With Eric all packed the night before, we got to sleep in till 4am.

Which gave us a little time to try to wake-up before heading off to the hangar.

[yeah, didn't really work so well]

It was dark. It was cold. It was dark…did I mention it was dark?

One by one the guys arrived lugging their own over-stuffed, cram-packed & way-too-heavy gear.

For us it was easy – we had a car. Pile it up & take off.

But for the majority who live in the barracks - clear on the other side of the base – it meant hailing down an on-base taxi or bumming rides from those with cars.

Nobody wanted to walk their roughly 150 lbs of gear through the cold & dark all the way to the other side.

And one by one the pile of camo-covered gear spread out wider & wider. Each soldier trying to keep his stuff separated from the other’s as long as possible.

I mean, come on…

Have you ever tried finding your camo-covered bag in a sea of exactly identical camo-covered bags?

No?…

Ok, how ’bout your black luggage at the airport baggage claim?

[my apologies to the 2 men who read my blog for the obligatory butt shot - just couldn't resist]

There was last minute packing, unpacking, situating, re-situating & cramming in lovely high-nutritional value vending-machine dispensed goodies – in vibrant chemical colors with artificial sweeteners.

There was lots of standing about, shuffling of boots – trying to keep feet warm.

And Eric…running back to the car to grab the last bag - his assault pack – complete with space-bag-squished woobie, his mini-medicine chest ziploc full of cough drops & DayQuil, the extra wool socks & beef jerky.

Because the boy can’t go anywhere without beef jerky.

Woobie- Not a technical term obviously, but a sentimental one. Woobie’s are the greatest Army-invented travel/snuggle blanket ever. And one day I hope to have enough money to be able to give one away just so you can see what I’m talking about. But yes, it too is camo-covered.

And then he was gone.

A mass of green in a sea of little green Army men.

It wasn’t hard to see him go – not as stupidly hard as it was to watch him pack.

(Still can’t believe how much that memory messed with me.)

But it was a kind of deja-vu.

I’ve been in the dark before – at an un-godly hour – outside a non-descript military building - trying not to trip over the endless piles of camo-covered bags – scanning the sea of little green men for the one that mattered.

It was 2004.

But he wasn’t leaving - he was coming home.

And he was covered in sand.

This is Eric’s gear for the field…well, almost all of it anyway.

What you don’t see is the duffle bag on the floor & his A pack – already loaded up.

It’s all the typical gear:

• Bedroll & sleeping bag
• Ruck sack
• Camel back & 2 canteens
• His assault pack
• Cold weather shirt & pants
• Various ACU’s & PT’s
• and a nifty new pistol holster

ACU’s – Army Combat Uniforms: The clothes the little green men wear.

PT’s – Physical Training Uniforms: Long-sleeve work-out shirts & black jogging pants.

Over the years I’ve watched Eric pack 4 times…this is number 5.

It’s an innocuous task – one you & your hubby probably do without a second thought when leaving on business trips, holidays or family vacations.

For me, it’s a trigger.

Packing is a sign of leaving – a sign I’m on my own again.

“In the rear with the gear”…as the military saying goes.

The first time I watched him pack he was heading back to Iraq. The second - it was off to Virginia for 4 months of training. The third – he was heading cross country to Oklahoma while I stayed behind to sell our house. And the fourth?…The fourth time I put him on a plane bound for Korea – not knowing if I would see him again in 1 month or 1 year…turned out to be 5 months.

But this time is different. He’s only going to the field & he’ll be there anywhere from 2 – 3 weeks.

‘Going to the field’ : Another lovely bit of Army lingo that basically means they’re heading out to the backyard to camp out, shoot at things & blow stuff up. But the backyard’s not the backyard – it’s miles away to a deserted place where they can make a lot of noise.

I’ve never been able to watch him pack without tearing up.

Oh, I try to put on a brave face – suck it up & all that – think about how nice it will be to have some of my independent life back.

But he always catches me. And truth be told (although I may be forced to delete this later) sometimes I catch a tear in his eye, too.

So it was really surprising to me how emotionally draining it was to watch him pack this time around – rationally knowing he’s only going up the road a bit.

It’s the first time I didn’t cry…but my body sure felt like it was crying. Tired & heavy, it was a struggle to focus & stay awake.

But I did & we got him all packed-up – ready to be dropped off at 0530 at the hangar to convoy to the field.