Friday, September 29. 2:23 a.m. Noah calls for the last time, says he'll call again in a couple of weeks, will send a letter as soon as he can. He loves us so much. Duration: 1 minute, 58 seconds.
Friday, September 29. 7:33 p.m. My friend Kim comes out to greet me in her driveway after I motored around the entire city for an hour trying to find her house, the house that I've been to 146 times. I begin crying in earnest when she hugs me. (I'd already been crying in the car, after her husband Steve kindly and patiently charted my course over the phone. Noah's usually the one I call when I end up 20 miles west of where I intended to go.)
Friday, September 29. 8:40 p.m. Dad calls to say he just spoke to Noah, who called because he needed my mom's and brother's foreign birth certificates faxed for his top-secret clearance. He said he'd barely slept in the past 48 hours.
Friday, September 29. 8:42 p.m. I'm mad that Noah couldn't have called me.
Friday, September 29. 8:42:30 p.m. I cry into my roasted marshmallows.
* * *
Today I feel much better than I have for the past few, with a major thank you to the friends who made my happiness their business this weekend. I suppose Ethan and I are settling into a new routine, although if I think about the fact that he doesn't ask when Daddy's coming home anymore, I feel like crying again.
I haven't cried in two point five days, but that could be because my eyes are Saharan and fatigued from squeezing out the sorrows of my soul and also from the heater, which I turned on last night since it's getting cold out.
* * *
I've been frequently checking the Navy boot camp family website, hoping to see a graduation date posted that seems like it's probably Noah's, but I don't know his division number to find out for sure until he writes, which is what I told my parents just before my Dad informed me that he's in division 008, and he knows this because that's where he had to fax the birth certificates. UM, THANKS DAD.
Is division 008's graduation date listed yet? No. But it's information! New information! Of which I have almost none!
I can't describe how happy it makes me to know that Noah's in division 008. Knowing something, anything at all, even though I have no frame of reference for understanding what it means, helps me feel connected to him somehow.
Hang in there. I can only imagine how hard this would have been when my kids were little. It all makes sense but the lack of concrete information has to be hard. Here's to hoping you get some more news soon.
Wow! I guess I didn't realize he'd be THIS out of touch. I'm so sorry, my dear.
But you are strong like ox! You will triumph over sadness! (And if not, there is cookie dough.)
It's tough, but you can do it! My sister wrote her husband at boot camp every day. I think it helped keep her sane to think of ways to write about a typical day, which isn't always interesting, but it's the normal stuff that those away miss. Adam is a Drudge Report reader, so she'd add that and articles about his favorite sports teams. Remember that every new day is one closer to seeing him. Thinking of you lots.
Lisa—Thank you, friend. I always take comfort in the encouragement of women who have gone before me, even when their experiences aren't exactly the same as mine.
Ali—So far, I've lost my appetite (except for that gyro, yum). But I'm a big fan of cookie dough.
Julia—These are wonderful ideas. I have written him a letter every day (stockpiled on my mantel until I get his address), but including snippets from other sources is genius. It's hard to remember that he's even more cut off than I am (since I'm just cut off from him, and he from the whole world).
Praying for you and your little one during this season. It takes a very special woman to handle what you are. I hope you get more information and hear from him soon! :)
Lots of love to you, my dear friend.
Natalie—So sweet of you. Thank you for the support!
Sal—I thought I was feeling love from the general direction of Minnesota. This explains it.
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