Not only did it knock the wind out of me, it pretty much sent me flying face-first into the gravel.
Almost 48 hours later, I'm still getting my bearings back. Military homesickness isn't geographical. This seems almost impossible to explain to civilians, to non-brats. There's a culture that's unique, and that disappears once a brat moves out of the house. I very intentionally chose not to (ever, ever) date a military man (I married a Quaker, for crying out loud), and I sure as heck knew I wasn't looking for a commission. I made a choice not to be part of that culture in adulthood. But that means that my heritage has disappeared into a fog, and I really can't go home again. Other people find that their hometowns change, but I don't have security clearance to get to my homeculture. My heart's a little broken this weekend. There are funny things like posture and style of speech and attitude that are specifically Marine things, and I haven't seen any of them in a very, very long time.
But this is what I want to pay attention to: sometimes there are longings and homesicknesses that are not the same as call. Yearning isn't always a nudge from God. Sometimes, it's just a memo that something's missing from your life. There are values (like Semper Gumby--Always Flexible) that I can reincorporate. There are leadership skills and confidence and honor that I can return to. I can take this time to pay attention to the very full legacy that I have been given as a Marine brat.