The yellow ribbon is still tied to my mailbox. It will remain
there until my son comes home and removes it. This is a vision I
repeatedly see in my head.
Meanwhile, my nerves are shot. The closer it gets to my son’s
redeployment, the more I worry. We have three weeks to the day
before Ryan returns home from Iraq and until then, we wait. With
each passing day, our emotional fear intensifies, knowing anything
can happen.
The yellow ribbon is still tied to my mailbox. It will remain there until my son comes home and removes it. This is a vision I repeatedly see in my head.
Meanwhile, my nerves are shot. The closer it gets to my son’s redeployment, the more I worry. We have three weeks to the day before Ryan returns home from Iraq and until then, we wait. With each passing day, our emotional fear intensifies, knowing anything can happen.
It is no secret to my family and friends that I have a “strange” gift for “knowing” things before they happen. I have dreams, visions and often a “feeling” relevant to the near future, which is why when I have a “feeling,” I dread going to sleep.
A few weeks ago while on our way to a United Way fundraiser, Jim and I passed the home of a friend whose wife was expecting a baby any day and I had a “feeling.”
As we passed the house, I said to a very reluctant believer, “I get the feeling she’s having the baby or she’s had it within 10 hours. I don’t know, but something about the number 10.”
“You’re nuts,” said Jim, trying to dismiss my remarks because this goes against his way of thinking.
“Yeah, well what about my dreams?” I asked.
Dreams of Iraq began the day after my son was deployed. I wrote about my first dream in April. The dream continued for five days until I read the ticker tape across the TV screen: 4th Infantry Division engaged in combat with 40 Iraqi tanks from its 12th brigade – Iraqi army soldiers killed, wounded, 100 plus Iraqi POW’s. No U.S. casualties were reported.
“I’m sorry you have to go through that because it seems everything you dream about is all bad stuff,” he said.
“It’s not all bad – I get good news too,” I said.
The following Monday, I was informed by a very proud father that his son was born around 10:36 a.m. – the same day I had that “feeling.”
I couldn’t wait to tell Jim the news that would validate my feelings and to see his reaction.
“You’re kidding?” he said.
Jim has a hard time believing in something that cannot be substantiated with physical evidence, which is why I don’t tell him about all my dreams and feelings.
However, in October I couldn’t help it. Apparently, I was crying while dreaming of Iraq.
Jim tried to gently wake me from this nightmare, but instead he had to physically shake me because I wouldn’t leave the dream world. I wasn’t finished reading the inscription etched in the ground where a group of soldiers were standing.
“You had one of those dreams again, didn’t you?” he asked.
I knew my son was not in this group, but it still saddens me as I read the message, “We have not yet begun to die.”
A few weeks later, the 4th Infantry Division out of Fort Carson, Colo., suffered a great loss. This is about the time Jim started praying.
“I never prayed before,” he said.
Waiting for Ryan to come home is almost like expecting a baby – you don’t want to decorate the nursery too far in advance. An old wives tale says if you do so, it brings bad luck, which is why I haven’t finished decorating his bachelor pad. But then, I’m sure a Norman Rockwell calendar isn’t exactly what Ryan will want to hang up on his wall.
With my son’s homecoming, I am more aware of the young soldiers who will be taking his place. Among them is a former Free Lance reporter Jerry Jimenez.
Again, I had a feeling, so I made a call. His brother Daniel answered the phone and confirmed my feeling.
“Jerry left for Iraq two weeks ago,” he said.
Jerry told me last year he didn’t think his unit would go to Iraq, but to the Philippines. Yet I felt differently.
I intend to be vigilant and supportive until all our troops are home, unharmed, long after the return of my son. We cannot forget those who dare to do what others cannot.
