One Year Ago: Jelly Theft (Almost), Remembered

Ryan Seals Tennessee National Guard

EDITORS’ NOTE: Ryan Seals is with the 278th Regimental Combat Team’s 190th Engineer Company. The Times Free Press runs an occasional column from Spc. Seals.

The meltdown started because of the jelly. I could have possibly started a criminal record because of the jelly. It was weird, too, because we'd all acted relatively strong up until then, like we could ignore the fact that Ryan was leaving in a few hours.

But one year ago today, probably at this exact moment, I was in a Food City in Tennessee, contemplating stealing strawberry jelly. No, I'm not usually a shoplifter, but I was at my wit's end. The cashier told me I could NOT enter the store because it was closed but I had anyway, and then she told me I wouldn't be able to check out, but still, I was ignoring her and looking for the stawberry jelly because Ryan wanted it and I COULDN'T FIND IT. When I did, the cashier was not happy with me. I walked up to the front and she was standing there, attitude in full force, like she wouldn't ring up my sad jar of jelly. I wanted to scream at her. I wanted to tell her my boyfriend (we weren't even engaged a year ago!) was about to leave for training to go to Iraq, and that if she didn't let me buy the jelly, I was going to steal it. A few other choice words came to mind. Most had four letters, except for the really creative ones.

But she checked me out. So I left, and I didn't yell at her. See, Ryan wanted peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to eat on the loooonnng drive to Camp Shelby, Miss., in a Humvee the next day. But there was no jelly. He was stressed, and I was stressed, and the no-jelly situation pushed us over the top, so I went to go get jelly. And almost stole it.

But like I said, I didn't.

The point of this story is, last June 29, Ryan left. And I can't believe it's been a year since then. A year since his mom made him five sandwiches with that jelly (he's a growing boy); a year since we weren't engaged; a year since we said goodbye to him at 4:30 a.m. outside the armory; a year since his family, my family and me stood by the side of a major highway in the fog, standing in wet grass, holding signs and waving flags, hoping to see him one last time. I could even picture myself a year from then, or him, yet here we are.

We stood by that highway until the last soldier left, and besides saying goodbye to Ryan, a memory that's forever burned in my brain is one of the two buses carrying the last load of soldiers leaving. Ryan left in a humvee convoy, around 6 a.m., another convoy followed, and several hours later, the buses left.

When they saw us standing there, waving flags, they waved, and some had their hands pressed against the windows. But the sun was shining through the bus, so all we could see was their silhouettes -- bright sunlight, and black outline of those men, waving, their hands pressed against the window of the buses. Then, they were gone. It's one of the most striking images I've ever seen. I thought, "these men are going to war." But then, his family, my family and I had to go on, in our own way.

And we have. We started this blog. We mail him packages and letters and Underarmor. We talk to other families, and other bloggers, and make our own links and connections and friendships to get through this. Ryan and I don't even look the same anymore. We don't feel the same. We're married. Life. Is. Different.

The thing is though, we got through the year. We're over the hump. There's time to go yet, but not the longest part.

If anyone out there is sitting there, at the beginning of the "longest part," thinking the time ahead seems hopeless, just know that it passes. I know, easy for me to say, having been through it. But you'll see what I mean. I promise.

-- Christy

From: Ryan and Christy's Place

1. Unexpected Deployment to Iraq was 'Like a Punch in the Gut'

2. Training Life Brings Change, Challenge Link

3. Training Simulates Iraq Combat Link

4. Return to "Ryan's Experience" Page Link