Hun, I got my orders.

Ever got the wind knocked out of you? Remember falling off jungle gyms as a kid? That’s what those words just felt like to me. That feeling of having to will yourself to breathe again, to force your heart to start beating again.

And I knew these words were coming. I’ve known for so long; months, even more than a year. M was always going to deploy, some time after fellowship, and hopefully before too long so that he could be home with us again. You know, get it out of the way.

We’ve also known, for a few weeks now, that what we thought would be a summer deployment got moved up, thanks to another doctor who was supposed to leave this February but was medically disqualified for deployment and failed to tell anyone about it... (Yes, many questions about this person, the reason, the situation, and why the “system” didn’t know about it will forever remain unanswered.) But we’ve known that M was going to go, and going sooner means coming home sooner. So, day by day, we’ve waited, inched along and tried to pretend like everything was as it always has been, though now we were beginning lists of what has to happen before he leaves (household fixes, extending our lease, filling out all kinds of legal paperwork, and finding childcare coverage for work trips and evening responsibilities that I thought M would be here for).

But to hear those words. To see the jibberish that is the actual written orders; it’s just not the same as before, when you thought maybe, just maybe, this was all some conversation. Not your life, your loved one.

So, if you're reading this, please do something for me. Let’s all put aside politics and idealogies and for one moment, take a deep breath, and embrace each other (at least virtually) for all those moments when news like this is delivered. We've all been or will be there. It is so powerful, feels so final, and is so solemn.

And let’s fast forward to another day, when I will be writing an eekonward post entitled, “Homecoming.”