The phone call came Wednesday morning, during the middle of deadline for the weekly newspapers I work for. I immediately grabbed my cell phone out of my purse, put down the proofs I was editing, and answered. I knew it was from David, my son, in Baghdad.
He was heading out to Baquoba, about 35 miles north of Baghdad, by helicopter, that night.
By night, I asked? I tried to imagine flying over the surface of the desert, which he had said looked like pictures of Mars, in the night.
Yeah, that's the way we do it, he said.
I grasped then the safety of flying at night, lights low, making them less of a target. But I also thought of the copters that had been shot down. I did not say that.
I asked instead if he felt ready to go.
He had heard me ask this before, and had his answer rehearsed.
He felt well trained, he was ready to meet up with the (platoon? sorry, David, if I have the term wrong) of Stryker team members he'd be guiding. This is his first tour of duty, and he is joining a team from Ft. Lewis, Wash., that has already been in Iraq for at least eight months.
I told him, unhelpfully I'm sure, it was OK to be afraid, that fear would keep him sharp.
He didn't want to hear that, so instead we talked about movies, Tony Soprano, bit torrent software, and that his grandfather had been in the hospital briefly but was back at the assisted living facility where he resides.
Then there seemed little more to say. I told him, I loved him, to stay safe, and that we would send him things when he got a permanent APO. He reminded me that in the Army, no news is good news.
And since then, no word, no e-mail, no post on his blog. It is now late Saturday night. I don't to hear from him for a while. Too say he is busy is some kind of understatement, but the definition is unclear. I don't know yet what he is doing. Did the Army send him out to fight right away in the active Diyala Province? Or, is he doing what he has done each time he goes to a new post: fill out reams of paperwork and sit around and wait?
I just know it is past 10 p.m. here, which means no one in a chaplain's uniform can knock on my door until the next morning.
1 comment:
Calls anytime are what I told him as well. Every time my phone rings these days, my heart jumps. Last night I was in the middle of a crowded dance floor at a concert and I felt a vibration in my pocket and just knew, before I even flipped it open. I answered it screaming, "Don't hang up!" as I fought through the crowd to an exit, forgetting to get a re-entry stamp, and ran out into the pouring rain where I could finally hear his voice. I sat on the curb, soaked and muddy, catching up for as long as we could until his phone cut out or his phonecard ran out.
I guess we'll take it where we can get it these days?
Post a Comment