So much of this life can feel so very invisible. The last two weeks, we've returned to the 'work-up' cycle which in the Navy world means a series of 'shorter' trips to the boat and out for training and qualifications all leading up to 'the big event' of deployment. I know there are comparable seasons in other branches. He comes and goes like a yo-yo during these times. Every time I drop him off at the air-terminal--whether it's for two weeks or two months, I cry and my babies do too.
Most people don't see that.
The day before he comes home we clean the house a little bit more and talk about how excited we are to see Daddy even though it's only been two weeks or a month. The girls draw pictures to hang on the wall that say 'Welcome Home' (We save the banners for after a full deployment). We get butterflies in our tummy. Then we go back to the air terminal to pick him up and fall into his arms. Sometimes I put on a clean shirt for this, and other times I settle for my yoga pants and a pony tail thinking, "It wasn't a deployment after all."
Most people don't see that.
He comes and goes a half dozen times and I know my face is supposed to stay placid. I'm not allowed to wear my strain until he's going to be gone for at least a full six months at a stretch. And I'm told by almost everyone, "At least you'll get to see him in a couple of weeks." I try not to choke on the words that well up in my throat about how all of those 'couples of weeks' add up to months and months of being away from him before the ship even pulls out into international waters.
Most people don't see that.
My girls get used to him being gone, but still cry at bedtime when they realize he won't tuck them in.. again. Milestones are missed by those shorter trips too. I go days without hearing his voice and remember how hard it can be to do a marriage by email.
Most people don't see that.
Another Navy wife once told me that being a military spouse is like being a surfer: you are always riding out another wave of something. During the work up cycle we constantly adjust. Our schedules never quite gel between the coming and going times. He's not home long enough to feel settled. He's not gone long enough for us to find our rhythm to cope.
But these pieces prove our salt too. They can, like so many pieces of this life, break us and yet, as we find our strength and resilience, make us. They cause us to cling more tightly to one another because we realize more fully how fleeting our time together is. We persevere through these things too.
Most people don't see that.
Most people don't see that.
The day before he comes home we clean the house a little bit more and talk about how excited we are to see Daddy even though it's only been two weeks or a month. The girls draw pictures to hang on the wall that say 'Welcome Home' (We save the banners for after a full deployment). We get butterflies in our tummy. Then we go back to the air terminal to pick him up and fall into his arms. Sometimes I put on a clean shirt for this, and other times I settle for my yoga pants and a pony tail thinking, "It wasn't a deployment after all."
Most people don't see that.
He comes and goes a half dozen times and I know my face is supposed to stay placid. I'm not allowed to wear my strain until he's going to be gone for at least a full six months at a stretch. And I'm told by almost everyone, "At least you'll get to see him in a couple of weeks." I try not to choke on the words that well up in my throat about how all of those 'couples of weeks' add up to months and months of being away from him before the ship even pulls out into international waters.
Most people don't see that.
My girls get used to him being gone, but still cry at bedtime when they realize he won't tuck them in.. again. Milestones are missed by those shorter trips too. I go days without hearing his voice and remember how hard it can be to do a marriage by email.
Most people don't see that.
Another Navy wife once told me that being a military spouse is like being a surfer: you are always riding out another wave of something. During the work up cycle we constantly adjust. Our schedules never quite gel between the coming and going times. He's not home long enough to feel settled. He's not gone long enough for us to find our rhythm to cope.
But these pieces prove our salt too. They can, like so many pieces of this life, break us and yet, as we find our strength and resilience, make us. They cause us to cling more tightly to one another because we realize more fully how fleeting our time together is. We persevere through these things too.
Most people don't see that.
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