I want to be one of those really strong people that other people talk about when they say "She was such a strong person, never asked why, just did the best she could." But I can't be her, because I'm not just asking why, I'm standing on the rooftop screaming why.
Why does he have to leave again? Why already? He hasn't been home a year yet. Granted, it will be a year next week, but my whining argument sounds better if I say "not even a year, yet!" so we're gonna go with that. What do I tell my kids? How do I make my little guys understand that he's leaving...again? A. is nearly five. He'll be a whole hand full of fingers in November. His daddy has only lived with him for like 20 months....of the 58 months that we've been blessed to be his parents. When I tell him that daddy will be gone for 15 months (although he'll have NO idea how long that is), he's going to be devastated. My husband will leave behind a 4 year old and a 10 month old baby and come back to a six year old and a 2 year old. :(
How do I make it through the next few weeks knowing that the time is coming? It's coming so fast! I feel like I'm being hurled towards D-Day (deployment day) at breakneck speed. It's like being on a roller coaster when you're completely terrified of them (which I, and any other normal person, am) and you're begging the guy to let you off. You're pushing at the safety bar in front of you, you're grasping on to his shirt, you're screaming and begging to please get off of the freaking ride! But he ignores you and pulls the lever anyway. In the few seconds that you're inching up a hill so high that a dropped penny would shatter the ground, you've vowed to exact your revenge on coaster man. You take a few seconds for plotting because it takes your mind off of the imminent horror show you're about to endure and then you plummet toward the earth.....deployment has begun. Some days are good days and you're flying high, some days are just plain crappy days and you feel so low, there are so many twists and turns that you've forgotten what the beginning looked like. You're screaming the whole time...but on the inside because you don't want anyone to know you can't handle it. I know that it stops as quickly as it started....when it's over you are so incredibly happy that you've made it and you are so thrilled that you momentarily forget the last 15 endless, tortorous months, albeit momentarily.
I know the ride ends. I know that there's a tunnel and it does indeed have an end. But I'm nearly staring right at the beginning of this tunnel. Just standing here peering into the darkness. It's so dark and endless. There's a light, but it's so far away that I can't see. At that time, two little hands reach up to grab mine. They know I am supposed to lead them to the other side. They know they'll be safe with me, although scared that the big, goofy guy is gone. But I'm scared he'll be gone, too.
I'm not ready. I mean, I've got most of my paperwork together. It's all neat and tidy. The Army could make a two hour briefing on my ability to effectively organize my important family documents. But I'm just not ready to do the single parent dance. And with my family 350 miles away. I don't want to do this, I don't want to be in this place, and I don't care who knows it.
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