Before The Oorah

1

I have my fingers in between the two buttons, tracing the button of a uniform he risked his life to earn. I feel like as long as I have a hold of him tracing this one individual button with my thumb, I can prevent him from returning to what is killing apart of his spirit each time he stands to salute. It's as if each time I let go of him, and he walks freely through the door they take another piece of him. They take a life that could have been normal. He's missing his children, his evening routine with a beer in hand watching the evening news, but most importanly he's losing the woman he once had. Every time he returns to me he's different. He isn't my 6'1 man who used to come in behind me and hold me as I do our dishes, he's become bitter to get to close because he can't lose something he has no feeling for. My sweet, warm, green eyed, dirty blonde husband has become cold in his stare. The warmth in his eyes has become hardened as he watches the scenes flash before his eyes as quickly as a room full of 30 children flip through different flip books. It's not his fault. He is brave. He loves his country. He wants to fight. He signed the paper work for this life. Little did he know he'd be signing the paper work to have his mental memories be washed clean and replaced with movies he cannot place on pause. Little did he know he'd be signing for his children to grow missing lifes important moments. Little did he know he'd be signing for his wife to become a woman hes never known. When all she wants to do is go back to the front porch swing and rock in the evenings or go on long truck rides before his civilian clothes turned into a sargent keeping his men in line. I release the button between my fingers and my hand drops to my side. I put my head in his chest and hold onto his sides as if I am begging without words for him go leave me yet again. Realizing there's no use, I push him from me and walk into our living room cut on the tv like he never returned. He's not even in the kitchen.