Ryan and Christy's Place

I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath the entire time Ryan was in Iraq. But I guess I have been.

The shock of a deployment is staggering. I remember clearly where I was the moment I found out he would have to go to Iraq. In Nashville, in March, in my mother's car, pink sweater, sunglasses, apartment hunting, Laura Winn beside me. Life changed in an instant. Air deflated from body, sagging under the weight. He has to go over there. What will happen to him?

The shock of the end of a deployment is just as staggering, in the exact opposite way. Elation. The world spins underneath you. Everything looks different -- leaves on trees, your apartment, yourself in the mirror. He's not over there any more.

Late Saturday, I hadn't heard from Ryan in almost two days. He was supposed to be out of Iraq, but I didn't know if he was. I didn't know anything. All I knew was the typical rumors, some horrible, the typical skeleton stories from the national news. I waited.

3:30 a.m. Sunday, my computer beeped at me. It was him. He was in Kuwait. My body felt light again. I was floating. I let out the tiniest bit of breath.

And promptly, my body quit on me. The plague (or a cold/flu type thing) invaded. My friends say it's what happens when you've just had stress, tension, something in which only adrenaline and sheer guts has kept you together. And when it's over, your body's like, "Oh crap. I'm tired."

So I was laying in my bed early Tuesday when I got the first call from him back on U.S. soil. I was in a NyQuil haze, surrounded by tissues, and my cell phone rang. "Hey honey, I'm in Maine." I screamed. He laughed.

He landed in Mississippi late Tuesday night. His voice was smiling. I hadn't heard him that happy since April -- when he was last home. I could hear jubilant chattering of other familes in the background when he called, screaming, laughing. Reunions. His buddy came over and poured champagne straight into his mouth. I could hear him, laughing and sputtering as he tried to swallow it.

I feel like I could float up in the air and never stop. I feel like I can breathe again, like I can sleep soundly. Everything is beautiful again. Everything is hopeful. I wish I could explain it in better words than these.

He isn't over there any more. He doesn't have to be. I have to shake my head. It doesn't seem real. Is this really it? The moment I've wished for since before he left? Is he done? No more sand, no more IEDs, no more lonely nights, fear, waiting, worrying, wondering. He's not there anymore.

Thank you, God.

-- Christy