I gaze out of the large glass doors of the Emergency Room waiting, just waiting for the arrival of my husband. The plane from Germany has landed-somewhere. Ft. Sam, Randolph, Lackland. I am sure they told me but it doesn’t really matter. I know there are at least two other families nearby waiting on their wounded soldiers to arrive. I don’t know who they are or where they are. I don’t know how their story ends. I see red and white flashing lights illuminating the night, the colors are bouncing off of every reflective surface in the room. Helicopters are landing, ambulances pull into the bays. I stand there, frozen with fear, wondering what I will see when the doors swing open.

I cling to my daughter’s hand. I try to be strong so she is not scared, but inside I am falling apart. I don’t know if I can do this, I’m not strong enough for this. The nurse tells us it will just be a few more minutes and then we can see him. How did we get here? This happens to other people, not us!

[bctt tweet="How did we get here? This happens to other people, not us!"]

 A man steps through the door. In his hand is a desert tan rucksack with Army boots hanging off of the side. His nametag reads Henson-this is the pilot who has been by my husband’s side from the time he was injured until now. I will soon take his place and relieve him of this duty. He is speaking to me, but I don’t comprehend what he is saying. I just nod my head and tell him thank you. Thank you for being there for my husband when I could not be. My focus shifts to his hand, he is holding a thin, gold wedding band. He has kept it in his front pocket so it would not be lost in the shuffle from country to country, hospital to hospital. It is not a continuous circle of gold anymore, it has been cut so it could be removed from my husband’s finger. My mind flashes pictures of the last time I saw my husband. He is standing there in his uniform, hands on his hips with his weapon strapped to his side and a boyish grin on his face. His wedding ring is on the third finger of his left hand where it belongs.  I reach out and gently take the ring from Mr. Henson’s hand. I place it on the first finger of my left hand where it will stay until Tommy can wear it again.[bctt tweet="I do not cry because I need to be strong. I do not cry because I may never stop."]

It is time for Mr. Henson to go. After watching over my husband the past few days, he needs the comfort of his wife. He needs to place his hands on her beautifully pregnant belly and feel the miracle growing inside of her. He needs to heal from seeing his fellow soldier and friend broken and bloody. I am surprised by the jealousy that shoots through me. I want to be the one to leave, I want to be the one to feel the soothing touch of my spouse. I tell him good-bye and thank him again. As I watch him turn and walk away I feel like I have lost some small connection to my husband. We are alone now. Angi, Dustie and I. I do not cry because I need to be strong. I do not cry because I may never stop.