Watching, mirrors like stars, the scattered puddles and ponds in the wintry patchwork below, reflecting the sun back to me as I fly over, having only hours before said goodbye to my family in the airport in Fresno. She did not cry. Instead she smiled forcefully, defiant to herself, to her own heart. "I won't cry, Daddy." She didn't.

In the morning she watched me from our bed as I put on my uniform. When I caught her in the mirror I went to her, asking if she was okay. She told me as she smiled tightly, her eyes almost staring, almost glazed, mirrors themselves, "There's a baby in my tummy that's crying, Daddy, but I'm not. I'm smiling." I am proud of her for both her force of will and her toddler poetry, whether intended or not.

The night before my wife and I lay in bed together. I told her coming home on leave was like eating too much cake. The difference being the stomach ache is in your heart after the too short-lived joy.

The way back is as much psychological and emotional as it is physical. We go, the parts of me, body, mind, and heart, like a sad parade. Body first, heart last. It being dragged behind like an untrained puppy. Soon he will again sleep and become easier to carry around.