9 months down

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9 months down.

In some ways, it feels like I just wrote the “8 months” post. I’m reminded of that Sara Evans song where she says, “It doesn’t happen overnight, but you turn around and a month’s gone by.” That’s exactly how the last couple of months have felt. Flying by.
Could it be I’m hitting my stride?
I hesitate to even think that way. Usually when I think things are okay, the deployment gnome strikes. You know, that pesky little guy who breaks air conditioners, flattens tires and makes skunks live in your garage… oh wait… I have that last one. Monsieur Le Pew has been living with us for a a couple of weeks now. Just when I think he’s gone, he scares the crap out of me around 1 a.m… No worries, his striped-self will be leaving shortly… aided. Deployment Gnome strikes again. Little bugger.
Maybe it’s the little things that are making me feel a little better. Driving last night, I noticed that when my car is due for another oil change, Jason will be home. When the milk in the frig. expires, it will be August, another month closer. The light at the end of this tunnel is appearing, be it small as it is. A few flips of the calendar and he’ll be home. But that’s easier said than lived through.
Sometimes during deployment, I feel like the tunnel isn’t straight, and that’s why we can’t see the light. Some days, when the kitchen is clean, and the kids aren’t trying to tie one another to the support beams in the basement, it feels like I’m doing okay. I can see the light. It feels manageable, livable, possible. Days like today. Oh, I am thankful for these days. These days, when things are just 10% easier, make the other days survivable. Those days, when the laundry is piled, the kids are a wreck and my schedule is shot to all hecklo, I can’t see a light. I don’t even know that there is a light. It’s not because the light isn’t there, it’s just because I’m curved along a little path I couldn’t see, but if I just breathe, just make it through that day from you-know-where, I’ll get back on the path and then the light may appear again tomorrow.
So that’s where I am. I miss Jason, but missing him has just become the status quo. Some days are worse than others. And when I say miss, it’s not like missing a friend or a colleague. This missing is like the constant knowledge that half of my soul isn’t there, and that awareness is like noticing jagged pieces of me that are still gaping and raw. And it doesn’t matter that we’re 76% done with this deployment (thank you donut of misery). I still have the fear that something will happen; that I won’t have him to complete me again. So yes, I’ve gotten used to missing him, but the ability to function with that misery is what separates the women from the… well… girls, I guess.
We’re pushing through. I’m keeping my head pointed towards the direct future. The closing of the new house, the move. Oh, Good Lord, the move. Sigh. A few girls’ events, the start of school, my Sookie getting her husband back (he left 6 weeks before Jason), suddenly it’s September, and the light at the end of the tunnel will be so bright that I’ll have no choice but to bask in the sunlight. You know, before reintegration stresses me out…
We have 9 months down, and I finally feel like we just might make it.

One Comment on “9 months down”

  1. Carissa

    What a great description of "the light at the end." It gives me hope that someday, I may see the light and it'll be closer than I thought! Great post. I think I needed to read this today.

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