Today is a Hard Day
There is nothing good about a deployment. You might hear people talk about perks, freedom, independence…these are coping mechanisms. There is nothing natural about being separated from your other half for 15 months at a time. Eight months into our SECOND deployment, I expected to be a pro at coping mechanisms and balances. The truth of the matter is that today is a hard day. This week is a rough week. I guess I’m entitled to them. And it’s not like I don’t have anything going for me or anything good and great happening here because I do. I live in Franklin for crying out loud. It’s beautiful here. The people are wonderful. I live with my parents who are supportive and helpful and understanding and patient. But there are times when all the good just can’t overshadow the bad, the tough, the depressing, the facts.
Tonight some of my new friends from church had a birthday party for me. SO sweet…what a blessing. But I found myself overly emotional at the party. One lady asked me about Bernard, and bless her heart I had to excuse myself to the bathroom because tears flooded my eyes. Being without Bernard is so hard. Period. I feel naked. I literally feel like a huge part of me is missing-- and then combine that with not having the comfort blanket named Gabbi with me and I feel like I’m a walking exposed wound. I find myself nervous to go to Mom's Groups, to the YMCA, anywhere outside my home feels so outside my comfort zone these days. I used to feel intelligent when I spoke with others, I used to feel as though I were in a place in my faith journey that was good and productive and worthwhile.
Tonight I just felt purposeless. I felt like every woman in that party had her life so much more pulled together than I do. I felt like they manage to have more children and somehow more time. That they’re holier, happier, more well spoken and all around more stable than I am. I’m afraid to get close to them, to really open up. Because I’ll just move away again. I’ve said in the past that it’s hard to make friends in a military town because they already have their friends; they know another move is just around the corner, and they don’t need the hassle of making new friends. I don’t want to be that army wife. Yet I can’t imagine letting myself be in such a vulnerable, emotional situation.
I so badly look forward to when Bernard and I can have a normal life together. A life that involves him coming home every night, being around every weekend. Going to events, parties, and church as a family. I look forward to growing up and growing old with him. Having more babies and watching Gabbi with her siblings. I want to settle down somewhere, buy a home, paint the walls, plant a garden and get to know families in the area. It’s so much harder doing the everyday tasks without him here. I want to be able to pick up the phone and call him. As much as he hates it, I want to roll over and talk to him about what’s on my mind at bedtime. I want to cook meals for him. I want to have our own place. I want to watch him with Gabbi.
Emily said to me tonight that each day means less time away and we’re now closer to the end than we were the beginning of this thing. And I haven’t lost hope; I don’t want it to sound like I have. It’s just that today is a hard day. And this week is a tough week. But it will get better, and it will get shorter, and it will get closer and pretty soon he’ll be back…
Tonight some of my new friends from church had a birthday party for me. SO sweet…what a blessing. But I found myself overly emotional at the party. One lady asked me about Bernard, and bless her heart I had to excuse myself to the bathroom because tears flooded my eyes. Being without Bernard is so hard. Period. I feel naked. I literally feel like a huge part of me is missing-- and then combine that with not having the comfort blanket named Gabbi with me and I feel like I’m a walking exposed wound. I find myself nervous to go to Mom's Groups, to the YMCA, anywhere outside my home feels so outside my comfort zone these days. I used to feel intelligent when I spoke with others, I used to feel as though I were in a place in my faith journey that was good and productive and worthwhile.
Tonight I just felt purposeless. I felt like every woman in that party had her life so much more pulled together than I do. I felt like they manage to have more children and somehow more time. That they’re holier, happier, more well spoken and all around more stable than I am. I’m afraid to get close to them, to really open up. Because I’ll just move away again. I’ve said in the past that it’s hard to make friends in a military town because they already have their friends; they know another move is just around the corner, and they don’t need the hassle of making new friends. I don’t want to be that army wife. Yet I can’t imagine letting myself be in such a vulnerable, emotional situation.
I so badly look forward to when Bernard and I can have a normal life together. A life that involves him coming home every night, being around every weekend. Going to events, parties, and church as a family. I look forward to growing up and growing old with him. Having more babies and watching Gabbi with her siblings. I want to settle down somewhere, buy a home, paint the walls, plant a garden and get to know families in the area. It’s so much harder doing the everyday tasks without him here. I want to be able to pick up the phone and call him. As much as he hates it, I want to roll over and talk to him about what’s on my mind at bedtime. I want to cook meals for him. I want to have our own place. I want to watch him with Gabbi.
Emily said to me tonight that each day means less time away and we’re now closer to the end than we were the beginning of this thing. And I haven’t lost hope; I don’t want it to sound like I have. It’s just that today is a hard day. And this week is a tough week. But it will get better, and it will get shorter, and it will get closer and pretty soon he’ll be back…
Comments
Post a Comment