I hate airports

I hate airports. I really do. Fifty percent of the time you're there it's sad. Someone leaving, going far, far away. And that 50 percent that's happy never seems to quite make up for the sad.

We arrived at the airport early, checked Jason's bag and figured out the location of his departure gate. And then the waiting began, the awkward waiting where you want to savor every moment you still have together, but you're in a big impersonal airport with this feeling of impending doom. He's leaving again.

That's the worst part of the deployment, the leaving. Jason left for training at Ft. Wood. He left for training at Camp Atterbury. I left him at Atterbury before he got sent to Germany. Three times gone and now he's leaving again.

We bought a magazine and grabbed some desserts from a bar in the terminal. I did my best not to cry, not that it did any good. Every time it gets a little harder. Jason just keeps reminding me that the longest part of the deployment is behind us. And when it got close to time for him to go through security, he sent me on my way so I wouldn't be hanging around.

Thank goodness I took the next day off.