When One Becomes Two

Military women are some of the strongest, most resilient, unyielding women you will ever come across. We take on double the load. We act as single parents while keeping the other parent "present". We fight to not just survive but to thrive. We cry the greatest tears, feel the deepest longing, pray the fiercest prayers and we make it through. We keep moving forward. We do what we have to do to build a strong family, to keep a strong marriage, to raise happy and loving children.

We take everything onto ourselves. We have no other choice but to be both parents, to make every decision, to live as independents while existing as a "co". When our soldier is gone, we learn how we need to do things independently in order to still do them well without our partner present. Once we find that ability we cling to it and it gets us through each and every day. 

Then they come home and everything shifts.

It isn't easy.

Because we are the strongest of women. We are determined women. We are (and have to be) women who can make it on their own. We decide where things are placed. We mow the lawn. We take out the trash. We discipline and reward our children. We determine the routine. We pay the bills, sign the loans, set up the cable, cancel the cable, set-up utilities, check the tire pressure. We teach our children what they can and cannot do, dry their tears, hold their hands, enforce the rules. And we have to. We have to do that for our families, for our babies, for ourselves. We have to take on both roles. We have to cling to that power and ability. For twelve months we have to be in control. It allows us to make it through. It allows us to succeed. 

When our soldier comes home, we have to find ourselves again. The "who I am" when one becomes two. It is  hard to get out of that "go" mode. That "this-is-the-way-I-said-it-is-going-to-be-so-this-is-the-way-it-is-going-to-happen" mode. We have to learn to discuss and decide together again rather than to just do. We have to become a unit again. We have to relinquish some control. We have to allow them to decide. We have to let them know they matter, that we need them.

It doesn't just happen. It is so important to realize that it can't just happen. We can't just shut-off survival mode. It isn't natural to let go of something so easily that is nowhere near easy to gain. It takes so much energy and determination to get us to that point. To just let it go, to just "forget" how to live that way cannot so easily come to be. It takes time. It takes patience.

When we marry we have to learn to go from being two to living as one. When our soldier returns we must relearn it again. 

We have to listen to each other. We have to talk to one another. We have to acknowledge that this is hard. This is the next part of the cycle. We will learn through this together. 

We are strong women married to brave men. And we must help each other through as one becomes two. 

Man's Best Friends

Logan has become adorably concerned with C's whereabouts. All. The. Time.

"Where you going, Daddy?"

"Daddy go to work?" "Daddy go ensercise? (exercise)" "Daddy go potty?" (Yes, that makes me laugh). 

"Daddy take a shower?" "Daddy wake up?" "Daddy go sleep?"

"Daddy be right back?" "Daddy coming back soon?"

It is constant. He is always aware of his placement, of his mood, of his needs.

"Daddy hungry?" "Daddy need water?" "Daddy tired?"

It brings so much joy to my heart to see how well our boys are doing. And I know it may not always be this way. I know that after the next deployment my little Logan will be much bigger. My little Logan will start Kindergarten the next time C is deployed. My baby Eli will be Logan's age - starting preschool. 

Wow. 

That hit me hard. 

Okay. Back to the present. 

My boys know their daddy. My Eli runs to him. He laughs. He hugs his legs. He reaches up to him and says, "Daddy!" It is as though no time has passed for Logan. C's still his best buddy. Still his favorite person in this world. He still wants him at every moment. Still plays with him, seeks his approval, wants to be around him any chance he gets. These precious, precious boys love their daddy. These beautiful boys know their daddy.

I cannot tell you how much I take that as a victory. How indescribably grateful I am every time I hear them call his name. Every time Logan asks one of his hundreds of questions about C. Every time Eli chooses to run to him instead of me.

I am so grateful for how much C loves them, how much they love C. 

There is little more beautiful than the relationship between a father and his children. There is little more incredible to me than seeing how much this relationship has grown through eleven months of separation, with six-thousand miles between, living two continents apart, while C lived with and worked among people of a different culture, different religion, different belief. 

And they are still best buddies.

I am so very grateful.

Transition

"Just pedialite for the boys," I remind him as he gets their cups ready.


"And where is the pedialite?" he asks.


"In the medicine cabinet," I answer quickly cleaning up another bout of sickness from one of the boys.


"And which cabinet is that?" he asks looking completely confused in the kitchen.


"The cabinet with the medicine, C," I responded with the biting sarcasm that would accompany any mother who had been nursing two sick children since the day after her husband returned from war. 


"Babe," he said, keeping very calm, but obviously frustrated, "I don't know which cabinet that is."


Oooohhhhh yeah ... oops. Of course he doesn't. He has never lived here. He doesn't know where to find a fork yet, let alone medication. Man, I'm dumb.


It is so easy to forget that our lives have been so very different over the past eleven months. It is so easy to forget that while we spoke nearly everyday, saw each other over Skype, told each other about our day to day, we did so from two different continents, that might as well be two very different worlds. It is so easy for me to become frustrated when he doesn't know something that seems so simple to me before I am reminded that he cannot know because he hasn't been here.


And he really got thrown into it. His very first morning home we woke up to not one but two very ill children. The day after he drove his new Jeep for the first time he spent hours cleaning out the result of that sickness from my car rather than joy-riding in his. He was thrown into a home that he had never stepped foot in before, where things were in places he couldn't possibly know. His clothes in places that he hadn't decided on. His things put in places that I had chosen.

How hard must that be to go from one place of complete control - where every decision was your decision, every placement of every item left to your choosing, every little thing being in your hands - to a house that you don't know, where your things have been unpacked for you and placed in places you may not have chosen yourself. Where you have to depend on the knowledge of someone else just to find a towel or a spoon or a a packet of pedialite for your child. Where your three-year-old-child knows where more things go than you do.

How strange that must be.

Lord, give me the patience. Lord, give him patience. Our two worlds must be made into one again and what a transition that will be.

Reintegration Series - Part 1

Very often we focus on the 'finish line' - the getting home part. It is easy to think that getting here is the toughest part - getting 'here' is all that we need to get through. But that is only half the battle. Reintegration is a very personal struggle. It is different for every family, for every soldier, for every spouse. Sometimes are easier than other - and they don't necessarily become easier with each deployment. They may even become harder. While I have seen and listened to many other spouses' experiences with reintegration, I have never gone through this as a spouse. I think this is a very important time for spouses to understand what parts are normal and what parts are not - what parts you can push through together and what parts you may need the assistance the Military provides. Over the next several weeks - and maybe months - a spouse is going to share her story. Because of the personal nature of reintegration and what it can bring up - she will remain anonymous. If you comment below - which I encourage you to do so that we can strengthen and comfort each other - please do so anonymously (you have this choice when you fill out the comment form). This is a very personal topic and I am sure all service members would prefer that no connection be made to them and their family in a public forum. If you have any questions that you want to go in depth with you can always email me. 


He's Home! Those sound like the most wonderful words in the world to a woman who has been waiting for 12 months to share her home again - with a man who has always been the number one priority in her life. And they ARE the most wonderful words. She doesn't have to worry about what could happen to him in some distant land that she is never allowed to visit. She doesn't have to worry about when she'll get her next phone call just to hear his voice for 5 minutes (if that), or what to pack in that tiny flat rate box. Or even about waking up in the middle of the night to find a dog sleeping in his place.

But is this over? Has the deployment come to an end? Witnessing a homecoming as an outsider may suggest that it is. The cheers and laughter that echo throughout the hangar give us all a sense of relief. They are home. They are safe. I'm not saying this isn't the most wonderful feeling. Because it is. I am relieved. And the emotions that were felt that day ARE REAL. Honest to GOD joy! But the challenges still lie ahead.

Reintegrating for our first few deployments was difficult, but this one feels like it will be the hardest. I can't remember all of the details from the last few. And I wish I had written a journal then so I would have something to relate to now. But I will have to remind myself that he has changed. I don't know what he's seen or has been through (or if he'll even ever tell me), but I know there has been soo much pain this time. I have my own ideas by hearing tidbits from others. He is broken. I want to pick up the pieces, but I am not the one in control. I have to accept that it will take time for him to heal. I need to give him space even though I don't want to. I cling to him because I've missed him soo much. But it frustrates him. Little misunderstandings turn into arguments. I wonder if he's taking out his anger of past situations onto me. And then I snap at him. It's easy to say... "You haven't been here". And then I realize how wrong those words sounded. How could I say that? How hurtful. Like he asked to leave me. He didn't have a choice. Yes. We chose this lifestyle. But no one wants to leave their family for a year. And I know he only did it FOR me. And will continue to do it FOR us.

I feel like I shouldn't speak those words because I DO have him home with me now. And it sounds like petty little complaints in comparison to what could have been. Soo many others do not and will not have their soldiers. Soo many lost their soldiers. And I am ever grateful to them for their sacrifices. Nothing will ever make up for what they lost.


To be continued ...