Tuesday, December 14, 2010

I Should Clarify . . .

Yesterday, I posted a blog titled, “The Dreaded D-Word.” I realize that many of you reading this are military spouses, so I should probably clarify that I was not referring to the dreaded D-word: deployment. I could have summed that blog up much more succinctly: Deployments suck. A lot.

For any of you who are currently enduring, preparing to endure, or have just recovered from, a deployment—I’m sorry. We finished our most recent deployment 5 months ago. I would tell you the exact number of days, but thankfully, I finally stopped counting. (During the deployment, I could tell you exactly how many months, days, and hours he had been gone, at any time. I could also tell you the exact time in Iraq. But, I digress). This was my husband's fourth, and hopefully his last.

Six months ago, when we found out that we would be moving, we were all elated. Yes, we were excited to move to a warmer climate and finally throw out our way-too-well-used snow shovel. But, most of all, we were excited because we were moving to a non-deploying unit. Or, at least, so we thought. The prospect of having my husband home with us, where he belongs, possibly forever, was overwhelming, but wonderful.

And then came the scare ... on the first day that he reported to his new unit, someone mentioned that they had a slot open for his MOS (translation: specialty) in (drum roll please) ... South America. *record scratches*

What?! I wasn't sure if I had heard him correctly. "Now, don't panic," he said. {Yeah right}. "It's just a rumor, and probably completely untrue. Besides, I just got back, they can't send me anywhere." Now, I may not be a military expert, but if there's one thing I've learned it's this: There is absolutely nothing that the Army "can't" do. There are things they won't do, things they choose (thankfully) not to do. But, "can't" was a bit of a stretch. So although my dear, optimistic husband was trying to reassure me, my mind was already preparing for the worst.

My thought process went something like this ...

Did we seriously just move halfway across the country so that he could leave? Maybe we could go with him. Wait, why on earth do we have people in South America? I've heard there are beautiful areas. We may like it there. Oh, this would be a deployment, so we wouldn't be allowed to go. So, he'd be gone. Again. For how long? What are we going to do here, by ourselves? Maybe we could move back home. But, we just got here! Is it safe where he'd be going? Of course not, or we wouldn't be there. Ok, he can't go. That's it. No matter what, he can't go. But, when he does, I'll have to say goodbye again, and make sure the kids are ok.

Sounds a little schizophrenic, doesn't it? Well, that's what the other, the horrid, D-word does to you. I know that many of you are experiencing the same terror/panic/chaos right now. And again, I'm sorry. And I understand.

Thankfully, my husband was right, and it was just a rumor. He will be staying here, with us. At least, for now. But, as we all know, nothing is ever permanent in the military. So, there will probably always be that little voice in the back of my head, in the bottom of my heart, saying, "be ready, just in case."

But, for now, I'm going to enjoy the time we have together. Enjoy every hug, every kiss, every laugh. I'm going to try to convince myself that he is home for good, and that we can make plans for the future, like "normal" families. My wish is that someday soon we may all quiet those voices, once and for all, and only hear that dreaded word when recalling the times we have survived, and overcome--together.

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