Seligman - The day after he left for Iraq: a story of love, family, and reunion

T he trees in Tennessee are towering and welcoming. They blossom, sway in the wind, and offer their beautiful colors in ways that the trees at Fort Drum never could. They thrive in the warm sun and stretch to the sky with radiant branches in thick forests of plush green. They offer peace and comfort. They offer breathtaking scenery and a renewed sense of hope.

Our new house has no bare floors, and Elijah finally has a room to call his own. We reclaimed our bedroom, and our backyard is full of toys, a sandbox, and a play set. Birds chirp outside our window, and warm summer and light winter breezes remind me that life still moves and continues to circulate. Everything smells sweeter and fresh, here, away from the painful memories of Fort Drum. Even the low-flying Army helicopters training above our house cant make me return to the frigid memories of upstate New York.

It has been over a year since we left the desolate trees of Fort Drum. When the moving truck pulled away from our driveway, it took with it the pain, loneliness, and desperation that clutched and held me captive. I never looked back. Only forward to what a new home, a new base, and a new perspective could bring.

David left it behind, too. Once we moved, he no longer found the kids annoying or loud. He reveled in their laughter again, and he carried them on his shoulders while they giggled and squealed. They waited for him at the window when he was due home, and they ran to him and jumped into his open arms. He had become, once again, the daddy that Amelia mourned and begged for. And for Elijah, he became the light and joy in the room.

But there were still traces of the deployment buried within him. They will most likely be a part of him for the rest of his life. At times, he still awoke at night. Sometimes screaming. He still had chest pains, and he still searched for a way to push images of dead bodies and charred remains from his head. They haunted him. He went to counseling, but there was little that could be done. He was fine. As fine as someone could be coming home from war.

Amelia recovered as much as possible. It took her several months to fully believe that he was with us again. Daddy, you going back to work? she asked for months. With each No she heard, a piece of her pain lifted. Some of her anger lingered, but she still fell into his arms with little resentment. She asked about her old home and her old room, but the happy moments of tea parties and long story sessions in her new pink room with David began to ease those images from her mind.

Elijah only grew more attached to David. They spent hours playing with soccer balls and matchbox trucks. David took him for long walks around our neighborhood, and Elijah tried desperately to take large steps just like his daddy. He walked for hours with David until his little legs could handle no more. When David returned carrying Elijah on his shoulders, I always knew that they were well traveled.

I wish I could say David is with us now, enjoying the scenery and the infectious laughter of the kids. But he is gone. Again. Thankfully, he didnt leave for Afghanistan with his unit. Instead, he went to train to become an officer. For ten to twelve months.

So, we are alone again, and I find myself in familiar territory. Elijah, now two, stands at the window asking for him, just as Amelia did a little over a year ago. I see her chubby hands in his as he spreads them on the window, and I hear her familiar cries of Want Daddy! coming from his tiny mouth. Once again, David visits our world on the web cam, and she twirls for him in front of the camera. Her legs are longer, thinner, and her words are sharp and witty. See how I twirl very so beautifully? she asks his face.

You are a lovely dancer, Amelia, he replies.

She hugs the screen and kisses the monitor. He hears her affection, and he puts his lips to his web cam. I really, really, love you, Daddy, she says.

Elijah vies for Davids attention and he pushes Amelia out of the way. She lets him. Look me, Daddy, Elijah says. He does no sort of twirling or dancing. He only demands to be seen by David.

I see you, Bubby, David says. Elijah smiles and bounces up and down before he runs across the room, kicking, jumping, and flipping.

We function and continue as a family in the only way we know how. He calls when he can, and we dont stop living to wait for him. Amelia paints detailed pictures of stick figures, and she now signs her name at the bottom in distinct letters. Elijah sends David e-mails full of finger paint and stickers. We take bulky packages and chocolate-smeared letters to the post office.

And they delight in his letters to them. They sit excitedly on the couch as I read them details of Daddys camping trips and fabricated stories about Davids roommate. He sends handmade cards and folded paper airplanes. They hold them and play with them with pure joy and adoration. When the excitement of each new letter dwindles, Amelia takes it and places it in a special box hidden in her drawer. She thinks that I have no idea it exists.

This is a special box just for you, David told her before he left. You can put secret letters and stories in it. It is a special box just between you and me.

They watch their new Daddy movie throughout the week. The old one, worn and broken, didnt make it to Tennessee. They sit, side by side, on the floor and watch and laugh as David falls while playing a game of Twister. They follow along in their books while David reads about ballerinas, dogs, and baseball. They listen as he plays with their puppets, toys, and stuffed animals.