Homecoming

I don’t usually watch the news but the other day I had it on. There was a homecoming for some soldiers who were just getting home from Iraq, or it may have been Afghanistan. There were happy smiling faces, hugs and kisses and I was happy for them but I was also sad, sad that we would never have that.

When Adam was in Iraq, the thought of his homecoming helped get me through some of the hard, worrisome times. I planned it over and over again in my mind. We would all be at Camp LeJeune when the buses rolled in with our men. I would have the BIG signs I’d painted that said “Welcome Home Adam!” We would all be dressed in the same bright neon green color so he could pick us out of the crowd and get to us faster. We would cry and hug and laugh. And Adam would say, “let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!!” He would be ready to get home. When we pull into our driveway, he would see the yellow ribbons on every tree in our yard and he would smile. I would make his favorite cheesy garlic biscuits and he would eat the whole pan of them by himself, with a big glass of milk. But, we didn’t get to have that homecoming.

My thoughts go to another homecoming 37 years ago when my dad came home from Viet Nam. I think about it now and I think how sad it was. At the time I didn’t realize it. I was so excited to see my dad; so happy he was home safe. But, when I compare it to the way our soldiers are honored today as opposed to how he had to come home then, I’m so, so sad about it. I went to the airport with a friend to pick him up. He was wearing civilian clothes and he was traveling by himself. There were no crowds to welcome him, no welcome home signs, just my friend and me.

I have been missing my dad a lot lately. He died in 1994 from exposure to agent orange. He didn’t die in Viet Nam but Viet Nam killed him. He was 63.

Two years ago today, I was tying yellow ribbon number three around the tree in front of my house. Next month would be number four; there would not be a fifth ribbon. I don’t remember when I took them down but I do remember doing it. I had the scissors in my hand and a sudden urge to stab the tree. I had to fight the urge; I wanted to stab it over and over and over again. But I didn’t. I cut the ribbons off and cried. I wanted to put black ribbons on every tree in my yard but I didn’t do that either. I just cried.