I’m going to sing a song that you all know. The tune goes a little something like this: my husband got deployed and I met Murphy, I thought I knew him before but I was mistaken. I’m a seasoned veteran when it comes to sending the boy away and holding down the fort while he’s gone. This time it was different, a scary different and not a scary different that you are probably picturing in your mind right now.
We all know about the curse: when the solider leaves “stuff,” happens. When I say stuff I mean unfortunate, stupid, unlucky, ridiculous, and down right random “stuff.” The curse poured down its power upon our household the very week my husband left. It started with both cars breaking down, and let me preface by saying these aren’t “cash for clunker cars,” these are reliable, good cars that prior to these incidents had a clean track record. An automobile breaking down – that was a pretty cliché move, Murphy.
On the one-week anniversary of our farewell, my little boy found himself in a predicament. As he was jumping on a bed at my parents’ home he got his finger twisted in the blind cords and fell off the bed. He fell as his finger was entwined and the result was a scene from “Ridiculousness.” I’ll never forget his scream and the sight I saw as I frantically ran to him. There he stood, holding up a bloody stump with exposed bone protruding above the middle knuckle. I couldn’t find the fingertip so I left my mother behind to search for it (sorry, mom) while my father rushed me to the nearest emergency room (20 miles away). Later, we were joined with the missing finger and life-flighted to a facility that could handle limb amputations. Okay Murph, I’ll give it to you, that one was clever.
A number of other things happened over the next couple of weeks: my first ever car accident, baby surgeries, sicknesses, a broken air conditioner, etc. Mid mission I had a break down. I couldn’t do it by myself anymore; and for me that was utterly frightening. I’m not your center stage, all eyes on me type of girl. I don’t like to be fussed over, and most importantly I have a hard time with appearing weak. I’m a strong individual, I’ve had a less than easy life, I can do hard things, but not this time.
What happens when strong breaks? I’ll tell you. I yelled at my kids, I cried over everything for three days, I was so depressed one day I only ate three wheat thins (my kids still ate; don’t call CPS.) The real blow: I realized that I wasn’t “so strong.” This last aspect was the most defeating of all the events.
