It seemed like deja vu. The long day of looking at each other, small talk about the house, picking up the kids from school, a quiet dinner, homework and then bedtime. And then the last hug and kiss good-bye. It is a scene that is much too familiar to me and one that I repeated again last night.

Less than 24 hours ago, my husband tucked our children into bed while they cried and begged him to stay. My youngest daughter tried to convince him to bring her along not understanding why he had to leave again while my oldest child asked about the War and if someone would be trying to kill him between sobs. I did my best to console my children by telling them that everything was going to be okay. And for my husband, I tried to assure him that we would be fine and that his daughters make it through another deployment. It broke my heart to see the pain in his eyes as he said good-bye one last time before he shut the door and drove away. I spent the rest of the evening holding my daughters while they cried themselves to sleep. And when they had finally dozed off, I cried.

I've said good-bye to my husband too many times in the past few years. Regardless of how much I prepare myself for the moment and tell myself that he'll be home before I know it, it never seems to be enough to stop the pain and grief that accompanies each deployment. And while I know that I am fortunate that he won't be gone for a year, that doesn't make saying good-bye any easier because war doesn't know a timeline. Whether my husband is gone three months or fifteen, he is still in harms way.

For me, the pain comes from knowing that each time he walks out that door headed back to Iraq it might be the last time I ever see him again and that is almost unbearable to think about. It is a reality that I live with and pray I will never experience. So as I wait for my phone call letting me know he has arrived safely on the other side of the world, I will pull myself together and moved forward with my life as I wait for him to come home one more time.