My husband leaves in two weeks. Two more weekends, and he’s gone. Why does this have to be so hard? I look at the other women in the unit, and they seem to take this all totally in stride. My husband reminds me gently that I look that way, too, in public.
Twelve months. “I can’t imagine my husband being gone for 12 months.” I need to make a list of ignorant statements people make to families of deployed soldiers. That one would top the list. Because I can clearly imagine my husband leaving for a huge amount of time…and we are actually okay with it (Hopefully the sarcasm is obvious). “It will go by quickly.” Also not a comfort, in some ways, because I don’t want to speed through a year of daughter’s life, but am also simultaneously wanting that, so my husband will be home again. There’s no easy answer.
I am panicked by the thought of making bad memories during these last two weeks. I cry at sad songs on the radio–every sad song. I hate waking up in the morning because it’s one day closer to D-Day (Departure Day). I hate going to bed at night because I will wake up and it will be one day closer, etc. I want so badly to know that a new but temporary normal will arise. That life won’t seem as dreary, empty, and slow like when he was at NTC. I have to hope that after awhile going to bed by myself won’t seem such a drudgery. Dinners won’t be as lonely, mornings won’t be as empty without packing a lunch and making a breakfast.
I have to hope that eventually the fear of losing him won’t feel like such a premonition. I have to pray and beg he’ll come home as alive and healthy as I sent him off. Because thinking about the alternative is unbearable.
As unimaginable as civilian brides find living without their husband for an extended period of time, I can’t imagine never having to worry about this. I can’t imagine never having to plan for a year’s separation and acknowledge the worst could happen. It’s not normal and I don’t feel badly for not liking it.
Charlie Mike. That’s my mantra. For Richard. That’s my oath.