I got whiny a couple of days ago, no doubt because I'm feeling the splendid isolation of my beach resort caregiving. So after several days of carrying my cell phone everywhere, I e-mailed
David told him to call me when he had a chance.
He e-mailed back that he was on his way to Kuwait but would call when he got there -- which he did two hours after getting off the C-130.
He's still 3-4 weeks from home, but as he's recorded in his blog (http://fightnicelychildren.blogspot.com/) it's much safer if not as well equipped in some ways.
I was relieved to hear his voice. I really didn't think anything had happened because I knew he was on the FOB near Baghdad out of any combat operations and there hadn't been news of FOB attacks, but still it made me uneasy.
I think now of the generations of mothers going back to ancient Greeks who didn't hear from their sons for 10 years or more, or never heard from them again or knew what happened to them at all. I can only imagine a knot of anxiety that stayed in their chests for all the time their sons (and daughters) were gone, and for some, that knot turned into a lump that never went away.
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