The Other Side of the World.

A few weeks ago, I was recounting a story to one of my closest friends. It was a tale about some sort of adventure an ex-boyfriend and I had found ourselves in, one of those ohmystarsthisisawkward situations that end up being hilariously funny after the fact. I finished the story, my friend dissolved into giggles and I was quiet for a moment.
"Man. I miss him."
I sighed.

My friend was quiet for a moment on her end, absorbing my comment.

"You know," she said, "I think missing is the hardest emotion, the most difficult feeling to deal with. There's just this void - the missing - that's always there, no matter what you do."

I have been missing my brother since he was deployed to Afghanistan last March. It's ironic, in some ways, I guess, this intense missing. Even if my brother was state-side, he would still be based out in California, which is a heck of a long way from the city I call home out East. Still, there's something deeply comforting about knowing someone is a mere phone call away rather than imagining them on the opposite side of the world. Since Stephen has been gone, I have sent letter after hand-written letter, care package after carefully packed care package, week after week. I have prayed for his safety every night, crossed my fingers, knocked on wood, put my hand on my heart whenever I mention him, all with the hopes that his time at war would be brief, that he would be back home safe and sound before we knew it.

Stephen is scheduled to return to the States later this month. Barring any unforeseen delays or a sudden, drastic change of plans he'll soon be back in California, back in these grand United States. Today, I booked a plane ticket West with the intention of giving him a hero's welcome home over the course of a few days. My mother, my father, my grandmother, and the rest of my family sit on pins and needles, just as I do. We want to celebrate now, as our Stephen will be home so very soon.

And yet, I am not one to count her chickens before they hatch. I'll breathe easier once we get the first phone call telling us he's back on American soil, once we know he is completely out of harm's way, once there are no more miles for him to go before he sleeps.

For now, I'll continue to hold my breath, to say my prayers. I'll hope. And I'll plan. I'll prepare - for that first huge bear hug I get to give him at the airport, for the first crack of a smile I can picture clear as anything on his face, for the sound of his laugh, and for that huge seafood dinner he cannot wait to eat. And we'll be there, he and I and my family.

Together, safe and sound. Home.