The sight of gear in my living room makes me angry. Not the mess, not the chaos of it all. What it represents. The thought that my husband will be leaving the comfort of our bed to sleep in a green bag. Seeing him count out a dozen pairs of socks for a seven month deployment. Watching him put together gear that I don’t comprehend the purpose of…but know that somehow it might save his life, or make his time at war a little bit easier. War. Ugh, I hate that gear.
Dropping him off at the unit is heart-wrenching. Saying goodbye, giving that final hug… watching HIM say goodbye, giving that final hug. He is strong, he keeps it together… but I can see it in his eyes. The fear, the sadness, the guilt. That heart-wrenching feeling is followed almost immediately by an over-whelming feeling of relief. Followed then by a wave of guilt for daring to find relief in finally saying goodbye.
Those first few days I cry a lot. I worry a lot. I eat very little. I sleep very little.
But then, when I can’t cry anymore, when I finally have heard from him for the first time and know that he has reached his destination, when I am finally hungry, when lack of sleep finally catches up to me…a calm comes over me.
This is the easiest part of deployment for me. Sure, Murphy inevitably rears his ugly head and an appliance explodes, or the car breaks down, or someone needs a pair of crutches. But I feel strong, capable and ready to tackle the situation. We start to fall into a routine. We start planning the first care package. Life is settling into our new normal.
But at some point, I always hit the wall. At 99 days left, this is where I am today.
