I'm right in the middle of Aunt Flo visiting, so I don't know why I'm so emotional today. Maybe it's because I realize Addison is growing up too fast. He's nine now and playing tackle football. I can never recapture those days when he was tiny and shoving t.p. down the toilet, creating his own Lake Nash in the bathroom.
Maybe it's because Adam told me there's a chance we will move earlier than expected, before the end of the year, and as much as I want to move to Savannah, there's a part of me that will always have Fort Benning near and dear to my heart, since I have two best friends that live here and we've been here what seems like forever (12 and a half years for me, 13 for him).
But I think what affected me most today was going to the commissary. That's the grocery store to you civilians. A lot of retirees live in the area, and on any given day, the commissary is overrun with cute little old people who get to my orange juice before I can.
Since my grandfather died in March, every time I go to the commissary by myself, there is always, ALWAYS, an older gentleman sitting on the bench, in the exact same spot, and they always have white hair, like my grandfather did. What gets to me the most, is that these men stare at me like they know me. I'm nothing special to look at, so it's not like they're ogling me or anything.
I swear, their eyes bore into my soul. It's like they look right into me and know how much I miss my grandfather. Or maybe my grandfather is communicating to me through them, as wonky as that sounds, but I truly believe it.
When I was going to the register, I had to walk by this gentleman again. I got a really weird vibe when I walked by him, a sort of electrical charge. I can't explain it. I wish I could.
I realized that I didn't have sandwich bags, so I had to run back out to the PX. That's the Post Exchange for you civilians, like a department store. In the less than mile drive, I saw an old man take a left onto the off ramp of the highway. I started freaking out, wondering if I should call the MPs. That's the military police for you civilians. I was so disturbed I took a lot less time at the PX, trying to get back to the off ramp and make sure he was okay. I didn't see him or any MPs or ambulances, so I am saying my prayers that he figured out his error and was able to make it out of there okay.
Yeah, I'm emotional. I'm weepy. But I'm not going to fight it, because I very rarely cry anymore. Twelve years of being an Army wife and six overseas deployments can harden even the softest person. I'm not going to keep it in anymore.