My heart breaks each day as I feel the sharpest of pains from my husband Rob's absence in everything I do. I haven't seen him since the middle of September when he deployed to Iraq, where he will serve until this September. This is his third one-year deployment in the last five years. Again, this is the third out of the last five years that he has not been here at home, but I think this is the most agonizing separation we've endured.
Our daughter is old enough this time to really begin to process just how long a year really is. She knew when he left that he'd be gone for Halloween and Thanksgiving and Christmas and New Year's and his birthday and Valentine's Day. She cried as he missed Fall Soccer. She drew a picture of a broken heart when she realized that he will miss Spring Soccer. She just two weeks ago discovered that he'll miss her 8th birthday, and she got angry and clenched her little fists and complained how unfair it all is. And for me, I am sad that he will be gone on our 10th wedding anniversary.
I miss Rob in the sweet little things like when Madison spent two days writing a song and playing it on her guitar. (Song was called "Playing My Guitar.") I miss him in the silly and mundane things like when I can't reach something on the top shelf of the kitchen cabinet. (He's 6'2...I'm 5'2.) I miss him in the annoying things like having to take the garbage cans to the curb for pick-up every week. (Ewww, that's a boy job.) I miss him in the big decisions like how to handle the fact that a convicted child molester and rapist bought the house next door to us. I miss him in the stressful times like when our budget is tight. I miss him in the exciting things like when I earned back my Black Belt in Taekwondo. I miss my friend. I miss having that soft and safe place to land when life becomes overwhelming. I miss the silly arguments about wet towels on the floor and the soulful conversations on a roadtrip. I miss my husband.
It's hard to be apart for a year and to then be thrust back into the full-time family groove. Children change so much in a year that it is always a difficult adjustment for Rob and Madison to get reacquainted with each other and for her to know that she can go to him for her needs. It is hard for Rob to see that she's so much more mature and capable and independent and that her interests have drastically changed in a year's time. And even as adults we still evolve and change and tend to adopt new habits and such, so there is an awkward courting period that has to take place as we get back together as a family. When Rob left for Iraq, I had no tattoos, and now I have a few. When he left, I knew nothing about guns, and now I go to the shooting range twice a week. These are just simple details of the little stuffs of daily life, but there are much deeper implications of a long separation. Our social circles change. Our needs. Our priorities. Our beliefs. We live individual experiences for a year and have to work hard to communicate and find common ground again. It's like adjusting to the first year of marriage all over again. This does mean that there is a honeymoon period, for sure, and it is a truly magical time. And I believe that we do have some renewed and long-lasting appreciation for each other after having to endure the long separations. This also sets us up for unrealistic expectations, if we aren't careful. How deeply he must long to be home, and then after that glorious few weeks of homecoming celebration, he has to discover that the same little life annoyances are still present. We have the same challenges as before. It's still work here. It's still an imperfect place. And my expectations can be pretty high, as well, for I think I finally can breathe and take a break from having to bear all the responsibilites of our home, and our child, our finances, etc. However, we're not on a vacation from real life. We're in a state of trying to find that equilibrium again, and this can be a volatile process. There can be good and bad in the process of the homecoming.
All that aside, I want him home. I'm a little too stressed right now to articulate it any better than this, I'm afraid...
So, I sit here, missing him, wanting to just know he's here in our home. Wanting him to be given the chance to be the father I know he wants to be. I spend my quiet moments of meditation hoping and praying that the solidarity of our family is such that we can come through this latest trial...
Sometimes I just miss Rob so desperately that it actually hurts to breathe. And, I worry for his safety, of course. Just last week, he had to rush off the phone with me because their base was being attacked and obviously they have certain procedures that have to be followed immediately in that situation. The last thing he said to me on that day was, "I love you. I have to go; they are shooting at us again." I sat here nauseated wondering if that would be the last time I ever heard his voice. For the next 24 hours I was kind of numb until I finally received an email from him letting me know that he was safe.
My soul is just weary. This house is eerily quiet at night and suffocatingly still on the weekends. I just want my husband home... I just want some stability. We really need to be together and to live as a family...
So, there's my little vent, my vulnerability, my little indulgence in the sad self-pity. And now I guess I better put on my armor and go forth and be a productive human being again.....
