Last Mail Call

She was never meant to die before me.

I stuff the rest of my perfectly folded clothes into the rough canvas sea bag and check the two drawers that held all my belongings to make sure I didn’t forget anything. Satisfied, I cinch up the bag and sit back down on the hard bed to wait for my ride.

Reaching into my front pocket, I pull the wrinkled envelope out and open it just far enough to stare at the photograph that changed my life. I sigh and put it back. The picture looks like it was taken quickly, maybe without her knowing. And the photograph itself was folded over several times before it was sent to me.

The collar of my shirt suddenly feels too tight, and I tug at it. I bought new civilian clothes at the last port, but I didn’t think I’d get a chance to wear them for a few more months, so I had not sent them to be laundered yet. Worse than a new uniform.

I grit my teeth as hot tears threaten to come again. Around me, the sounds of the ship that has been my home for the last eight months are just background noise, a forgotten melody to a life that will continue even after I’m gone.

A vibration begins up top that signals the warm-up of a Super Hornet getting ready to launch. I can picture all the crew at the ready. There’s no room for error when you’re launching a jet off an aircraft carrier. I’m not sure how I’ll ever sleep in silence again.

The door at the far end of the row of bunks opens and a young man in blue digital camo steps in and motions for me to go. I nod and stand, throwing the sea bag over my shoulder. The Aviation Machinist’s Mate has served under my command this entire deployment and I see the honest sorrow on his face. I can’t look at him again as I step into the corridor. I’ve got to hold it together until I get off the ship.

It’s bad enough that with five thousand crewmembers onboard that news gets around within hours. Especially, bad news. Everyone I pass is quiet and whispers soft condolences. The inside of my cheek bleeds as I keep moving forward.

Outside the sounds are loud and chaotic. I breathe in the jet fuel-scented warm wind as I follow the AD across the deck to where the helicopters sit. My eye automatically scans the helo for anything out of place or missing. The AD gives me the thumbs up as he opens the door for me. I wonder if he was ordered to escort me today or if he drew the short straw. Knowing my mechlets, they would’ve all escorted me if they had been given the choice. We’re a family, after all. And I won’t be coming back.

I’m thankful for the loudness of the flight deck because I’m not expected to say anything. I give him as much of a smile as I can muster, and he pushes a folded piece of paper into my hand and then turns and hurries off the deck.

I stare down at the folded paper. I can already tell whose handwriting it is. I shove it into the same pocket as the envelope and climb into the bird. It will be a while before I’ll be able to handle reading what my crew has to say to me.

Normally I enjoy riding with the pilots to test out the helos, but today I just feel numb. I lean my head against the glass door and watch as we leave the aircraft carrier behind.

The waves below are dark and furious, echoing the turmoil inside me. Hours go by before the pilot hesitantly lets me know through my headset that we’re getting close to the base. I straighten up and nod, pulling my sea bag closer to me. Out of my peripheral vision, I notice the pilot taking glances back at me as if he expects me to jump out of the helo. They usually have Marine escorts for situations like this. But I’m an officer and most of my family is military. So, they thought I’d be fine.

But I’m not fine. My whole life has been upended. There is no manual for what I’m about to go through. There are no cheat sheets or study groups. We were trained for battle and war-time deaths. Not this. There is only survival, and change.

Stiffly, I exit the helo when we land and follow the escorts waiting there. I guess they only trusted me so far.

Once inside the base, I’m led through familiar corridors until we get to the Admin offices where folders of paperwork are thrust at me, and words I don’t hear officially spoken.

Then I’m rushed outside to a waiting sedan. After throwing my bag in the trunk, I settle in for the hour ride in the back seat. The driver is nice enough to leave me alone and expertly maneuvers the vehicle through the busy downtown traffic and then onto the freeway.

When the familiar signs for my exit come into view, I sit up and straighten my clothes. My heart races as the exit leads to the road that will take me to what used to be my home. Now what waits for me?

Without a word, the driver pulls up to a two-story light blue house that hasn’t changed much over the years. Although I was just here eight months ago, it feels like forever. So much has gone on in my life.

And so much has happened here while I’ve been gone.

I climb out and allow the driver to retrieve my sea bag for me. I thank him and turn toward the house. My footsteps falter as I study the new flowers planted out front, and the stupid wooden fence I spent a whole weekend building last year.

Only two cars are in the driveway, and I give thanks for that small miracle. I couldn’t handle a bunch of people right now. I pass the shiny blue truck that my mother saved years to buy, and it almost makes me smile. I slow down near my little white car in front of the garage. I bend to peer inside and notice the infant car seat base buckled in the backseat.

I swallow and head toward the door. The aroma of my mother’s cooking warms a small section of my sluggish heart and I stop at the front door and inhale deeply. I reach up and pull the photograph out of my pocket one more time. My heart squeezes as the realization that I won’t ever see that beautiful face again hits me hard and I almost go to my knees.

Leaning against the door as tears pour down my cheeks, I look down at the photo. Anger mixes with sorrow as I stare down at the last image I will ever see of the love of my life.

I wipe my face and stand up. I tell myself this is just another twist in my journey. I will survive.

Before I turn the knob and face the loss and unknown, I stare at the tiny pink bundle next to my wife in the picture. The baby girl I have not met. Yet.