Landslide

I thought long and hard about what name to give this post, and I finally settled on Landslide, because landslides seem to have a way of picking up everything in their path, and moving it to somewhere unfamiliar—and usually undesirable. Generally causing the people in that area to attempt to adjust to something completely out of the ordinary, and learn new ways of doing things. Much like the military did to us, and continued to do to us throughout Steve’s enlistment.

When Steve joined, most of me hated the fact that he joined. I tried to talk him out of it numerous times. Wouldn’t you? However, there was a part of me that was a little excited about it too. I had envisioned him being stationed in California, where his brother had been stationed, and a place that I had always dreamed of going and possibly living.

After his graduation from MOS school, however, he was once again “given the option” to either stay in California, at Camp Pendleton, or be transferred to Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. He chose California, but as you should know by now, he was transferred to North Carolina. So, once again, he was pretty much voluntold what to do.

It turns out that out of the 50 (or was it 100?) guys he graduated with, they needed ½ of them to go to North Carolina, and ½ to stay in California. Three. Three picked to go to North Carolina and the rest wanted to stay in California. So, it appears as though the Marine Corps “punked” us both. Before I could even go out to see him again and actually spend more than three days there, he was on a plane to Camp Lejeune, North Carolina. Much to the dismay of both of us.

This happened at the beginning of September—4 months after his graduation from boot camp. By the end of September, he had booked a flight home to Minnesota so he could drive his car back to North Carolina. I was, or course, very excited to see him, but that was my first experience with him being the one “leaving”.

I was fortunate enough that my (now) in-laws would drive Steve to the airport. So, I was able to say my good-bye the night before he left for the airport and I could take my time. It was also usually at his house, so I was usually the one that was getting in the car driving away. I’m not sure why, but it made it easier for me that way. I think because I knew it was on my time, and I knew that if I really couldn’t handle it, I had the power to turn the car around and go back—even if it was only for a few minutes. I never actually did turn around and go back, but I think it helped me cope, knowing that I could.

However, this time around, Steve came down to Marshall to see me before he continued on his long drive out to North Carolina. He only stayed for a few hours, in which he tried to get some sleep, and I made him some muffins and sandwiches for the road. Eventually he started on his way, and at that time, I was faced with the hardest thing I had ever had to do. I had to let him walk out the door to my apartment, knowing that this time, I wouldn’t even have the option to “turn around” if I felt that I just couldn’t handle it. I wasn’t able to experience the sense of empowerment with each mile further away I got—the sense of empowerment that I was strong enough to continue going. I had to just stand on the other side of the door, knowing that he was walking out to his car, even knowing that he was planning another trip home for Thanksgiving in a month and a half.

He came home for Thanksgiving, and also for Christmas. I realize now that I was a very lucky girl to have him come home that often, but at the same time, I wonder how on earth I survived it. It was always good and exciting to see him, and I loved every minute of it—don’t get me wrong, but at the same time, the more times he came home, the more times it meant we would have to say “goodbyes”. I learned pretty quickly that sometimes having him come home often wasn’t the best thing—it takes a while to adjust to not having someone around. No matter how often you say good bye, it never gets easier, and it seems that the “recovery” time never gets any shorter. It always takes a while to adjust and get back into the routine of not having them there—especially when pretty much EVERYTHING reminds you of them.

Anyway, he also made it home for Christmas, which was really fortunate, because his first nephew was born on December 23^rd. So, Steve was able to hold him when he was just a few days old and actually see him in person a little before he once again had to return to North Carolina. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quite able to stay long enough to see his first niece, and second nephew who were literally born a matter of days after he left. They were nearly a ½  year old before Steve actually met them in person. I think that this was the first time that it finally occurred to Steve how much he would be missing over his remaining 3 years in the Marine Corps. I know it was the first time that it occurred to me how much he would miss.

But, time went on as it always does, and on February 14^th, we could say that we officially survived 1 year of the Marine Corps and all the hoops they had for us to jump through. I’m not sure if I realized this then, but now I know that was just the beginning—the “preliminaries”—or, in the spirit of baseball season, “Spring Training”.