Memorial

Not the first, not the last. I feel like poop. I am so incredibly sad today. I think back over my blog posts. I've had shocked, I've had angry, I've had decent... here's the sad. What's a widow without some sadness, right folks? Joking aside, I am in a gloomy, poopy place tonight. Let's see how many times I can say poop in one post (still think my writing's good? haha). And still, I joke...
Back to the point at hand... 2nd MEB had a memorial today. It honored the guys fallen from May 2009 to April 2010. It was awful. Ok, that's not fair. It was beautifully done. The speakers had great things to say, the turnout was amazing, and our guys were beautifully and dignifiably (is that a word?) honored. But it was hard. And it sucked. And it made reality hit... again... hard. I'm sad. I'm angry and I'm sad and I want my life back. I want my Stink back. I want to be preparing for homecoming with my friends, excited that this stupid deployment is almost over, instead of going to yet another memorial. And of course this isn't the last, there's going to be another after they get back as well. I'm not complaining, I think he should be honored and remembered, but they're so hard. We were going to do one in Maryland but I don't think I need that. These are enough.
Yet another 21 gun salute, yet another playing of Taps. Seeing the field crosses, hearing the last roll call. Hearing his name called as one of the fallen, one who won't be returning home. I'll remember that call... "Cpl Jonathan D Porto 14 March 2010" Ring of the bell. Hang the tags on the rifle. Please take it back. Don't call his name. That's not his name. He changed his name, he's somewhere else.
He is somewhere else... gone from this earth. And still people say he's here, but where is he now? When I'm slipping into sorrow, where is he? Where is the comfort and peace I felt that one night in the kitchen? Where is the whisper "Everything will be ok"? Maybe he's left... again... for good. I pray that's not the truth. I pray he's still lingering I'm just too... clouded to feel him. I pray... I pray... I prayed. I prayed for safety, I prayed for his return, I prayed that it wouldn't be him. Please don't let it be Jonny. My doorbell rang less than 5 hours later.
I yelled at my mom tonight. I don't yell at my mom. Ok, I have yelled at my mom, but it's not something I typically do. We're so close and she only wants to take my pain away. And maybe it wasn't yelling more like snapping but I feel poopy (4? 5?) because of it. I shouldn't take out how upset I am inside out on others that only want the best for me and only wish they could fix it. And I know she understands and I know she didn't take it (too) personally, but I still don't feel nice for doing it. I shouldn't be angry when I hear people talking about being excited for their husband's homecomings or promotions or anything military related. But I am. I'm angry and I'm sad. These were all things we were excited about and we've been stripped. Instead of preparing for homecoming I'm going to memorials. Instead of making welcome home signs I'm reading condolence cards. It's not fair. It's not fair to me, it's not fair to the hundreds, thousands, however many, women (and men and families) who have to do this. I just want my life back. I am sad and I am missing my Stinky Man.