100 Days

At my daughters’ school (and surely elementary schools around the globe) the 100th day of school is kind of a big deal. They normally glance back at what they have done over the year, acknowledge how much they have grown and learned, and of course there is a party. I have found that grammar school is in a perpetual state of cupcake frenzy and forever looking for a reason to celebrate with frosty delights. I guess this is something that kind of carries over into adulthood. I mean who among us has not worked at a job where there is a person virtually assigned to discover the birthdays of co-workers so that we can meet in the break-room for cake to celebrate “Bob’s” birthday. No one really cares about Bob, but everyone loves cake. It’s kind of strange isn’t it? I have on more than one occasion known I was merely an excuse, a segue if you will, to “cake”.

Today is a very different type of 100th day; it is the 100th day of our current deployment. To be honest I didn’t really give it a lot of thought. I noticed last night that it was coming but I didn’t feel the need to bring any great recognition or celebratory response to its arrival. What would be the point? I would love to say that I feel some sense of accomplishment in how far we have come, but we are barely a quarter of the way done. To know that although we have done 100 days and we still have at least 265 still to go, well that is daunting to say the least.

But, today was a good day regardless of the reminders as to how long a year truly is. Today was also summer solstice – the longest day of the year. In Alaska that means up to 24 full hours of sunlight. In Anchorage things are not quite that extreme, but it still means nearly 19.5 hours of glorious daylight. And as much as I hate to cross this tipping point in the seasons, there was something akin to relief in crossing that threshold. Kind of like reaching the top of the mountain and finally starting back down the other side. Of course there is no real logic in this line of thinking. Yes, the days will begin to get shorter tomorrow, but in December when we still have 3 months to go we will start back uphill again in terms of solar measurement.

To celebrate solstice, the girls (minus 1 – our oldest is a camp this week – more details about this later) and I had a fun-filled day that included the library, the track, the pool and concluded with a hike and picnic. Overall, it was a very good day. However, I was reminded of the potential irony in my uphill downhill assessment of a deployment as I nursed an IT band injury on our hike. I have been stubbornly ignoring and running through a stressed IT band in my left leg for several weeks now…okay probably at least 2 months. My brother – the runner – tells me the only answer is to stop running until it heals. The thing is I don’t want to stop running, so I haven’t. I have cut way back which I thought was helping, that is until the 2 mile uphill hike today. The thing is, with every step up, each one slightly more aggravating than the last, I knew I would have to make an additional step back down. And for anyone who has ever had a problem with an IT band I think it is pretty universal that “down” is actually far worse than “up”.

So where does this leave me with my theory? Up was hard, but the view and the accomplishment from the top made it well worth it. Down was horrible and with no reward other than being done. What does this mean about deployment? Perhaps there isn’t even any real correlation. But I think there might be. The first half is really hard, but the second half may be even harder because even though you’ve reached the top, the distance back down is just as far. But here I am getting WAY ahead of myself. We are only halfway up the mountain – far too early to start thinking about the trek back down. 100 days. That does sound like something though doesn’t it? Yes, I think it is. I think perhaps I should be more excited, feel more accomplished. Maybe I will make cupcakes and we will celebrate.

Day 1 Done

I wrote "365" on my calendar a week ago when we first got the news regarding this deployment. We were totally blindsided by all of this. My husband had been home from a 2 month school only 3 days when we found out that he would be serving a year in Afghanistan. We were in fact on our way to the elementary school to pick up our two oldest daughters so that we could celebrate a welcome home Daddy dinner when the phone call came. My husband was still on the phone with his commander when I stumbled out onto the sidewalk into the biting Alaska cold to meet the girls. I felt sick to my stomach. The smile on a waiting friends face instantly vanished upon seeing mine. I tried to fake a little grin and wave but I couldn't do it. She's a military wife and she knew without words what my face meant. I could feel the tears starting to well up - and I am NOT a crier!!! When she came in for the hug I did a quick double tap on the back and was out. I had to get myself together for the girls. My 6 year old Lynn was out the door with the bell full of smiles and stories about the day. I had forgotten that our 9 year old Brynne had choir practice and would need to be picked up an hour later. While my husband went back to pick her up and after I had made a snack for the other two, I quickly retreated to the downstairs bathroom and had a quiet racking sob on the floor of the bathtub. The thought of telling the girls - I just couldn't - I cannot explain this even now what that feels like to tell a child their Daddy is leaving again for an amount of time so massive they cannot fully comprehend it. To a child a year is a lifetime. But of course we did tell them. Little eyes darted back and forth from Mom to Dad to each other with confusion and disbelief. And then of course the tears came. Except for Lynn - she rarely cries. She reminds me of myself. She told me just tonight that she doesn't like to cry, she feels things on the inside unless they hurt so bad that she can't help it. In a way this makes me even sadder than her big sister who is a faucet of emotions. And Dani the four year old, well - how do you explain this to a four year old?

At some point I am going to start posting fun, joyous and humorous things - I promise! Right now I feel beaten. I am angry, I am sad, I am everything that is expected of a woman in my position I suppose. Today I crossed "365" off the calendar though so we are already one day closer to making it through this.

Hours to go

He sleeps in a cocoon of little girls. This is a pre-deployment ritual. It makes me sick to think that we have done this so many times there is actual routine to it. We have only a couple of hours until he leaves for the airport. There is something eerily familiar between these last few hours of time we share and those awaiting execution. You can’t help but acknowledge the clock every few minutes trying to make every last second count. And how do you do that? How do you try to put into a few minutes what you will miss in a year? I don’t know. We rocked the band tonight (i.e. Band Hero – a favorite family activity), got take-out from our favorite pizza place, watched a movie, ate candy (a rare treat) and danced in the living room to music so loud the neighbors are surely hating us. No matter, it will be a while before we hold such a shindig again.

We had an early birthday party for Daddy tonight as well. We picked up an ice cream cake and wrapped presents that should have waited another two weeks. We laminated wallet sized photos for Daddy to take with him, and signed a birthday card with a farting English bulldog on the cover. Daddy was hoping for a real puppy this year but I am now glad that I never made any follow up phone calls that would have left me with three girls and a daily yucky jowl routine.

The night has ended with a campout in the living room in front of the crackling fireplace. Each of us talked about how we are feeling about Daddy leaving. We are sad. The 4 year old, 6 year old and I were talking about this while Daddy played a game of sudoku in the other room with our nine year old. When the 4 year old heard them coming she goes, “shhhh we shouldn’t talk about this anymore cause it will make Daddy sad.” How sweet a daughter we have to think about how Daddy must be feeling. And Daddy is sad, sadder to go than I have ever seen him. We talk about what we want to do when Daddy gets back. Always looking forward – always – if you stand still and analyze where you are at for too long the sadness will eat you alive. Should Daddy get a job where he doesn’t have to do away? Where should we live? The 6 year old shouts, “California!” The 4 year old yells, “China!” When asked I explain that it doesn’t matter to Mommy where we live – home is wherever my family is.

We have four hours until his ride comes and I cannot sleep. I am a chronic insomniac so this is nothing new, only tonight is different. The pit in my stomach will only be relieved by his going and knowing that we will finally be counting down the days until he comes back. The waiting truly is the hardest part. Who warned us about that? Was it Tom Petty? What a strange and wise man. I like to tangent off to humor and sarcasm when things get to heavy. If I’m not careful my train will derail entirely. I don’t know if I can go back out there. Mr. Petty, that is the hardest part. To see him sleeping with his three little girls trying to breath them in enough to hold their scents, their smiles, their love to sustain himself for a year away from them. In the morning it will be a dream. I will look at the spot where they now lay and it will once again be a dance floor, a gymnasium, an orca training facility, a boring everyday living room. Tonight it is a shrine. Please let the countdown begin. The waiting is killing me. It’s like a tug of war you know you’re predestined to lose. You just want to let go before you suffer any more rope burns. I’m letting go so let’s get going. 365 – or until the Army says so – to go.

Getting Started

I’m not sure where to start. I’ve just scanned the internet to see if there are blogs out there written by Army wives and I see that indeed there are. I don’t know how or even if mine will be different. While each experience is inherently unique, it is something that only we can truly share and understand – we; the spouses, the children, significant others, mothers and fathers who wait. I started to write “left behind” because that is how it feels, but I know that isn’t fair. I can hear my husband in the living room packing his bags. I’m having sort of a mini-internal meltdown and somehow feel dead all at the same time. I think that with every deployment I lose a little more of myself. Sometimes I wonder how much I have left. This is not our first rodeo and I feel like it should be getting easier, but it doesn’t. I think maybe it gets even harder. Part of me feels selfish for writing this expecting anyone else to read it or even to care what goes on in our little world. Another part of me feels selfish for not having done it sooner, for not letting the rest of the world know what really goes on inside the life of a military family. Either way, I think I’m going to do this. I think I’m going to measure a year in all the sad, bizarre and hopefully joyful ways that I can think to do it. Soon we begin 365 all over again.