I wrote at the beginning of deployment about how the worst part of deployment is the unknown. Another thing that ranks up there with the unknown, and correlates very closely with it, is the emotional roller coaster we're riding on. In the face of a situation that causes one to be emotionally vulnerable, we tend to put up walls to protect our hearts. That is true for many stories, but I'm finding it is especially true among military spouses. The mantra is, "Hope for the best, plan for the worst." It's an awkward juggling act trying to hold onto hope without getting your hopes up. In our particular situation, we've had a lot of unique ups and downs. We were told our men were coming home months early and then it was back to the original 12 month plan. We were told my husband didn't have enough days saved up for R&R leave, and then told the opposite. It's just the nature of the beast.
The most recent word is that my husband will get R&R and will be home some time soon-ish (there's always an -ish). I have been frantic ever since that news came to me. Frantic, I tell you. As my husband was telling me he'd be getting leave soon(ish), I was pacing the floor yelling at my computer, "This better be real! Don't mess with me!" I then burst into tears. Ugly, frantic tears. My husband asked if I was getting excited and I had to admit that I was skeptical that it wouldn't really happen. I'm still skeptical. The walls I've put up and the brave face I've put on are stubborn. They took time to build and they aren't coming down easily.
I tend to have inappropriate emotional reactions in general (I'm the girl with the giggle fits at a funeral), so needless to say, I've become a complete nutcase. I was ranting and raving to John about "What if I burn dinner?! What if I'm no good in bed?!" (hey, use it or lose it, right?) and literally drove myself to tears. I was staining my furniture and sobbing. Sobbing about dinner and sex with no make up on, wearing nasty sweats, and trying to remember the last time I showered. (I'm so attractive.) I'm so glad he wasn't here to actually see it, but I still think it freaked my man out. I finally realized that maybe if I'd been like everyone else and had a good cry every now and then, the thought of burning dinner wouldn't bring me to those dreadful frantic tears.
After that realization, I've forced myself to cry a little bit in the hopes that I won't absolutely lose my mind when I see John. (Doubtful, but I hear crying is good for getting dust out of the eyes and after sanding my furniture INSIDE my apartment, I can probably use a good flush.) Part of this "get it all out now" therapy is looking at photos from military homecomings and visualizing myself running into John's arms. I've heard therapists use visualizations so I thought I'd give it a try. Instead of crying though, it makes my heart all aflutter to see images of those infamous white buses and pretty ladies buried in camo chests. It also makes me start singing Little Mermaid songs, "When's it my turn..." But I digress. So maybe my emotions won't ever get with the program. Maybe I'll still be a bawling nutcase at the airport. But one thing I know: Even through my walls and inappropriate emotions, just the thought of being with my love, my best friend, and my soldier makes my heart do funny things. And that's one of the benefits of being a military spouse. It feels like my wedding day all over again. Oh please let that day come soon!
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Sunday, January 8, 2012
bilingual
"Am I beautiful?" "Do you love me?" "Do you miss me?"
I found myself asking my husband these questions at the beginning of deployment, and not so subtly. Everything that I thought communicated love was stripped away. There were no hugs, no kisses, or any sort of touches. There were no dates, no dinners, and no laughter shared. I was practically begging for him to "voice" his affection because he wasn't here to show it to me. My baffled husband, in a much more subtle way, basically said, "I married you, didn't I? I'm faithful, aren't I? I wouldn't have married you if I didn't think you were beautiful or if I didn't love you or if I didn't want to be with you." I knew he was absolutely right. What greater expression of love is there than to be faithfully committed to another? My head knew that, yet my heart was still desperately hungry.
A few months into his deployment, he had to change locations which meant that communication would be cut off for anywhere from a week to a month. He was planning on sending me a box of some things he didn't want to transport to his new location and I had asked him to put a letter in the box so that I'd have something when all communication was gone. We were expert letter-writers when he was in Basic Training. He would write a couple pages each week. Some letters were just a run down of the things happening during his training, while others were romantic and sappy. I didn't care either way; just "hearing" his voice was enough for me. I obsessively checked the mail and holed up in my room every time I got a precious letter. I wanted to have a little bit of that romance and excitement to hang onto when we were in a period of forced silence.
He told me he had sent the box and there was a little something in there for me. I was again was obsessively checking the mail. It finally arrived and I practically ran home. Like a kid on Christmas morning, I ripped the box open with much gusto. CDs, DVDs,... but... where was my letter? I shook out every piece of newspaper and bubble wrap hoping my precious letter would float into my lap. Nothing. Maybe he was sneaky and put it inside a CD case, I thought. I searched and searched and searched; there was nothing of the sort to be found. Not even a sticky note with one sentence on it. But there was "a little something" in there for me. He bought me a cute stuffed camel and a beautiful carved elephant, my favorite animal. It was a thoughtful gift, so why was I feeling so... disappointed?
I didn't even want to acknowledge to myself that I felt that way because I knew I was being ridiculous. He saw something, thought of me, and used his spending money to buy it for me. He gave me something tangible, I could literally hold it in my hands. It was his way of saying, "I love you." It was then that I realized I was only well-versed in one language: mine. I had read Gary Chapman's popular book about love languages, yet I was painfully unaware of how limited in the linguistics of love I really was. I was disappointed because I didn't get something that I would have used to communicate affection. Which is a huge mistake to make because I was not understanding how he was communicating, at least not in my heart. My head understood that the gift was personal and thoughtful, but it didn't resonate in my heart, at least not in that moment.
I had to learn a new language: his. I had to become bilingual. I had to understand that even though he wasn't saying exactly what I wanted to hear, he was at least talking. He took the time to ask about my day even though he was exhausted, dirty, homesick, and had his life threatened hours ago and couldn't even talk to me about it. He only had enough free time to basically eat and shower, but he still waited in line to use the computers or phone. He felt like we were running out of things to talk about and that conversations became a bit forced, yet he didn't close himself off completely to me. Now I love that little elephant. I trace my fingers around the artist's details and think of how he once had it in his hands, and I feel closer to him. My favorite animal, decorated in my favorite colors, given to me by my favorite man; it is an expression of his uniquely personal love language, one that I'm studying frantically as to not miss a single word he says.
I found myself asking my husband these questions at the beginning of deployment, and not so subtly. Everything that I thought communicated love was stripped away. There were no hugs, no kisses, or any sort of touches. There were no dates, no dinners, and no laughter shared. I was practically begging for him to "voice" his affection because he wasn't here to show it to me. My baffled husband, in a much more subtle way, basically said, "I married you, didn't I? I'm faithful, aren't I? I wouldn't have married you if I didn't think you were beautiful or if I didn't love you or if I didn't want to be with you." I knew he was absolutely right. What greater expression of love is there than to be faithfully committed to another? My head knew that, yet my heart was still desperately hungry.
A few months into his deployment, he had to change locations which meant that communication would be cut off for anywhere from a week to a month. He was planning on sending me a box of some things he didn't want to transport to his new location and I had asked him to put a letter in the box so that I'd have something when all communication was gone. We were expert letter-writers when he was in Basic Training. He would write a couple pages each week. Some letters were just a run down of the things happening during his training, while others were romantic and sappy. I didn't care either way; just "hearing" his voice was enough for me. I obsessively checked the mail and holed up in my room every time I got a precious letter. I wanted to have a little bit of that romance and excitement to hang onto when we were in a period of forced silence.
He told me he had sent the box and there was a little something in there for me. I was again was obsessively checking the mail. It finally arrived and I practically ran home. Like a kid on Christmas morning, I ripped the box open with much gusto. CDs, DVDs,... but... where was my letter? I shook out every piece of newspaper and bubble wrap hoping my precious letter would float into my lap. Nothing. Maybe he was sneaky and put it inside a CD case, I thought. I searched and searched and searched; there was nothing of the sort to be found. Not even a sticky note with one sentence on it. But there was "a little something" in there for me. He bought me a cute stuffed camel and a beautiful carved elephant, my favorite animal. It was a thoughtful gift, so why was I feeling so... disappointed?
I didn't even want to acknowledge to myself that I felt that way because I knew I was being ridiculous. He saw something, thought of me, and used his spending money to buy it for me. He gave me something tangible, I could literally hold it in my hands. It was his way of saying, "I love you." It was then that I realized I was only well-versed in one language: mine. I had read Gary Chapman's popular book about love languages, yet I was painfully unaware of how limited in the linguistics of love I really was. I was disappointed because I didn't get something that I would have used to communicate affection. Which is a huge mistake to make because I was not understanding how he was communicating, at least not in my heart. My head understood that the gift was personal and thoughtful, but it didn't resonate in my heart, at least not in that moment.
I had to learn a new language: his. I had to become bilingual. I had to understand that even though he wasn't saying exactly what I wanted to hear, he was at least talking. He took the time to ask about my day even though he was exhausted, dirty, homesick, and had his life threatened hours ago and couldn't even talk to me about it. He only had enough free time to basically eat and shower, but he still waited in line to use the computers or phone. He felt like we were running out of things to talk about and that conversations became a bit forced, yet he didn't close himself off completely to me. Now I love that little elephant. I trace my fingers around the artist's details and think of how he once had it in his hands, and I feel closer to him. My favorite animal, decorated in my favorite colors, given to me by my favorite man; it is an expression of his uniquely personal love language, one that I'm studying frantically as to not miss a single word he says.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
desert
I watch the sun set from above as red rays of light warm the desert clay. The rough canvas is scrawled with love letters written in river-water ink. It is moments like these that I am reminded of the life that is pumping through my veins. I'm alive and the barren desert tells me so. I have breath in my lungs even though the bloody sun teases me with its retreat. I do not fear the darkness it leaves behind, for I know the light within me has yet to be snuffed out. Bring it on, dear desert, I know the oasis is coming. Let's do this, dear darkness, it is only a matter of time before you scurry away. My heart is caged, but it is not enslaved; I can face the night.
There are wild creatures all around me, producing guttural sounds to warn me of their presence. No one needs to give them permission to be dangerous; they simply are as they should be. I fear them simply out of respect for their wild passion and unrivaled strength. A coyote spots me and stares at me with his dancing eyes. He knows he's respected and starts to wander off without a fight. In the darkness, he turns his head and nods at me, a courteous gesture from one free creature to another. A smile creeps onto my face as I begin my adventure into the wild, the dangerous, the passionate, the free. Come with me, dear brothers and sisters, your soul is yearning to be alive. Can you feel it?
There are wild creatures all around me, producing guttural sounds to warn me of their presence. No one needs to give them permission to be dangerous; they simply are as they should be. I fear them simply out of respect for their wild passion and unrivaled strength. A coyote spots me and stares at me with his dancing eyes. He knows he's respected and starts to wander off without a fight. In the darkness, he turns his head and nods at me, a courteous gesture from one free creature to another. A smile creeps onto my face as I begin my adventure into the wild, the dangerous, the passionate, the free. Come with me, dear brothers and sisters, your soul is yearning to be alive. Can you feel it?
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