Ok, that might be too strong a title, but I've found a new emotion when it comes to Elie. He called last night to tell me what was happening; to tell me that next week he and the commanders were going to yet another resort to continue the training beofre the course. He told me that for the next four weeks or so, he'd be coming home for the weekends.
The phone rang as I was walking out the door; my husband ahead of me. We were going over to the neighbors to take part in a gathering honoring the memory of the father who had passed away a year ago and it was important to get there on time because the gathering began with the sons saying Kaddish, the mourner's prayer, in memory of their father.
It comes down to being torn, the feeling that you have to be there on the other end of the line whenever your soldier son calls. I needed to go. I needed to listen to him. There was nothing urgent; nothing that I needed to do for him (except wash the bulletproof vest that he left with me...and how DO you wash a bulletproof vest, anyway?).
So, after listening for a few minutes, I cut Elie off gently and explained I had to go. He was fine with it. We said our goodbyes and I went to the neighbors...and sat there feeling guilty. Perhaps guilt is the wrong word, but my heart just hurts a little. Silly, really. He's fine and doesn't sound lonely. Nothing is wrong. They probably just finished the evening early and he had nothing else to do and so called home.
On the scale of things to feel guilty about in life, this is probably rather silly and yet another thing I won't tell Elie about. He's coming home Thursday relatively early - maybe we'll go bowling again. I'd rather deal with the laughter than the regret.