The day Noah left

We both woke up with nearly perfect hair, which was a miracle since we'd already planned on going to breakfast and that left one less thing to do. I guess nearly perfect morning hair also indicates a contented night's sleep—another miracle, all things considered.

Ethan was in great form, dancing in the diner booth at our favorite little breakfast place up the road. We took a walk when we got home, took a few pictures, and then it was time. Ethan asked why we were crying, and we told him because we were a little bit sad and we'd miss each other.

As Ethan and I waved from the front porch watching Noah drive away, Ethan stuck out his little bottom lip and worked hard to mist his eyes. When we went back inside, he gently put his arms around me and asked quietly, "Mommy, is your heart broken?" Well it is now! Thanks, kid!

I knew Ethan didn't really understand. Heck, I have a hard time grasping the relative length and brevity of two months of not talking every day, seeing each other, cuddling up in the evenings, fighting the dogs for bed space (I'm outnumbered now). When I think about what we were actually doing two months ago (Vacation Ethan anyone?), it seems like such a long stretch. So much can happen in just two months! Of course when I hold this little swatch up against The Grand Scheme, it's a drop in the bucket. It ain't even a loss, just a temporary separation. An adventure, as Noah has trained Ethan to say.

"Daddy's going to the Navy like an adventure and Mommy cried for him," Ethan told my dad.

My parents took us to dinner and then to pick up our car where Noah had left it at the recruiting office. Ethan asked, brightly, if we were going to pick up Daddy. 

"No, sweetheart," I must get used to saying. "Daddy's going to be gone for a long time, but not too long."

It's those kinds of moments that will be difficult for me, having to repeatedly disappoint my son with the inscrutable sum of reality.