Sure, it gets easier (at least, that’s what they tell me), but I’d be a blatant liar if I said it didn’t righteously suck. And there are days when I want to say to my husband, (sometimes I actually do say this to him), why didn’t you want to become a doctor, a lawyer, hell, a taxidermist? Heck, even serial killers typically work in one location. There are days when the only company I have is one Robert Mondovi, and the only action in my life is on ‘Dancing With the Stars.’
So I evolve. I wouldn’t suggest that I’ve found any sort of virtue, but I have learned a few coping techniques. I play the waiting game with less frustration and pause when I see the American flag now, understanding the otherwise invisible sacrifice propelling its peaceful wave. When I see a Marine Corps sticker, a Navy, Air Force or an Army sticker on the car, I will want to pull over and hug the driver; tell them that I’m here and that I’m going through the same emotional rollercoaster. That occasionally I too get angry, lonely and sometimes ‘Dancing With the Stars,’ in all it’s rhinestone glory just isn’t enough.
What it comes down to is this: I am one impatient lady who despises waiting: for goldfish, dessert, or my husband. But, military, you have managed to teach me a lesson in all this: even if I can’t wait to finish a book before checking out the last page, that I still firmly believe cheesecake is best served immediately after I’ve finished my last bite, there is one person I would gladly wait for forever. Patiently.
