Heading back over

The first time I had to say goodbye to my loved ones and head to Iraq I did it all wrong. There were over a dozen family and friends with me at the airport to see me off. Now I can bite my lip and keep a dry eye with just a few people to say goodbye to, but fifteen was quite a ways beyond my threshold. But at least my agony began to abate after I gave my last hug and began walking towards the terminal. No such luck for the rest of my entourage. They had to stand there and watch as I made the long walk to the security area, fading farther and farther away from them. This time around, returning to Iraq from two weeks of R & R, I wasn’t about to repeat that experience.

I said the majority of my goodbyes to my family a few days before I left, and had one finally liver busting finale with my friends. The morning of my flight I woke up late, still bleary-eyed from the previous night’s overindulgences. My father and stepmother came to pick me up and give me a ride to the airport. Finding that I was barely packed and not yet conscious, they woke me up, helped me throw my stuff in a bag and hurried me out the door. By the time we reached the airport there wasn’t even time for prolonged teary goodbyes. I had to board my flight and leave all of my loved ones and the amazing two weeks we shared together behind me. I didn’t shed any tears this time, and if anyone else cried then they didn’t do it in front of me.

As I roamed the Dallas airport waiting for my connecting flight I passed dozens of soldiers, each one raising their eyes to mine with a knowing look. All of us knew how the others felt and the difficult time they were having transitioning from life at home back to life as a soldier. No one feels much like talking and we all walk alone, retracing our steps over and over, waiting.

By the time I reached Kuwait, after a full day of air travel, I felt completely and utterly separate. That is by far the worst part about heading back here, the feeling of desperate loneliness. For the last two weeks I was surrounded by family and friends, basking in constant attention. But here I found myself without friends, in unfamiliar surroundings. Before long you begin to wish that you were just back in Iraq, in your room with your own stuff, laughing and joking with the soldiers who have become your close friends over the last year.

Eventually, I ran into a few guys from my brigade and spent a few hours hanging out with them, reliving the good times and funny stories that we each had had back home. Just my luck, however, my flight out of Kuwait was canceled. My friends left that morning leaving me to spend another night walking aimlessly. I remember at one point that another soldier asked me where the latrines were. I pointed my finger at a line of Porta-Johns and said, “There.” My voice was horse and I realized that “there” had been the first word I had spoken in nearly 24 hours.

I admit that my sense of depression is probably more self-imposed than anything else. I don’t much feel like engaging in small talk or seeking out company. I guess I just need a few days to feel sorry for myself before I’m prepared to refocus on my mission and get back to work. Better to wallow in a little pity here in relative safety than mope back at my base where my head needs to be in the game.

I am feeling a lot better about the situation now than this post probably makes it seem. I was aware from the beginning that my time at home would seem fleeting and worked hard to enjoy every minute instead of worrying about leaving again. I look forward to getting back to my platoon and getting these next few months over with. There are two kinds of people who return to Iraq from leave. Those angry and depressed at the shock of being back, and those energized by the great time they had at home and the fond memories they have made. I am determined to be the latter.