Gone But Not Forgotten

Gwen has gone off to war. On Tuesday night I stood in the door of my car and watched her march away from me in formation with her unit, around some buildings and into the cold and dreary night at some small little army base north of Frankfurt. It was the last I saw of her.

Had either of us dreamed of this when we signed some stupid forms all those years ago before even starting medical school? Had either of us even contemplated the possibility? Certainly not I. All I can do is shake my head.

The last few weeks have been touchy. Gwen's departure date to go to Kuwait kept getting pushed back. She was supposed to leave a week and a half ago. Then at the end of last week. Then maybe over the weekend. Then Monday. And finally, Tuesday. The extra days were nice - they encompassed a four day weekend where we did everything to basically act as normal as possible and just enjoy each other's company without going nuts about it. I think we did that. I'm happy for that weekend. We went out to eat. We stayed at home and ate in. We watched DVD's. We watched the playoffs. In these unpredictable life-can-change-drastically-at-the-drop-of-a-hat times, the ability to have a few regular evenings is critical to maintaining sanity.

On Monday things got tougher because departure was imminent. Gwen was a trooper through all of it. I was quick to try and make light of everything to keep her smiling. (I found that relating Frodo's "I wish the ring had never come to me..." speech to Gwendolyn's own predicament helped a little - for what it's worth.) Tuesday was really tough. I came home from work and then it was time to go. To Friedburg. To the base. To say good bye, maybe for a full year.

Gwen and I watched a Bugs Bunny Cartoon ("The Hare of Seville") prior to leaving the house. I had done the same thing with Pete, prior to taking him up to his drop off point a few months back. "Hare" is a classic. I saw Gwendolyn smile at it. That made me happy.

On the ride up, things still weren't too off. The place is about an hour and 45 minutes away. Gwen was dressed in all her army crap, with her helmet, holster, and body armor tossed in the back seat.

When we got there, we had to drop off her bags and then she had to "form up" and then do a couple of things. I used this time to get food. There was nothing open on base, so I went to the first thing I could find locally - a German McDonalds. I brought the food back and we sat in the car and ate. We had about 45 minutes until she had to leave for good.

The time ticked by, we talked and joked a little. Gwen was fighting off tears for some of the time and losing (all this despite my explicit yet tongue-in-cheek "no crying rule"). It was all very depressing and very surreal. When I got back with the food, she had already been issued her gun. Unloaded, but on her person. We sat in my car, and ate McDonald's. Gwen had a 9-millimeter on her hip, an American Flag patch on the shoulder of her uniform, and was getting ready to go to Iraq to go to war. I'm sure there's a profound and sarcastic symbolism in all that somewhere, but I'm too beleagured to even begin to try and find it. Somebody call Kurt Vonnegut.

In the last few minutes, as the time ticked down, it was brutal. We got out of the car. I helped Gwen put her flak vest on, thinking to myself, "Who does this shit? Who help's their girlfriend put on her Goddamn body armor before she heads off to war?!?." There's no book for this stuff. I guess military types do it all the time - and leave children behind to boot. But Gwen and I aren't "military types". We're simply stuck paying off our end of a contract. Hired guns. Unhappy football players on a team we don't want any part of. A team that won't trade us no matter how much we grumble. And we're slowly becoming cancers in the locker room.

And that's perhaps the hardest part. There's an entire cutlure that pervades the military that Gwen and I simply do not belong to. And never will. And don't want to. And it makes certain tasks and certain times immensely difficult. I tend to deal with most Army bullshit by laughing at it. Gwen prefers vehement rage. But unfortunately the only thing evident on Tuesday night, was a deep and sorrowful sadness.

I kissed and hugged Gwen goodbye, and then looked into her eyes one last time for the foreseeable future. Then she walked off. Then she was in formation. And then the formation was walking away and Gwen was looking back and waving. It was very dark and cold. And so damn surreal. Her unit walked through a big plaza and then behind some buildings while I stood at my car and watched her disappear into the night. And so it went.

I wish I had gone in her place. It would have been easier, for both of us, if I had gone and she had stayed. I felt helpless watching her go. Up until she finally left, I could at least keep some jokes going and keep her smiling through the tears. Once she departed though, I knew it would be brutal for her. The hardest part was knowing how miserable she would be - and knowing I could do nothing about it once we were separated. All I could do was drive home.

Back at the house, now, the silence is deafening. It is incredibly lonely here and I'm of a sound mind to go to MY apartment, fix it up, and start living there. Because THIS place isn't the same without Gwen. There's no more sound of Gwen's slippers shuffling on the floor. No more soft humming. Just me and a big empty house. And that's depressing, too.

This is life in the army, I suppose. THIS is the contract we signed. And there are many who have it worse than us. But you know what? Over the past three and a half years (and over the past 6 months in particular), I've realized that a little financial debt isn't that bad a thing. No sir - not a bad thing at all. There are worse things, in fact. I bet Gwen is thinking the same thing right now. Wherever the hell she is.

Godspeed, my Gwendolyn. Until we meet again.