DISCLAIMER: I keep feeling like this is a blog I’ve already written. And maybe I wrote and then deleted it because I was afraid of what people would say, or maybe I posted it, and then just didn’t find it when I went looking (because I totally blog all the freaking time…). But if you’ve read a similar blog to this in the past, please humor me with another…
I’ve been closed off about the husband-in-Afghanistan thing. This is the Sarah-blog for random Sarah-thoughts…and this is in my thoughts most of the time, but I don't blog about it most of the time. And I was reading a blog today where this military spouse said all the military spouse things I was thinking. And I thought to myself “I don’t share anything. It’s like I’m emotionally vacant about this deployment thing.” Anyway, I often get many questions about deployment. And here are all the answers. According to me. Today. According to the Army. Until they change their mind. Which might be tomorrow.
- “You are so strong. I don’t know how you do it.” On the same blog I referenced earlier… she talked about how military spouses are the same as you. They didn’t sign up to be “army strong,” they just fell in love with someone who does that for a living. And it’s true. It’s no better or worse than falling in love with a doctor, or salesman, or accountant. It’s just what they do… and what my husband does tends to leave little dots of our marriage time line where he isn’t here. And things that he will miss (both our 30th birthdays… our second anniversary… Christmas, Thanksgiving, Spring, Fall, Graduations, Illnesses, Crying, Laughing, just being…) we will get over missing. But my husband missing these things doesn’t mean I’m made of new or different or tougher stuff. It means that (to quote a Muppets Movie) “love lead us here”, and this happens to be where “here” is.
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| I like this because sometimes you're not even close to where you thought you were. :) |
- “Are you so excited for him to come home?” Yes. In 7-10 weeks, when is boots are on the actual ground I will be ecstatic. But until then, I am a kind of secret excited I can’t share. A kind of secret I sometimes can’t or don’t want to share (depending on who you are). Because it’s mine… and I like to pretend it’s mine alone. And also because until his boots are on the ground any number of things could happen, and my doorbell could ring, and my world could be torn apart. And until his boots are on the ground, I won’t feel like I can share any amount of this secret thrill that runs through every fiber of myself every time I think “seven to ten weeks? You can order something and allow that amount of time for shipping.”
- “Oh my gosh, is he okay?” Well lady at the checkout stand or overly nosy waitress or worst-masseuse-ever, I certainly hope so. And if he isn’t, I probably won’t update you. *hate everyone*
- “When does he come home?” Perhaps you’ve never dealt with the military, so I will tell you this: I have a time range… plus or minus 30 days. Yes, to answer another question, it is horrible to plan anything around that kind of timeline. And I do it because I don’t have a choice. Anyone who has met me, or seen my EPIC skills in list-making knows that it’s not my first choice. Again, this is my option. Short answer, however, is “end of May to the first part of June.” And the even shorter answer is “not soon enough.”
- “When can he get out?” Why do you assume he wants to get out? And he might… we’ll assess after this deployment, but why does it always need to be “when is he done with this?” Because I tend to think he’s doing a great and selfless thing. A thing you probably can’t or won’t do. (I know I can’t and won’t.) So just be grateful he’s doing it. Don’t demand when he is stopping.
- “That must be so hard. Is that so hard?” Honestly, what do you want me to say? Yes. It’s ridiculous amounts of hard. I moved across the country where my husband was the only person I knew for hundreds of miles, and all I had was him. And now he’s the only person I don’t have. It messes with my mind. It makes me want to scream. I feel like I’m alone in a crowded room. And, to add insult to injury, I’ve forgotten what it feels like to fall asleep next to him, so I have to go through the torture of re-acclimatizing to that. Although I still do have snoring in my room (dog), so at least that’s a bonus. So, yes, it’s hard. Thanks for asking.
This is the most sarcastic version of myself… I really do like to know that you’re out there, and you care. About our troupes (especially the husband-part of the troupes). And about me. It really does matter to me. So thank you for the questions, even if these answers weren't phrased really well.
One night I had a compete breakdown because a former-Marine I know looked at me and said, as if he understood what I was doing, “but how are YOU doing”? And the best kind of breakdown because it’s good to know someone out there gets it. Gets that I’m 2-4 questions away from crying most of the time. Gets that no, it isn’t like that one time your husband was on a business trip for two weeks. Gets that you don’t know what the Army thinks is a good timeline (plus or minus 30 days, Army? That’s no way to run a country…). And gets that I love them, but sometimes can’t answer your questions. So here are all the answers I have.
