Eager return

January 15, 2005

It started yesterday.

I felt the hardened shell of my personality that grew out of working in a war zone coming back. It went away for a week — a week without worry of rockets or bombs; a week without fighting for information about the soldiers fighting around me.

It was a week of normalcy.

Of drinking coffee from real cups that rested on saucers and clinked when I stirred in the cream.

Of eating anything I wanted and loving every morsel, even though it’s the first time I’ve paid for a meal since March.

Of walking through shops and trying on clothes just to see something new and fresh.

Of just sitting in the snow and soaking up the sun.

And of taking the longest, hottest showers of my life, all the while marveling that neither the water nor the temperature faded away.

None of this makes much sense, I’m sure, but bear with me.

The soldiers told me it wouldn’t take long to lose my wartime shell.

But I felt that changing yesterday as I sat in my Munich hotel room after one last day of adventure spent wandering around the city, looking at shops and watching people. I think I was trying to absorb as much of the city’s sense of permanence and normalcy as possible.

I started e-mailing Baghdad like a madwoman.

What had I missed?

How was everyone?

My heart sank a week earlier when I learned about the men of 3rd Battalion’s Bravo Company who died in a blast from a bomb buried on a road they drove down every day.

It hurt me to hear about it.

I felt guilty for not being there to write about it.

And I hated not being there with their buddies as they grieved.

Now I’m like a sponge, wanting to hear everything that has happened with the brigade.

On the packed flight from Paris to Kuwait City this evening, everyone tried to sleep. More than half the passengers appeared to be U.S. military contractors.

I sat with a contractor on my left and a Kuwaiti businessman on my right.

At one point, I awoke to realize the contractor had fallen asleep leaning on me and I had leaned toward the Kuwaiti.

The Kuwaiti didn’t seem to notice, because he was sleeping with his head crammed into the small pocket of space next to the window.

And there was snoring.

It was a difficult flight.

But we all made it.

And now I’m focused on getting to Camp Taji tomorrow.

Will I make it?

Who knows.

It will be another marathon of military flight like Jan. 7 — A day that may have scarred me forever.

But I’ve got a blanket, shower shoes and clean underwear, so I’m prepared for however many nights it will take sleeping on cots in military airports to get me home to the 39th.

I hope it’s soon.

I can’t explain why, I’m just anxious to get back.

Posted by Amy at January 15, 2005 06:49 AM