbands were coming home. The kids will be able to hug their daddies again. The wives will be able to feel their husband's arms around them again. But I wished it was my husband coming home, not theirs. My husband. My best friend. My lover. My soulmate. I want to hang a "Welcome Home" sign on MY house.

I felt selfish, jealous, envious. And guilty for feeling that way. But I was also elated for them.

My mother-in-law told me, "...your day is going to come, too. And there'll be other women who will be jealous of you, and guilty for feeling that way, too. ...remember the ones who will never hang one of those (banners)..." So, how can I argue with that?

I still get to hear from my husband--emails, letters, and best of all, a phone call once in a while. The sound of his voice still makes my heart flutter again like the day we met or the first time we kissed. To hear his voice solidifies the knowledge that he is okay and he is safe.

I'm glad I'm not alone though. My 15-year-old son has been my rock. He senses when I'm down and missing his stepfather, even though I try and hide it. I'm proud of him as much as I am proud of my husband.

*sigh* And this is a day in the life of a military spouse...