I eventually got my luggage after the ridiculous trip home, and went back to trying to pay attention during classes. Steve was training for pretty much the entire month of February. He spent a couple weeks “in the field”. His parents went out to see him a couple weeks after I had been there. I really wished that I could have gone with them, but instead, I was stuck staying home.
With February being very busy for both of us—Steve with training, me with trying to catch up on schoolwork, it flew by and before I knew it, it was March 6th—“D-Day’. I t was a Saturday, which made it even worse (no classes or work to keep my mine busy).
I spoke my final words to him, for an unknown length of time, on my cell phone while I was driving home from school. Also not the most ideal—long car rides = ample time to think and let your mind wander wherever it damn well pleases. And at this moment in time, it damn well “pleased” to think about the things going on in Afghanistan, when the next time I would see him or talk to him would be, what exactly our life was going to be like for the next year.
It ended up not being very long before I hear from him again when he called from Germany during his layover there. I know it wasn’t a very long conversation, because calls from Germany aren’t exactly cheap, but I was happy to hear from him.
Once he left Germany, the next place he ended up was Kyrgyzstan. He stayed there for a couple weeks in an airport/air base. This was their time to get acclimated to the time change, the climate and to mentally prepare for the months ahead. The time change was 9 1/2 hours—I’m still trying to figure out where the 1/2 comes from, but it’s there! So, his days literally became his nights, and his nights turned into days.
This also began the waiting game. And the constant changing of minds. During his time in Kyrgyzstan, I talked to him a couple times, and each time when we hung up, he would say “I gotta go! The planes are here!”…and 2 days later he would call again still in Kyrgyzstan.
Eventually they made it out of Kyrgyzstan and to their final destination of Afghanistan. I know that the first place he went, was Camp Leatherneck—which is pretty much the biggest base in all of Afghanistan. And from there, I have no idea where he went. I never knew where he was when he called, other than “in Afghanistan”. I about 95% certain that he never left the Helmand Province (the place where all of the action was happening), but I never knew where exactly he was. He never told me, and I never asked. Would he have told me if I had asked? I have no idea—maybe. As much as I wanted to know, I didn’t want to know. I didn’t want to turn on the news and hear about all the soldiers that were dying in the same area that Steve was in. I knew that it was happening, but I didn’t need the media to “rub in it”.
Many of the other wives, supposedly knew where the guys were, at all times. And sometimes they would tell me (a HUGE violation of OPSEC on their part). However, I tried my best to pretend I didn’t hear. And it was usually kind of easy, because the ones who thought they knew where our men were, were the ones that were relatively new to the Marine Corps, and would have believed that the clouds were made of cheese if someone in the Marine Corps had told them it was. I, on the other hand, had experienced my fair share of the Marine Corps saying one thing, and then changing their minds, again, and again, and again. So I had grown accustomed to not believing much of what I heard.
I wrote him letters almost every day at first, and then it got a little more spaced out as time went on and turned into once or twice a week. However, I sent WAY more than I did for the first deployment, and this deployment seemed WAY easier for me to deal with than the last one. Steve was actually able to call more often—which seems kind of odd. He usually called about once every 2 weeks—sometimes shorter than 2 weeks, sometimes longer than 2 weeks. Some girls got calls every other day. Initially I had hoped that Steve would call me that often too, but as time went on. I was glad that he didn’t. Sure I would have loved to hear from him more—it would be foolish to say that I didn’t want to hear his voice more. BUT, I watched those girls who received frequent phone calls, struggle when the guys were out on missions or in “River City” and unable to call for an extended period of time. It’s like their whole worlds were falling apart. They came to expect their frequent phone calls. I had come to expect nothing. If it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have even noticed that the guys weren’t able to call.
I also kept a new calendar of obsession. A more detailed and complete one. I, again, made copies of letters, kept track of phone calls, family events, significant pieces of information Steve told me, the care packages I sent and what they contained. When he called, I even made notes as I was talking to him because I wanted to remember everything he said. I also kept a journal that I wrote in every day, as a reminder of how I felt at different times during the deployment. Although I’m proud of myself for doing that well, I still wish that I would have taken more time to write “short stories” about my experiences while I was experiencing them. The longer I am out of the military lifestyle, the more I find myself forgetting the feelings that went along with it. The feelings that had me feeling like I was on rock bottom, the feelings the frequently resulted in my crying myself to sleep, and feeling defeated. But also the feelings that made me proud to bear the title of Marine Wife. The feelings that I know I will never again experience.
