3 - Prologue: Predeployment

We first learned about this deployment before Christmas. Chinooks, July '07, Supporting the Marines in Western Iraq. That's pretty much all the info that trickled down to us at the lowest level. Haley and I planned to keep the news to ourselves. We figured seven months out was still a ways away. No sense in making ourselves the center of bad news. I don't take praise very well, and do worse with sympathy. My new mother-in-law, Susan, sniffed us out quickly. She spiked my egg nog something fierce one night, and then while I was in recovery the next day, blocked my view of a meaningless college football bowl game and asked, "If you knew you were going to deploy, would you tell me?" "Yes," I answered. "Are you going to deploy?" "Yes," I answered. So much for our secret.

From there, as the months passed, the rumor became fact. Part of me figured it would all just go away, as if one day someone would call from a red phone and tell us they didn't need us to come anymore. But obviously that didn't happen.

In June I took block leave (a designated time for entire units to take leave...happens before and after deployments, and sometimes around Christmas), to California with Haley and Josh. We lived it up in Southern California as if we were about to deploy for 15 months. Beaches, baseball games, Vegas, Bill's Gambling Hall, UCLA, In-N-Out Burger, Saki bombs, shopping carts, and pools. We attempted to make it rain, and I do believe precipitation fell from the sky.

After returning from California, Josh was the first to go. He was assigned to the Advanced Party, sent early to get things set up for the Main Body. The night before he left, he asked me is what Paris Hilton felt like the night before she went to jail. More than likely, I told him.

On a whim, I was able to jet down to Seattle a few days before I was scheduled to ship off to surprise Haley's brother, Mike, at his bachelor party headed to the Mariner game. Matt and Brad showed up, and since none of us could attend Mike's matrimony, we were able to send him off into married life a few days before. My grandmother was also in town, and though she turned down my invitation to come to the bachelor party, I was able to spend some good time with her that weekend as well.

Once back up in Alaska, all trips being complete, Haley and I settled in for the final few days. We did a little camping, played cards, cooked some halibut, and watched the clock tick away our moments together. Having done this a few times, I say with certainty that those last few days before we leave are the hardest. Time refuses to slow down and your stomach is in a constant knot. It hurts more than I can explain.

At 4 AM, on a stormy Saturday morning, Haley dropped me off at the hangar. The only thing I left her to do was clean our house, pack our things, drive herself from Alaska to Salem (with the help of her dad, thanks Jan), take care of all paperwork I didn't get around to, find a new job and move back in with her parents. And I never even got a thank you for doing the dishes the night before I left. If you ask her about any of these inconveniences, or my being gone for the next 400 days or so, you'll get a quick "no big deal" and a smile. I'm humbled by her resilience and attitude.

But the silver lining in all of this, and something I've shared with others and have only gotten odd looks, is this. Since the day I learned about this deployment, every moment I'd taken for granted before, I no longer did. Every Saturday morning I got to sleep in, every Mariner game I got to watch, and yes, every beer I happened upon, I took with a renewed enlightenment. Daily I found myself saying, "self, in a few months, this is as good as gone, enjoy it while you can." And I did. It was a profound way to live, made the thought of deploying a little more bearable, and sure made the beer taste good.