The Stages of Deployment

With my husband being gone, I experience all kinds of emotions. These are some of them.


Sadness.


It’s lonely at night. Is that a ghost in the corner? Watching Family Guy isn’t the same without my husband. Making crude comments isn’t as enjoyable alone. Wahh. I need some Chocolate Therapy from Ben and Jerry's, stat. I’m going to gain weight but I don’t care. Food comforts me. Yes, Dr. Phil, I eat my feelings, what of it?



Anger.

Freaking military. Why do they send people with families away? Why not send the single ones? It’s not right to let small children go without their fathers for so long. It can be DAMAGING to their growing tiny minds. I swear, if my kids wind up in therapy because they missed their daddy, I’m not going to be happy.

At least you get down time, Tom. You get to watch movies and rest in your room without children racing around, demanding things. Yes, you’ll argue that some troops behave like children but at least they don’t follow you into the bathroom and demand things while you’re trying to have a wee. This is hard. Yes, I do get down time when the kids are in school but summer is here. That's gone now. They are with me ALL THE TIME.


Freak Outs.

Why hasn’t he called? Is he okay? What if he’s not okay? What if he’s hurt? What if he’s alone? If he’s missing a leg, I’ll love him anyway. If any part of him ever gets blasted off, I’ll love him anyway. Where is he though?



Sadness. (Again. This comes and goes.)

Alll by myself. Don’t wanna be…all by myself. Sorry to the family I stared at intently at the park. It’s just, I’m jealous that your husband is with you. Helping you. Laughing with you. I won’t see mine again for a long time. Sorry though. I’ll try not to stare next time.



Acceptance.

Well. At least it means I won’t have to shave for awhile. And I can watch whatever show I want. The remote control is mine. If I don’t want to cook, I don’t have to. I mean, I have to make something for the kids, but that’s simple. Kid Cuisines become my best friend. If I want a doughtnut for dinner, I can have it. I won’t have to worry about Tom going, “What am I going to eat then?” The house can stay dirty. I mean, not Hoarders dirty, but not as clean as it usually is when he’s home. I can read in bed. I can bend over and not have someone rush over and hump against my butt (I swear, men must sense when a woman is bending over…) (Although, to be honest, I’m even starting to miss that…)