A Letter to The Boss. Part 1
It was October 2003. I was getting ready for a big night out, dancing in my pants in front of a mirror in a barrak block room. My Military man, the light of my life, took one look at the sight of me before him, (singing my heart out to West Life, while drinking wine out of a broken mug) and he decided for reasons unknown…
“That’s the woman i want to spend my life with!”
He popped the question, and of course, I said
“Yes!”
(But not before I’d done several laps of the room and fallen over my handbag).
That was the moment my life changed forever.
FAST FORWARD.
Several weeks later. Impatient and excited we wasted no time in booking the church. The reception deposit was paid. 18th March 2004. Our wedding date was officially set!
PAUSE.
OF COURSE our wedding date wasn’t set!! Because NOTHING in this life of ours IS.
That’s the beauty and the horror of it. The fluidity of life can be fun, exhilarating, refreshing.
“A little change is as good as the rest”, my grandma always used to say. I didn’t understand her at the time. I thought she was bonkers. But as I’ve matured, I too, have leaned to appreciate a clean slate, the excitement of a new friendship, a freshly painted house that I didn’t have to decorate myself, a better town, a career change. All of these things can refresh, bring new opportunities and experiences, and breathe life back into, well, life.
But change can also be horrific.
UNPAUSE.
A cold December Friday. I was feeling the warm glow of a woman about to go wedding dress shopping with her mum. Life was pretty great. I was getting into my car outside work, casually considering whether Keith Lemons “Proper Crimbo” would ever make it to Christmas Number 1 (I hoped it would) when my phone began to ring; I picked it up and could tell by his voice something was wrong.
PAUSE.
Have you ever noticed how the voice can give it away? There’s some big news to be had, and they’re holding on to the words, but the voice waivers. They might be confirming they’d prefer chips and beans to mash and gravy with the sausage you’re preparing for tea, but what their voice is actually telling you is
” I’m off to war”
UNPAUSE.
OK.. so that’s exactly what HIS voice was telling me that Friday night in December 2003.
And off he went. Less than 2 weeks after that phone call, we’d had our Christmas, and off he flew. To Iraq. With his old kit bag and a sad apologetic smile.
PAUSE.
That was our first of many goodbyes. I can’t remember if it was the worst because there have been a fair few, and each one has been at a new and fragile time in our lives. I’d like to say they get easier, but they never do because there’s always a reason you need them to stay. I’ve spoken to many armed forces spouses who’ve talked about the build-up to a detachment and how traumatic it can be. Those last few hours together like a time bomb, clinging to each other but having nothing useful to say… an unbearable tension of emotion, nerves and sadness.
Thinking about the past, the future without them, the things they’ll miss, and how much you’ll miss THEM. But the moment they have gone is the moment you throw yourself into a new routine. It’s a coping mechamism many employ. You can mix it with bouts of wallowing in self pity, and a steely determination to do them proud and just crack on with it. But most importantly of all, the day they leave is the day you are allowed to begin that all important count down. Anyone who has said goodbye like this, will cling to the count-down like ivy to a Cotswold cottage.
UNPAUSE.
I spent my count down planning a new wedding. I cancelled the church. Sweet talked my deposit back out of the reception venue and rearranged the new date. A late summer wedding, 3 months after his scheduled return. Mum and I spent hours planning. Organising, inviting, creating, and making our little budget wedding as special as possible. It cheered me up and kept me going. I hand wrote blueys every day.
I kept him up to date with plans. Asked for his input, and waited with baited breath for his replies through the post. It was actually really romantic.
He would ring me from time to time. It was amazing to hear his voice. To hear he sounded OK. Until one beautiful yellow March day, the phone rang. And I could tell by his voice something was wrong.
PAUSE.
Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t his sausage and chip voice from December it was more a nervous excited “let’s get a takeaway instead,” kind of voice.
UNPAUSE.
Between the crackles on the line, a bad connection between the East Midlands of England and Basra Palace, IRAQ. I heard him say
“‘Im posted. To Cyprus. In June…”
Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
To Be Continued….
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