Ryan left Thursday, April 21, after 15 days of R&R -- the most wonderful 15 days I can remember having in a long time. I've been trying to think of what to write in this post since he did leave, but it's hard to sum up everything that happened. I think we both experienced every spectrum of emotion while he was in -- from the most incredible, high happy you could imagine to the tearful low of realizing it had to end.

Ryan flew into the Knoxville, Tenn., airport on April 5, and as soon as I saw him coming through the security gate, I broke into a run. All I remember is throwing my purse to my mom and jumping into his arms. I came at him so hard that he was breathless, and as I had my face buried in his shoulder, someone passing by said, "God bless America." I started crying as he hugged me. I remembered when he left in November. I couldn't let him go that day. By that I mean physically -- my mind said, "Let him go. Don't make this harder. He has to go." But my arms wouldn't move. My fists remained tangled in his sweatshirt. The sky was bright blue, and he was flying to Iraq, and all around us people were going about their business, but we were frozen. We had no idea what would happen in the months to come. And by the grace of God, he came back. There he was again, in my arms. That day was so happy.

Only a few days later, we were married. Our wedding day was so magical -- it was supposed to rain, but it didn't. The sky was filled with the most beautiful clouds before the ceremony. Ryan was handsome in his uniform. All we could do was smile, the entire night. Our church was filled beyond capacity with family and friends. People were happy. I've never seen so many smiling, laughing faces. Most guests stayed the entire time -- despite the typical East Tennessee thunderstorm that rolled in before the reception. It was, to Ryan and me, the perfect day. I liked saying the word "husband" over and over to him. He was back. I could hold his hand. He was real, not just a picture I stared at, or memories in my head, or the voicemails that I saved long before he left to listen to on my cell phone. He was there, and he was my husband, the truest blessing I could ever receive.

The rest of Ryan's R&R time was filled with other happy moments. But slowly, the clouds of realization that he had to leave rolled back in. Those that have experienced any time in which they've said goodbye to a soldier understand the pain. It pulls at your gut. It leaves you empty.

We took Ryan back to the airport on April 21. We were allowed to go sit at the gate with him. I sat on one side, and his mother sat on the other. We waited. People wished him well, told him to be careful. When you walk into an airport with a soldier, people know it's a sad day. They nod, or smile, or come over and say something. The people at Delta let him and the other soldiers board their plane last. But then, he was gone again. The familiar ache of missing him returned to my heart when I couldn't see him anymore. The familiar feeling of, "I am alone." As we walked out of the airport, I instinctively stuck out my hand, expecting him to grab it, not thinking. Ryan always holds my hand, no matter where we are, and I'd grown used to it over 15 days. But this time, he wasn't there to grab it. All I got was air. Luckily, my mother noticed and took my hand. Smaller, and softer than his. But still, the grip was strong.

It's an odd feeling having your loved one home on leave. So happy, but edged with sadness. I felt as if Ryan was a mirage the entire time he was back -- like if I blinked, he'd be gone. Now, it feels as if the time he was home was a dream. It was, in a way. A perfect, beautiful dream, and I'm glad to have had it. I'm lucky. I have a husband now, and a new family.

If you do anything on your soldier's leave, just hug them. Hug them, kiss them, love them and hold their hand, as long as possible.

Christy

P.S. Wedding pictures have been posted in the picture galleries. :-)

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