I was standing alone. You can probably see the link to the
title already. Clever huh? Anyway, there I was, standing alone. It was late (or early, depending on your
habits), about 0100 in the morning here, which, with the current time
difference, made it 9.30 in the evening there.
Did you notice the clever switch between army and civvy time? Here to please. Anyway, I was. Standing.
Alone. I had gone outside to get
some fresh air. The room I was working
in was best described as fetid. Manned
24 hours and full of sweating, smelly men, all of whom would have rather been
anywhere else but there at that time. I
went outside to clear my head. It had
been a long day and another fairly depressing one, with Australian, American
and British dead and wounded. I try so
hard to think of something jolly to say in these emails but it's not as easy as
that. (I am going to have to dig out
some sort of "cat-stuck-up-a-tree rescue" or "soldier wins
war" good news story aren't I?)
So. Standing. Alone.
I looked up and although it was another crystal clear night I couldn't
see the moon. Not even a glimpse.
Nothing, nada. Probably all part
of some dastardly Taleban plot. Damn
them and their meddling. Best I investigate. So I did.
Apparently it wasn't the Taleban.
There just wasn't a moon. That
made me sad. I will tell you why in a
minute. Upon further investigation I
discovered that most years have twelve full moons, each of which occurs,
approximately monthly (one lunation being precisely 29 days 12 hours 44 minutes
and 3 seconds - see, informative and educational. That's me). There are very few days when
there is no moon. Great. Just my luck.
Here's an interesting but tricky maths bit. Each solar calendar year is about eleven days
longer than the lunar year of 12 lunations. The extra days accumulate, so every
two or three years there is an extra full moon. Da dah! The Blue Moon. Interestingly, 31 May is the last day of the
lunar calendar as well as the month.
That doesn't happen often either, both dates coinciding. I digress.
Back to the email.
Alone. Standing. No moon. Sad.
I'm getting there. Hold on. Early in my tour in a telephone conversation
with my son, who was 3 at the time, he told me he missed me. I missed him enormously too. I didn't realise
quite how much until he said it. When he said it, I got a lump in my throat and
a wrench in the stomach. I am sure he
did miss me, just as my wife, daughter,
and I hope, everyone else, missed me.
But hearing it from him hit me hard.
In the side of the phonecabin I was calling from there was a small
window looking up into the sky from which I could see the moon. I told my son to get Mummy to take him
outside when we had finished the phone call.
If he looked up he would see the moon.
I told him I would also look up and see the moon. I told him it was the same moon I could see
and if he thought of me, I would think of him.
Every time he could see the moon, Daddy could see the same moon. From then on, whenever I see it I think of
him.
Anyway. There was no
moon. Let alone an extra one. It made me blue.
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