Halfway Point

I am tired.

Tired of being trying to be strong. Tired of blinking back tears only to break down in public. Tired of wishing that the holidays would be over soon. Tired of missing my J so terribly.

A few days ago, I came across an article in the Washington Post on the death of Sgt. 1st Class Ofren Arrechaga in Afghanistan and its impact on both his commanding officer, Lt. Col. Joel B. Vowell, and his 23-year-old widow, Seana. The article detailed the lives of Vowell, Arrechaga and Seana; the struggles Seana faced during and after her husband’s deployment; and the complicated dynamic between Lt. Col. Vowell and Seana following her husband’s death. It was another wrenching tale of sacrifice and loss…and I'm a little embarrassed to say that my first reaction while reading the article was to fixate on the fact that during Sgt. Arrechaga’s most recent deployment, Seana "slept with her cell phone on the pillow next to her and spoke to her husband at least twice a day." Every day? She talked to her husband on the phone *every day* while he was deployed? During the past two weeks, J and I have been able to Skype just once (though we do email constantly). I quickly caught myself--this woman lost her husband. I still have mine. But these days, everything I read and hear just serves to fuel the frustration that I’ve attempted to bury deep within the recesses of my brain. The emotional roller coaster has been interminable, and I just want to get off.

It pains me to read about Obama bringing the troops in Iraq home for Christmas. Why couldn’t J's first deployment have been to Afghanistan and his second to Iraq? Why couldn't J be one of those coming back early? I have to force myself to stop asking such pointlessly rhetorical questions. His deployment is *only* for six months--many of those coming home have been deployed for an entire year and are on their third or fourth deployment to the desert. And many haven't come back.

It pains me to watch video footage of planeloads of men and women arriving home and running into the arms of their loved ones. I don't know why I do it. I'm not a masochist, really. Part of me enjoys seeing the joyful reunion; it’s uplifting and warms my heart. But the other part of me is envious that my reunion won't come for another three months. Even then, J will return to Germany, and I don't know if I'll be able to make it out there.

It pains me to hear complete strangers say that my husband will be coming home soon. Each time, I force myself to nod and smile politely but silently clench and unclench my jaw. They don’t understand that “soon” isn’t soon enough. They don’t understand what it’s like always living for the future, for that moment when life will feel normal again, waiting for a reunion that seems impossibly far away.

One of the best things about being married to J is seeing him at the end of the day. Whether we were at home in J’s apartment in Germany or at a hotel room in Newport News on a TDY, J would come back from work, open the front door, and teasingly call out, “Honey, I’m home.” And I would run to the door to greet him with a big hug and kiss. If I were the one coming home late, J always did the same for me, without fail. He is the one person I want to see every night, as I rest my head on his chest and fall asleep. It provides me with a sense of closure and reassurance and peace, that despite whatever happened during the day, I am the luckiest girl in the world because I have J’s arms wrapped around me.

But here I am without him. I fall asleep quickly because I’m drained, but it’s not a restful sleep. I’m missing that final resolution to my day, that feeling that everything will be alright. I wake up at random hours, hoping to find an email from J in my inbox, and almost without fail, I find several waiting for me. It reassures my anxious heart. But it’s not nearly the same as having J roll over with a twinkle in his eye, stroke my hair, and say, “Good morning, beautiful.” Because there’s something about his presence that makes me feel stronger, safer, and more like myself. My better self.

I don’t expect complete strangers to know or understand these things. But my knowing that we still have months and months to go makes it that much more difficult for me to extricate myself from the conversation gracefully. To grin and bear it. But J is relying on me to stay strong, to keep everything together, to be the cornerstone of this marriage while he’s in theater. And how could I do anything but try my damndest? So I continue on this path, counting down the days, weeks, and months. It’ll be well worth it when our time comes.