I choose you, hands down, I choose you

Someone suggested recently that, because I had already said "goodbye" to you, your sisters, and your mom, that, if I had the opportunity, I should not visit you.

Their reasoning was that seeing me, under the auspices that I was supposed to be gone for a long time, would "confuse" you and your sisters.

I heard this idea from a few people. None of them have children. Some of them were unmarried, and the rest of them had been married for less than three years. None of my friends who were established in their marriages or had kids even hinted that seeing the family was a bad idea. In fact, they were happy for me.

My friends were happy for me.

If I try hard, I can understand why they would discourage me from seeing you. The separation was already difficult. If you get "confused" and think that I'm home for good, and not just visiting, you might be subjected to the trauma of separation all over again.

I suppose when you're newly married and you don't have children, it's easier to fall into this kind of opinion.

Personally, I think it's a kind of arrogance. They don't have children, you're not their child, and it assumes that I didn't already bring up these same concerns with your mother. And guess what, we came to the easy conclusion that seeing your happy, healthy family is better than no seeing them.

They haven't had the experience of leaving their children. I'm losing a year of your life -- of not being a part of it. I'm losing the experience of seeing you really nail down reading, and pronouncing words more accurately. I won't see you make the leap-frog development of being a six-year-old to being a seven-year-old.

And, while I'm certain they can cognitively understand the love a parent has for their child, I will sadly admit that even though you've been mine for over six years, I had no idea how much I loved you until I had to leave you. 

Like so many other things in life, it's the small things: the way you make up words/sounds to express your excitement, listening to you learn to read, the feeling of your head resting on my leg when you've fallen asleep during a movie.

The differences in one year will be even more dramatic for your sisters. Evelyn is two, and Abigail is three. In one year, I won't even know who they are. They'll have completely different tastes, perspectives, nuances -- in one year, I'm not even certain Evelyn will remember who I am.

And, even though leaving the family was traumatic (it felt like I lost a limb), the overwhelmingly joyful memories of being together was what helped me recover.

So yes, if I have the opportunity to see you, even for a moment, I will choose you. There's no question -- not when I can still fulfill the full measure of my duty, and not if all it takes is a little extra elbow-grease and some small sacrifice.

Then again, maybe I'm completely wrong and getting to see your 'ol man for another 10 days before he takes off for 365 days might screw you up -- but somehow I don't think that's the case.

Will you miss me?

It is 8:45 p.m., Sunday, July 7th 2013. We're in Chincoteague, VA at the house of your maternal uncle Zeezrom Fisk and I feel terrible.

Tomorrow morning, I leave to return to Germany for one month. After that, I go to Africa for 12 months.

Then, I'll be able to return to you. Then, I'll be able to hold you again. Then, I'll be able to hear your silliness. Then, I'll be able to read to you. Then, I'll be able to go to church with you. Then, I'll get to see the smile on your face. Then, I'll get to comfort you when you're sad.

What causes me the most anxiety and what brings the most tears to my eyes is the idea that you might feel like I've abandoned you. Or, that I've forgotten about you. Or, that I don't love you.

Or that you might forget me. Please don't forget me.

I love you.

Of course I love you.

The trouble with big transitions like this is that you can't help but have seemingly irration bouts of self-criticism. I use criticism because it's not the same as introspection. Introspection is productive, but right now I'm having a flood of self-disappointment. It's the thought and idea that perhaps if I had been 100 percent a better father that I wouldn't feel as terrible as I do leaving you.

Maybe if I had spent more time with you and your sisters I wouldn't miss you as much as I know I will. Maybe if I had spent more time tickling you instead of staying at work late I wouldn't have this heavy knot on top of my heart. Maybe if I had given up playing video games and taken you swimming more often you wouldn't have cried last night about losing me for a year.

It's not all dispair. There are two comforts which brings me confidence that all will be well when I return. 1. I love your momma and I know that she'll do a great job watching you, taking care of you, and helping you resolve issues. 2. The gospel of Jesus Christ and the eternal covenants I made with him.

Our family is eternal, and one year away is a drop in the bucket of infinity. I trust that God knows me and you and our family. And, I know that he loves us each individually with a greatness that can't be comprehended.

Nonetheless, when I think about tomorrow, when you and your mom and your sisters drop me off, I won't be able to deal with your sadness. I will weep at the loss of not being with you. I fear being forgotten. It's not a rational fear, but I fear it.

There are going to be some sleepless nights. I can already imagine your tears and my tears. But, you can trust that I'm going to do everything possible to stay in your life from the other side of the world. Unfortunately, I don't think the heavy heart and the yearning to be home goes away. Everyone has told me that it gets easier, and their recommendation is to stay busy and active. Essentially, they're telling me that I need to do things to forget you -- at least temporarily. It's a Catch-22. What I fear is forgetting the feeling of your cheek against my cheek, and yet, the only remedy to easing my shallow breaths and tension is to remove you from my mind. It's a kind of tragedy.

I'm mindful that much better men than I have accomplished more meaningful things under tougher circumstances -- but you are my son, not theirs. And, while I may not be saving the world, I hope that one day you'll understand that I'm fulfilling my duty the best way I know how. And, that I made a commitment to our nation -- a solemn oath to go and do things others will not.

Lastly, I ask that you rise up to this occasion to help protect your sisters and give help to your momma where needed. They'll need you to be the wonderful, joyful, cheerful big brother/son that I know you can be.

Remember, no matter what, I love you. Forever.

A mess of pottage

Here's dear 'ol dad sitting at the 72d Expeditionary Signal

Battalion Staff Duty desk. This is exactly what I do.

Sonny boy,

Today, Sunday, you were sick and I wasn't there to help take care of you. And, for that, I am sorry. There are going to be a lot of times where, through no fault of my own, I'm not going to be there for you. But this was not one of those times. I could have been there with you. I could have been there to rub your back, or make you soup, or read you stories. This was completely my fault, this is one of those times that mattered, and now I'm wracked with guilt and disappointment.

Before I tell you exactly what I did, I want to let you know about something that is important to me. And to illustrate it, I'm going to use this quote from the Bible: "Greater love hath no man that this, that a man lay down his life for his friends (John 15:13)." This scripture means a lot to me because it helps me remember that when we love something enough, it's only natural that we feel willing to make sacrifices for it.

Life is not about balance, it's about priorities. It's about making hard choices and learning to be happy with the outcome. Don't listen to the hogwash about finding balance -- it doesn't exist. Instead, find the courage to let go of the seemingly important for the sake of the truly consequential.

I traded time with you for $70.

There's this this thing the Army has, it's called "staff duty." Basically, it's a 24-hour desk for the unit. 98% of the time, nothing happens. It's mean for emergencies, reception, random tasks, etc. It's something that junior officers take turns doing.

Well, here's the rub -- when you have duty, it's for 24-hours straight. A lot of times, when people don't want to do their duties, especially if their turn happens to fall on a weekend, they'll pay someone to do their duty for them. That's where I come in.

In the past six months, I've probably taken on an extra eight staff duties. I don't know why, but it hasn't been worth it. Most of the time I don't think you kids even notice it -- at least that's what I tell myself. I figure that whether I'm home you'd still be doing the same thing. You'd still be running around, you'd still be teasing your sisters, and you'd still be annoying your momma.

And, if you weren't going to notice, I might as well make some easy cash, pay down some debt faster, save-up for the next birthday party, etc.

Instead, today, while I was home for lunch I witnessed you puking all over the couch. I watched your momma rush to clean it up. I was in a hurry to eat and get back to work. You know, to sit on the couch seen in the picture above. While I was home, Abby ran to me and wanted me to pick her up. She had the biggest grin on her face. She was happy to see me, but I had to run and get back to work.

While you were screaming, upset that you had just barfed all over the couch, I only had enough time to pat you on the back and tell you everything was going to be okay.

There are times when I won't be able to avoid it. I have a career and sometimes that means I won't be there. I know you won't understand it, but you will later. But it's times like this, where I traded away time with you and the family for something trivial -- that's where I've failed.

Overall, this is a rather depressing post -- especially for a first post. But I'm not going to do it anymore. Work it important, but staff duty is not important. You're more important than staff duty.