Deployment Journal - Day #1

He left this morning. The days leading up to this were almost worse than the departure itself.

Almost.

We didn't go to the airport to see him off. It didn't make sense, logistically. But it felt strange, foregoing the dramatic farewell you see on TV. But, I'm so glad we said our goodbyes in the privacy of our house.

We had expected our little daughter to stay asleep, but she woke up and wanted to play with Daddy. It was heartrending. Watching him rock her back to sleep for the last time, hearing him sing to her over the monitor, I couldn't stop crying. Her innocent smiles and coos made it worse.

Then, we were fighting the clock. Praying together. Picking which hug and kiss would be our last. It was horrible. He had to drive himself away. I choked on the tears. Walking back inside, I sat down on the couch and sobbed as hard as I could, trying to get them all out. It didn't work. I just kept crying and crying. There! It's over. He's gone. We did it. I told myself. The image of his truck turning the corner kept replaying in my head. I scrolled thru our last pictures. But then, the realization hit me afresh. He's not coming back! Not for a long, long, long time! That truck won't come back AROUND the corner for so many months... Oh God...

Abruptly, I realized I should check the house and make sure he didn't leave anything behind; if he had, and if I found it, he could still come back for it. But no, he'd remembered it all.

The house had been littered with syringes and pills, weapons and gear and uniforms and so many bags. Ever since he got his orders, we both had been sleeping poorly, dreaming vividly, struggling to remember basic information. We felt so muddled, and so overwhelmed by the crazy emotions, and endless to-do lists. Now the strain of trying to get him out the door was gone. I thought I'd feel relief. But nope, I only felt grief.

I impulsively started a game of Tetris, hiccuping while I played. Over and over, game after game. I stopped to drink a cold glass of milk. Decided against calling my husband - it'd only make us both sad again, and now he was surrounded by colleagues. The minutes ticked by, and my baby kept sleeping. I wished she'd wake up.

Maybe I should sleep? No, probably Husband would call once he was alone again, before boarding his plane. I started crying again, mournfully this time, like a small child who has let go of their balloon. I normally resent tears, and fight them, but after this many days of tense, lumpy-throated anticipation, I could not care less.

You should eat something.

No, I might throw up. 

I typed an email. Not sure when he'll get it. I watched 45 minutes on Hulu. IMed a friend. Watered the garden.

Finally stopped crying. Ate ice cream.

Paragraphs Between Girls

Copied from a Facebook message exchange...

* * *Did I sound upbeat? Haha, I'm sorry - I must have been primly whitewashing my true sentiments. =) Or maybe, at 10:00 this morning, life looked rosier to me. That's likely, actually. I was on a productive roll, eight hour ago.

Now, it's 6:26 p.m., Daughter is shrieking (AKA: not napping) upstairs, and I'm emailing Craigslist people in search of a washer - but only a washer; no dryer necessary. (Why do people only ever sell washers/dryers in sets? Are we really that odd? Does everyone else in the whole world buy things in sets? Who can even afford that?! Does nobody else BUDGET?! Because we do! ... which begs the question, why didn't we think to create a spare-sub-savings account for replacing major appliances.?! Ahhh! I am so bad at life!!! Why is my husband never home when I need him?! Etc.)

Thank the Lord, a merciful handyman (who works near here) stopped by and diagnosed the issue, for about 1/4 of what every other repairman would have charged (for an hour's deconstruction of my washing machine) and priced the parts, and helped me conclude that it's not cost-effective to replace them, on such an old washer. So, I ought to be grateful.

I actually was grateful. At one point. I think it was around 4:00 p.m.

But now, I'm grumpy at Craigslist, and wondering if I was wrong to put Baby down for a nap now after all...? And I missed the breastfeeding meeting that I was going to attend (repairman was here late) – when I had bundled myself and Baby up and driven to the building, no one was there. *sigh* Figures. I was kinda hoping for some adult socialization, but really - I'm fine - not like I'm going to die here in my living room. I have Craigslist, after all.

And I'm totally venting to you. *chuckle* Sorry...

Paragraphs Between Girls

Sometimes, I write more honestly to my girlfriends.  See below...

* * *

The final (???) blow of our morale-zapping month came when Husband got unexpected orders to deploy in a few weeks. I seriously cried, intermittently, in little 30 second floods, for the first 24 hours. My attempts to be brave and mature poofed away. I know we'll be fine. I know God will help us. But, it felt like someone had died. And punched me in the gut, simultaneously.

I think that I "think" in order to cope. My brain instantly switched to list mode. Vitamins to order, uniforms I need to mend, legal documents we have to conjure up, recordings we should make for Baby, so she can keep hearing his voice, people to email to cancel our summer travel plans, new plans we need to figure out, etc. Lists. I seriously started scribbling a list of reasons why I'm thankful, and how I can see God has prepared us for this, and how it must be the perfect time... But man, all the losses, too. Christmas, first words/steps, Thanksgiving, his whole season of races he's been training for, enjoying our garden's harvest together, getting credit for the high profile projects that Husband has been dying to do so much for these last months, (but now someone else will take over and get the credit) -- all these just slip away so fast. I try not to picture much in advance, but I guess I had been envisioning plenty...

On the upside, it's head-clearing. The cost of eating salmon for dinner, normally a financial annoyance which we justify knowing how good salmon is for us, suddenly seemed ridiculously petty, knowing Husband will be eating absolute crap, nutritionally, for months. The news made me glad for every time I've inconvenienced myself to go watch him swim, or whenever we've been able to eat together. It made me want to apologize for not doing more…

We arrived late. He swam to the edge of the pool, and waved to us. I lifted my daughter's tiny hand to wave back, as she wiggled excitedly like a puppy, utterly thrilled to see her Daddy.

He smiled gently, ducked into the water, and glided away. A suspicious worry tugged at my stomach. I pulled a toy from the diaper bag, and settled us onto a damp, plastic bench to wait. He finally paused between sets.

"You ok?" I tried to sound casual.

"Yeah." He was trying to sound normal. I could hear the effort.

I paused, unsure how to interpret his tone. "Everything alright?" I rephrased my question.

"Well... I need to talk to you." He pulled his goggles off wearily.

"Ok. Now?"

"... Maybe?"

I walked to his lane, set our daughter on my knee, squatted at the edge of the pool, resisted the urge to interrogate him. She bounced enthusiastically, trying to grab his face.

He swallowed. "I got orders. I just found out."

"You... did." My brain spun into processing mode. "Um, ok. For... when?"

"Pretty fast." His eyes glistened sadly. "I was going to wait to tell you tonight..."

"It's ok." The words were instinctive. I immediately didn't want him to worry.

"I don't have details yet, but I'll try to get some soon..." He glanced down, a reliable tell of suppressed emotions.

"Ok." I suddenly realized how often I was saying that.

But, what else am I supposed to say?

I walked back to our bench, and sat, as the implications occurred to me. Four laps later, he was still underwater and I was choking on tears. Trying so hard not to sob. There were only a few other people in the humid pool building during lunch hour. The lifeguards, a few mothers and kids, one other swimmer. Wonder what they heard, or saw, or can tell...

I tried to act normal, force smiles, keep waving my baby's hand whenever Daddy popped above water for a moment.

She's so little. She'll be so different when he comes back. She loves him so much. They're so close.

Oh Lord, how will we do this?!

For several seconds, I wished we hadn't come to watch him swim today. Then, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude for all the times we had come. So glad for all those 5 a.m. mornings, and crazy lunch hours, and late night practices. Anything to be together, even watching from the sidelines.

Oh no, he'll miss all his races! My heart broke, realizing that his entire season was gone. All that practice. All that training. Now, he wouldn't even get to compete.

Darting into sudden escapism, I instinctively began planning dinner.

And he won't be here for the potato harvest! All our precious potatoes, we've cultivated and nurtured! He won't ever taste them!

The tears began squeezing out. I dug in the diaper bag for nothing in particular - just anything to grab, anything to do, any way to hide my face. He resurfaced and saw me bent over. I faked a brave grin, but ineffectively. His shoulders heaved up, then down, suppressing the sadness; he dove back into the water.

Swimming. I wish I were swimming. Pounding, kicking, pushing, reaching...

I sipped from a water bottle. Swallowing helped the ache.

We'll be ok. We love each other. We'll learn how to do this. We'll stay close, somehow. We've been very lucky to dodge two deployments before this. He was here for your pregnancy, and her birth, and first months. Just think how many people don't get that.

He shoved himself up and out of the pool. Time to hurry back to work. But, he stopped to hug me and our little daughter for an extra long moment. His skin was warm behind the cold water droplets. It was so emotional, so vivid. I chided myself for being so melodramatic. After all, this is what all military families do.

The chlorine smell followed me as I walked to our car. Must be in my hair... on my face... I unloaded the stroller, the diaper bag, the baby. This is what it's going to be like. I slid into my seat. I'll always be driving alone. I shifted into reverse.

Maybe I should take up swimming again while he's gone. Yes. That'd be good for me.

I felt comforted for a moment, making plans, regaining a bit of control. I turned onto the main street...

... but, who will take care of my daughter while I swim?

It was too much to try to visualize. Too much loss, too much sorrow. I retreated instead to writing mental lists. Vitamins to order, phone calls to make. At home, I put Baby down for a nap, watered the garden, gathered laundry, started dinner.

And then, I finally cried.