While You Are Deployed, I Am As Well

Whenever I get asked how I do this thing called life during a deployment, I just shrug and say, "I really don't know." Not a lot of people understand what it's like, and not a lot of them want to. I'm going to lay it out as much as I can in a civilian's understanding--not so you can take pity on me, but so you can be more grateful for the life you have and take less advantage of the good things.

To give a little background: I met my husband face to face two weeks before he left for BCT (Basic Combat Training) in April of 2010. We'd been texting a few months before then but hadn't met in person until that time. For the first month or two of Basic, there is no texting and very few phone calls. All you have are the letters (what you write and whatever he can manage to write through sheer and utter exhaustion). It isn't easy at all to go from constant communication and phone calls whenever you feel like it to nothing. The first month is hell for everyone, but you do what you can. Later on through Basic, phone calls were used as privileges and taken or given for bad or good behavior. If someone in the platoon screwed up, we didn't get our weekly 10-20 minute phone call. All that ended after four months and he got to come home for two weeks after his graduation. (As a side note: anytime my husband got to come home, we would be attached at the hip for every second possible of those two weeks. My parents weren't aware of the seriousness of the relationship at that time, so it was harder for us to really be together.)

Then, he was transferred to his duty station, where he stayed for four and a half months before coming home for his two weeks of Christmas leave. That stretch of time wasn't so bad, because we were able to text and call whenever we wanted. But again, I had to hide most of it from my parents because they didn't want us to be serious. I did get to spend Christmas and New Year's with him, but then we had to say goodbye again. January went by and in February, his mom and I went to go visit him for a week (a Christmas present for me from the two of them) and it was like being in a dream. Then we went home and he came back in March for his two and a half weeks of leave before deployment. Those hours were precious. My parents finally acknowledged our relationship, so things weren't as strained (but with boundaries as strict as their's, maybe they were).

He officially deployed in April of 2011. We texted and spoke on the phone every single second until he got to Europe. Then he would call me as soon as he was able on his way to his home for the next year. Since then it's been emails and Skype dates in the mornings. I am definitely grateful for both of those, knowing that we didn't used to have them and everything would be so much harder without them. He proposed to me over Skype (in the cleverest of ways). But that is all the practical side of things. Let me explain to you how things are emotionally for me.

This is my first relationship. Ever. He is the first man I have ever given my emotions, heart, love, and body to. I am very proud of that fact. It may make me sound naive, but I think it makes me special. Not many girls in this world can say they married their first love, nor that their husband was the first man they gifted themselves wholly to. But the longest I've ever had him physically present is two and half weeks. And I haven't been able to sleep next to the man (that I've been married in heart to for a year) for longer than a week and a half at a time. I can't contact him at the very second I need him; I have to wait for him to be available to contact me. That means a lot of late and lonely nights. For someone who's love language is touch, six months+ away from the only person who can give that to you is pretty rough. I can't tell you how often I physically ache to be held, caressed, kissed, or made love to by him. It may be an awkward thought to you, but this is real life and I'm going to tell it how it is. 

I can't express how much I miss holding his hand or going everywhere with him, being treated like I'm the most valuable thing in the world, or how painful it is to wake up alone every morning. I only get a half hour's worth of conversation with him in the mornings, more if we're lucky. When he leaves on a mission, I don't sleep well (if at all) until I hear from him again. That can make for a sleepless week. His ring may be on my finger and his last name legally mine, but I haven't been able to truly live as his wife yet. I have to cherish every second I get with him, because it has to be enough to get me through the times when depression and pain try to visit. Being strong doesn't mean you never cry. It doesn't mean you never ask how you're going to make it through the next week or month. Sometimes all you have is hope, that date you've been given when he should be coming home. And just knowing the things that happen on the other side of the world, you pray desperately that he's not coming home in a box. I can't even think about that because all I have to go on is my dream of building a life and a family with him. And I'm not taking no for an answer.

Easy Is As Easy Does

Anyone who is anyone is aware of the treachery of life. How, the moment one is comfortable with the way things are happening and flowing, the rug will be snatched from underneath. Life has a funny way of waiting until everything is all roses in one's life before it drowns those same roses in a monstrous storm. It will be your best friend one moment, then your worst enemy the next. It breathes anarchy and operates with unrest. The only one who can cheat at this game is life itself, changing the maze and leaving you helpless once again.

I have a lot of knives in my back that life has thrown my way. Scars from past matches that I did not win. But I don't pity myself. I am still living, still taking air into my lungs and pushing it back out; blood still circulates through these veins. Pity is for the dead. Even sympathy I cannot stand, as it shares genes with pity. Such a thin line bridges the two and too often, pity is given where sympathy belongs. Pity breeds regret and I will have none of that, thanks. It's good to learn, good to understand where reason failed me. But I am not sorry. Those who are sorry never move forward, because they are too busy glancing back. One day they will trip over their own feet and off a cliff--that is not the death I wish to die.

Perfection is one illustrious goal that ever escapes me, as it always has anyone born to this race. That does not make me any less willing to pursue it. My dreams pose a similar threat. Whenever they come to mind, a sinister whisper follows soon after, telling me they are out of reach and are impossible. But when your dreams come from the One who made you completely capable and able to accomplish them, there is no question. Many of mine have come to pass and I am sure more will. Don't ever doubt your dreams because you think you're a mess or can't see why God would ever use you.

If God can use a mess like me, there's no reason why He wouldn't want you. I was an overweight, suicidal cutter who became a near-anorexic cutter. I stole from my parents, played the church game. I did many other things to myself and others that were neither Christian nor right. But God redeems, God restores, God forgives. The fact that I am still alive today, with a degree, a wonderful marriage going on three and half months, with the soulmate I've been with for two years, and a home waiting for us in March testifies to how good my God is.


He never gives up on you. And He's given you the power to beat life at it's own game.

Eye-Opener For The Lucky Little Innocent

Home. I want to be there. You ask, "How can you not be home when you haven't gone anywhere?" My answer: I haven't really been home for two years. And since last October, my home has been about 3,000 miles away from here. It's where I'll be able to start my new life and write a new chapter for myself. Strange that I'm homesick for a faraway place I've only visited once.

Maybe because I'm ready to feel again, ready to live again. And every time we say goodbye, my heart and emotions are put on hold once again. It's a tense feeling, but mercifully makes life pass by with dull heartache rather that gut-wrenching pain. You know how whenever you are on the phone with someone and placed on hold, you get an almost suspenseful feeling until you are reconnected? That's me. I've felt this suspenseful, waiting emotion for two years (with the exception of a few weeks here and there). Contact or no. I don't feel home unless I am with him. I don't feel really alive unless he is by my side.

You might call me an obsessive, co-dependent sap. Or a lovesick piece of uselessness. But you will most likely never understand and never experience long-distance, long-term separation. It is not for the faint of heart. If anything, you should dive to your knees and shout to the heavens how grateful you are that you've never had to go through this. I don't care if your life sucks or if your relationship is in the dumps. If you've gotten to wake up next to them more than 28 days of your whole stinking life, you've got it pretty damn good. Excuse me if I can't muster up any sympathy for your petty little problems.

I just want to go home. I want to be free, with my love.