I had a goofy memory last night as I was setting all the clocks forward, something I hadn't thought about in years. I remembered that my husband came home for R&R during OIF II right before it was time to "fall back" in October. And at the time, I got such a kick out of the idea that our R&R would be an hour longer than everyone else's. I love that time spent together was such a precious commodity that I was thrilled to have an extra hour invented out of thin air for us.
It's funny the things we remember and the things we forget. As I was spending time with Heather S this week while she was waiting desperately for her cell phone to announce her husband's arrival home from Iraq, I was trying hard to remember what I did to pass the time on the day my husband came home, three years ago yesterday. I can't for the life of me remember. He returned in the evening, and I remember every detail of being in the gym when he marched in and going to the barracks afterwards to share a beer with his tank crew. But the events leading up to his return, what I did with myself until 5 PM, those memories are completely lost to me. I don't remember if I was nervous, jittery, calm, or cool. I don't remember if I was at home or out-and-about. I cannot remember it at all, but for some reason I can remember being excited about an extra hour of daylight savings during R&R.
I find it odd that I cannot remember what I did on homecoming day, conceivably the happiest day of my life. It was so overwhelmingly important and life-altering at the time, and frankly I'm shocked that three years later it's a void in my mind. Memory is a tricky thing; stuff that feels deathly important one day can be completely forgotten the next. And though I was a blogger at the time, for some reason I didn't write about what I was doing or feeling that day. At the time, I probably never imagined I could forget homecoming day, but now I really wish I had preserved those memories. I'll remember to do better next time.