A Boy in Khaki, a Girl in Lace

The same old sweethearts, the same old place

A boy in khaki, a girl in lace

He bends to kiss her, she lifts her face

The boy in khaki, the girl in lace

Tenderly he sighs, "I will come back to you"

"Oh my darling, please do," she replied

And so we leave them in fond embrace

The boy in khaki, the girl in lace

{Performed by Dinah Shore here and Bing Crosby here, and written by Charles Newman & Allie Wrubel}

In the first few sweltering days of August, we flew a little airplane around the wide, green park at golden hour, the sun splintering into bright shards around our bodies. I watched Walter run with the plane as Sky and Millie tossed a disc back and forth. Everything was covered in warmth and wonder. There was a lush view before me to soak up and savor; I had not seen it for so long. Just a year before, Sky and I had stood at that park, watching the kids run far up the tall, green hill with little friends, explaining to their mom what was in store for us. We mused about timeline and scenarios, and being a veteran's wife, she understood that there is no knowing, only guessing. Only hope, mixed with fear. I remember how surreal it felt to hear the words coming from my mouth before I had the chance to let them sink into my mind. Yet, the panic growing in my stomach assured me they were absolutely real, backed by the weight only the Army can summon.

Standing on the other side of the deployment is like leaning towards the edge of the cliff. There is no way to know exactly how far down, what will bruise or break in the fall, or what is at the bottom. Not long ago, I dreamt that he was really only on leave all this time, and he thought everyone knew, but we didn't. And I was hysterical when he started packing up again. Strange how the fear still lingers. Like labor pains- the ones that everyone told me I'd forget, but I remember clear as day- that heartache is one forever stamped into the morning of our goodbye, and never fading. But there is dancing after mourning.

Surrounded by the feverish, wet heat of a late July night, he came back home. Up until just a few hours before, the dates and times would change, and then change again, exciting us and crushing us over and over. When the morning finally arrived, there was a text-the plane he was supposed to be boarding in mere minutes had mechanical issues. I sat with the phone in my hand, staring at it blankly, never hating air travel more than at that moment. I had taken the kids to the park, too nervous to stay at home and just wait, even though waiting was all I could do. I asked seventy questions. I begged my mom to pray. My phone was silent, tension mounting every second. 

And then, he got a new plane. Ten months of pent up tears found their way to the surface, and I curled up on the park bench, shoulders heaving, bawling like the day he left, because I was going to finally see my husband. Suddenly, impossibly, he was on his way home to Illinois.

{homecoming photos graciously taken by Ryann Kesler Photography}

I was shaking when I put on my white lace dress that evening, trying to breathe deep breaths while I applied waterproof mascara. It had been pointless trying to look presentable the morning he left, and I found it almost as impossible this time as well. I checked that the kids looked put together from outfits laid out in neat rows, grabbed our welcome home signs, and told them that we were heading to the airport for some "practice pictures". They dutifully climbed into the car, excited for a late night trip more than the prospect of sitting still for photos. I looked in the rear-view mirror and wanted to say something, but didn't. My eyes clouded with tears that I tried to hold back. Those sweet babies.

The photographer met me with a handshake and smile, and she snapped a few posed shots, playing along with the notion that this was all a rehearsal. We beamed and held our signs, and I adjusted Walter's suspenders eighteen times. All the while, I thought of how they were missing him just as they were every day of the deployment, while I buzzed around with nervous energy. My phone interrupted the sound of the camera's lens clicking-he texted that he had landed. Another text soon followed- he was there, inside. My heart fluttered as if I was on a first date, instantly feeling unprepared but oh, so ready. I took a breath. As I glimpsed those well worn boots at the top of the stairs, I quickly pointed towards them, and told Millie and Walter, "Pretend like Daddy's coming home right now." They turned.

A heartbeat or two in time. They each shifted to look once or twice before they realized they were looking at their father's face, a face they'd only see on a computer screen for nearly a year, a face they hadn't been able to touch, pixelated and flat. Was it really happening? My heart swelled.

And then, all joy broke loose. He was home.

They had their arms around his neck as he scooped them both up. Everything we had said and done, all the steps we had taken, all the places we'd gone- the whole year stopped in that moment, and began something new yet reassuring, long-awaited and dreamt of, and it was all so beautiful. It was whole again. The heartache instantly soothed. The weightless flurry of pure happiness.

He was sick- he had been since leaving his base several days before- and I could tell he looked more pale than normal, and a little thin. But we held each other so tightly, and I remembered the strength of his arms and the smell of his neck. His uniform and shrieks from the kids attracted attention from the other passengers, and I could hear applause, but it felt far off in the distance. All I could see was the man I loved and missed so intensely. Coming home from a deployment that didn't seem real, this night didn't seem real either. The relief was palpable. It's done.

Millie and Walter had no patience for a luggage carousel's pace, but they cheered when the green duffel bags appeared. Walter tried to carry one on his own, though it was twice his size. Anything to leave sooner and show their daddy the welcome home banner and balloons in the apartment.

We buckled them into their seats and pushed his bags into the trunk. The car doors slammed shut, and I looked at him in the brief silence. He was smiling. That airport has broken my heart more than once, but then, it was the most romantic place I could imagine. And in the night air that smelled faintly of jet fuel, Illinois cornfields, and summertime, he kissed me. We were going home, under the same glow of stars and moon at the same time. He slipped his hand into mine on the drive back, fitting just as perfectly as always.

His boots came off by the door. He wouldn't need them for a while.

Welcome home, Sky. It's nice to have you back again.