My Ode to the Military Spouse

I have decided to take a break from my own military story to post in honor of Military Spouse Appreciation Day.

The military spouses I know are some of the most honorable and strong women I know. They have had to deal with anything and everything, and have handled it gracefully and without (much) complaining. Although they are all very young women, they have had to deal with much more than the average person their age, or even people who are much older than them.

To be among their ranks requires the flexibility change the entire course of your life in a matter of days (or less). It requires independence in anything and everything. It requires the ability to sacrifice not only sharing special moments together, but often times your own ambitions, goals, and desires—including such conveniences as sleep! It requires patience far beyond your average “waiting in line at the grocery store”. A patience that must last, not just days, not just weeks, but months.

But along with all these inconveniences and necessary “virtues” comes a pride that swells within the hearts of all of these women. Pride for their husbands for defending our country. Pride for their military family for doing the same. Pride in themselves for being able to overcome things they never thought they would be able to. A pride that continues, and will likely remain for the rest of their lives. It’s an experience that many of them wouldn’t trade for anything.

To live and be amongst these women is both an honor and a privilege. The bond that exists between these women is far more than a friendship, it is a sisterhood. And a sisterhood that is greater than all other sisterhoods.

I got to know a few of these women quite well and they have proven to be quite strong, inspiring women.

One of these incredible ladies is named Christina. Steve spent most of his time in the military with her husband, which means they, too, have endured two deployments. Two deployments in which Christina had to attempt to explain to their little boy where daddy was going, and why. I didn’t know Christina for the first deployment, but for the second deployment I was awed at how strong of a man she is. To endure a deployment as a wife is almost unbearably difficult. To endure a deployment as a wife, with a child, at the opposite end of the country as all of your family, I cannot even begin to imagine. However, she handled it all incredibly, and gracefully and her strength never ceases to amaze me. Even on her “bad days” (which all military spouses have at some point), she  would grin and bear it for the sake of her son, so that he wouldn’t also be brought down by her bad days. Her goal, selflessly, was to keep her little boy busy and keep him doing fun things while his daddy was gone. She is truly a great role model for how to survive a deployment with small children, and I can only hope that if I had children during a deployment that I would have handled things as well as she did. Their military journey is still continuing as he recently reenlisted for an additional 4 years and continues to serve our country, while she continues to become a stronger and more amazing “mommy” as each day goes on.

Another one of these girls, Beth, gave birth to her first baby, a girl, while her husband was deployed to Afghanistan. Another incredible woman doing the unimaginable, because of the military. She endured the last 5 months of her pregnancy, and the first 2 months of being a new mom, by herself, which is undoubtedly the hardest 5 months of a pregnancy, and the hardest 2 months of new parenthood. Not only did she do it with her husband on the other side of the world, but she did it with her family halfway across the country, and she did it with dignity, and without complaining. She is yet another military wife that has inspired me with her independence and strength.

Still another military wife that I grew to know is a woman named Ashley. Her story, in some ways, is much like mine. Her husband, too, had been with Steve for about 3 out of his 4 years in the military and were friends for all of it. They, too, went on 2 deployments together. I didn’t know Ashley during the first one, but I did during the second one. I found Ashley to be one of the easiest people to talk to, most likely because we shared similarities. We were both in the process of planning a wedding, so we always had SOMETHING to talk about. Anyway, Ashley is an incredible woman. She handles deployments flawlessly, never complaining, and never letting her “bad days” take her down. She has a certain positivity that sometimes baffles my mind. I don’t think I ever heard her express any kind of discouragement or anger toward anything deployment related, which is no easy feat considering that about halfway through people are begging the military to return their husbands! Upon our husbands’ return from Afghanistan, she made a huge sacrifice. She left a job she loved, to go live with the man she loves so he could continue doing the job that he loves. She is one that is always concerned about others and how they are doing, and always willing to help out in anyway that she is able to. She is one of the most encouraging and selfless women I have met, and I’m so glad that I was able to meet her and get to know her. She was, and continues to be, and inspiration to me in the way that she handles herself and the curveballs that life throws at her.

These three women are each incredible in their own ways and played a part in helping me to be the best military wife that I could be during Steve’s second deployment. Each day I am even further awed by these women and how much their strength grows, and how flawlessly they handle the things life sends their way, without even missing a beat. They have been through some of the most difficult situations, but have prevailed, and with dignity. I am proud to have been able to met them and I appreciate them for all that they are, and all that they do. My wish is that their bonds with their families, and with their fellow wives continues to grow stronger.

Big Surprise...

Before I knew it, those 2 months had passed and I was on my way to the airport to fly out and see him. I. Was. Terrified. Keep in mind, I had flown once before. I guess twice if you count the trip there and the trip back as separate occurrences. And that time, I was with, what could be considered “experienced flyers”. Basically, I have no doubt in my mind that they could have done the entire process blindfolded and probably wouldn’t have even run into any chairs or anything.

But, here I was, completely by myself. Thankfully, my parents drove me to the airport and made sure I got in the right line—despite them also being VERY inexperienced flyers (my mom’s never been on a plane, and I think it had been about 10 years since my dad was on one).

As I was standing in line to get through security, I said goodbye to my parents. Turns out, saying goodbye isn’t any easier, even when you know something very exciting is waiting on the other end. By the time they walked away, I was bawling with everyone staring at this inexperienced flyer. And, for the record, yes, I was wearing my sunglass in the airport in an attempt to cover this up.

I made it through the security line without a hitch, which is more than I can say for the last time I flew. And was surprised to discover that navigating the airport to find my gate wasn’t as hard as I had anticipated. Although it WAS all the way on the other side of the airport and took me about 20 minutes to get there, even with the moving sidewalks.

I found my gate and sat there. Despite being about 2 hours early, I stayed there and only left to go to the bathroom which was about 50 yards away and still in full view of the gate and where I needed to be. No exploring the airport “just for fun” for this girl!

I finally boarded the plane and felt relieved. I knew that the next two hours would be unstressful because all I had to do was sit. I landed in Raleigh-about a 2 1/2 hour drive from where Steve was. When I landed and turned my phone on, I got a message from Steve saying that he had to work a little later than anticipated, and I would have to wait a while until he could come pick me up. I was a little bummed, but happy to finally be at my destination, where I didn’t have to worry about being in the right spot at the right time anymore. I survived my first flight!

I managed to find my way to baggage claim and was waiting for my bag to come around on the carousel and Steve came walking up beside me. The little stinker had taken the whole day off and knew that he was coming to get me, and on time, but didn’t want me to know until I got there and saw him. I was so excited!

My bag finally came around and we were on our way. Although me flying to Raleigh, instead of Jacksonville was kind of a pain in the butt for Steve (I refused to take a connecting flight, considering how terrified I was about the flight when it was just a straight shot), I’m glad that I did it. Because the drive from Raleigh to Jacksonville was the very first time that I fell in love with North Carolina. I was amazed, and discovered that despite my previous notions that North Carolina would be “nothing special”, I loved it. All of it. And without that drive through back roads and small southern style towns, I’m not sure I would feel the same way about it as I do now.

We drove onto base because we were staying at the hotel on base. And it seems like the further we drove, the more I liked. We stayed at the Lejeune Inn at Camp Lejeune for a couple days. Steve didn’t have to work, so we did some sightseeing and Steve showed me around base and Jacksonville. When the weekend came, we moved all of our stuff to a beach house on Topsail Island that we rented for a week with one of his buddies. It was a cute little house with a grill and the whole works for us to use. And less than a block from the ocean and public beach access. It was perfect. We spent the next week or so driving around to different tourist attractions—an aquarium, the beach, and even went down to Myrtle Beach in South Carolina to an amusement park. It was so much fun being on our own schedule. At the end of the week, Steve went off leave and had to go back to work. I stayed home and got supper ready and worked on homework and just enjoyed the nice warm weather.

We had his friends out one night for grilling so I got to meet some of the people I had hear about in phone calls and emails and seen pictures of. And we went swimming in the ocean at midnight with glow sticks. It was incredible! I loved every minute of it!

After the week was over, we headed to yet another hotel for a couple days. A few night before I had to catch a plane back to Minnesota, Steve had called his sergeant to make sure he would be able to take the afternoon off to drive me to the airport. He was assured that it would be find. We should have known better than to believe that. The morning of the day I was supposed to leave, Steven went to work. I couldn’t fall back asleep so I watched some ridiculous show on TV until Steve texted me and told me that he was not allowed to leave work and drive me to the airport. Big surprise—this probably should have been expected, it is the Marine Corps, after all. They like to jerk your chain in whatever way possible. I was devastated. I had no idea what I was going to do.

This left me with 3 options.

1. I could just not show up for my flight or pay loads of money to get it changed to another day, then attempt to explain to my boss why I wouldn’t be at work for the next few days.
2. I could pay loads of money and risk my life by trying to find a taxi that would take me all the way to Raleigh. Or,
3. I could suck up my extreme fear of driving in large(ish) cities and drive myself to the airport in Steve’s car.

Despite my desire to choose option 1, I chose option 3. So, on Steve’s lunch hour, he came back to the hotel to get me. I drove him back to work, where we had about ten minutes to say goodbye before he actually had to start working again.

I started out I Steve’s car on my way. This was the most miserable trip of my life I think. For many reasons. The first being that I hate to drive. Period. I hate to drive anywhere and am deathly afraid of driving in heavily traveled areas—which is exactly what Jacksonville is. I also hate driving even more when it is in a car I’m not sued to driving. And, as if driving in an unfamiliar area, in an unfamiliar care wasn’t bad enough, I had just said goodbye to Steve for who knows how long and cried the ENTIRE two hour car ride to the airport.

I got there though, sighed a big sigh of relief that I made it, and headed into the airport to once again face the stresses of making sure I found the right gate. When I found my gate and sat down, I continued to cry. This was one time that I HATED leaving. Saying goodbye and walking away was completely miserable. It didn’t give me the empowerment that it usually did. I struggled the whole way back home. I was ridiculously early to the airport, which didn’t help any. I think even before I made it to the airport, Steve had finished work and started heading toward Raleigh with one of his friends to retrieve his car.

We continued to text back and forth, with him continuously telling me how much closer he was getting, until I got on the plane. He was nearly to the airport by the time I boarded the plane. It was very difficult knowing that he was once again so close to me and there was nothing I could do about it. I boarded my plane and we taxied to the runway. However, when we got near the line up for takeoff, we stopped. And we waited. And we waited more. I think we sat there for about a half hour. It turns out, the control tower never gave them permission to take off, so they were waiting for permission. It was miserable. I’m not particularly fond of aircrafts to start off with, and I’m really not fond of them when I’m stuck on one that’s jam packed full of people and not going anywhere. Plus, I had to pee, already, and I REFUSE to use the bathrooms on a plane, and I had a headache, and I was an emotional basketcase. Not a fun time.

There is no doubt in my mind that Steve had made it to the airport to get his care while I was sitting in the plane on the runway. Talk about pure torture.

We finally took off, and I’m sure I fell asleep—big surprise—I usually do. I landed relatively early, and my parents were there waiting for me. On our way home, we decided to stop and say “hi” to my uncle. I didn’t realize this until just now, but it was the last tie I talked to and say him before he had his stroke and series of other medical issues that left him confused and “in another world” for the remainder of his life.

On the long drive home, I remember feeling absolutely nauseous. I think the whole day was just too much for me. I rode the whole way home with the window down suck in as much fresh air as I possibly could to keep from revisiting whatever I had for lunch that day, and to attempt to keep my “funeral headache” from getting any worse. I think eventually I fell asleep (again, big surprise) and woke up when we finally got home and went straight to bed again.

What started off as a great trip really ended in a struggle and what I thought would be my hardest goodbye. But I was wrong—big surprise.

The Engagement Story

Steve rarely buys me flowers. By this point in the story, we had been together about 3 1/2 years and he had never once bought me flowers. He never saw the point in buying them because they just die a couple days later anyway. While I understood this, I still secretly hoped I would get flowers SOME day.

On April 20^th, Steve finally made his way back to Minnesota. It had been eight full months since the last time I had seen him in person. Unfortunately, I was still in school, and still working, which meant less time with him. However, he did come visit me down at school and stay for a few days.

What happened when he came down, I never expected.

I was in my Business Law class. I knew that Steve was planning on coming down and being there as soon as I got out of class. During class, he sent me a text message telling me that he had fallen back asleep (after a late night out with “the guys” the night before) and that he had just left on his way down—a 2 hour drive.

I was kind of bummed that I had to wait even longer to see him, but I knew I would survive. As I was walking back I was nearly back to my apartment when I saw his car pulling into the parking lot to my apartment building—he had lied so he could surprise me.

When I stepped foot in the parking lot, he got out of his car, showing a little struggle with what he had in his hand—a rose. The stem had gotten caught on the seat belt causing the head of the rose to be ripped off.

After a little look of disappointment on his face and big look of confusion on mine as I was still too far away to see what was really going on, he proceeded to walk over to me with the head of the rose.

When we were finally standing face to face, he got down on one knee, held out the rose to me and asked me to marry him. I looked into the rose to find a diamond ring placed within its petals. With tears in my eyes, I took the rose and said “yes”. While giving him a big hug and kiss.

We went inside to my apartment where I proceeded to take a ridiculous amount of pictures of it.

In many ways, I’m very glad that we were a ways away from most people we know. I called my mom—almost immediately after, and told her. My dad already knew he was going to ask, but kept it a secret from my mom. Steve’s parents both knew before he asked too. And those were the only people we told (right away). And it was wonderful. You usually can’t do that in a small town because someone sees a ring on your finger and it spreads like wildfire.

Before you know it, your grandma hears it in the grocery store from someone who knows someone else whose sister just happened to see the proposal taking place. Then you’re in trouble because all your family is hearing it from people they don’t even know. So, it was really nice to be away from everyone who would have someone else to tell.

We took our time telling everyone. I don’t think our siblings knew until at least two days later and grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins not until even later. We did tell my Marshall friends and coworkers—it would have been hard to keep it a secret from them! But for everyone else, we took our time, and just enjoyed finally being with each other and starting a new chapter together.

We spent the next few days together in Marshall before we headed back home to “face the masses” and let everyone know and let it spread like wildfire.

Over the next couple days, we spent as much time as possible together and with family, before we would have to face one more good-bye and he would once again be taken to the airport, and flown back to North Carolina. If I remember correctly, this good-bye was just a little bit easier because I already had plane tickets to go out and see him for June, so this time I actually knew that it would only be about 2 more months before I would see him again.

Revolution

In some ways, the first deployment was worse than I thought, and in some ways, it wasn’t as bad as I thought. I survived. Which is more than I could have hoped for. I thought for sure I was going to die the minute he stepped on the ship, but I didn’t. I made it. But, at the same time, after the first month passed and I didn’t die, I never anticipated it getting as hard as it did. I didn’t expect it to wear on me that much.

However, I learned something that changed my perspective of things, the way I handled things, and, essentially my life. I’m not even sure what “virtue” it would fall under.

Before Steve left for deployment, and while he was gone, I would get upset with him fairly easily, and over very small, unimportant things. And, I’ll admit it, in writing, to all of you—often over things he couldn’t even really control. Not my most proud moments.

Throughout the course of the deployment, I realized how valuable time was, and how stupid it was to waste it arguing. I began to realize that I wasn’t helping anyone by becoming upset so easily. And I realized that I didn’t want to do it anymore. Thus started a new way of life for me. I vowed to myself to try not to get upset with Steve over anything—especially not something that was stupid, and small and unimportant.

I think God was testing me on this to make sure that I was really serious about it, because it was only a few days later that I found out that Steve had started smoking—a habit he had picked up a while ago, but just never told me about, knowing that I wouldn’t be happy with him. I was a little upset at first, but I kept repeating my vow to not get upset and after a few minutes, I wasn’t really mad anymore.

I could see within a matter of days the difference it made in our relationship, and in who I am. And it was WONDERFUL. Steve and I very rarely argue about anything anymore, because I rarely get mad about stuff, and if I’m not mad, he doesn’t get mad. It is awesome. I love it. I still work on keeping that vow, although sometimes I fall through the cracks and get mad about something stupid. It doesn’t take long before I remember that I don’t want to be mad about anything and snap out of it, though.

After a matter of days, all the wear and tear from the deployment melted away, and I was on, what could be considered the road to recovery. I was finally able to function again without wanting to just curl into a ball under the covers and stay there for the rest of my life. I no longer had to deal with the separation and the lack of communication. It was fixed—for the time being anyway.

What happened next was completely unpredictable. It hit me out of nowhere.

Calendar of Obsession

The first few months of my calendar of obsession are pretty full. Steve was calling from places like France, and Greece, and various other places. He also called from on ship a few times. His eventual destination was Kuwait, where he spent most of the deployment doing training drills. He also spent a lot of time on ship monitoring “the waters” and even spent time “chasing” pirates near Somalia. Overall, it was expected to be a pretty care free deployment. All of the places he was going were mostly secured, without much threat to his safety. For this, I was thankful.

I started out writing letters frequently, although not as frequently as when he was in boot camp. I had just started a job, and was starting my third year of college—which meant harder classes—so, I cut back to writing about 3 or 4 letters a week, instead of every day. I would have liked to write more, but it just never seemed to work out.

In December, about halfway through the deployment, it was like I hit a brick wall. Steve was spending more time on ship, which meant very BAD phone connections. So, phone calls were becoming few and far between. I was writing few letters. I would like to say that it was because I got busier with work and school, but I’m not entirely sure that was the reason. I was staring Christmas in the face—my first Christmas without him.

I had a couple roommates, but each of us had our own lives, and spent quite a bit of our time doing our own individual activities. And they were my only friends remaining in the Marshall area, after the others had transferred schools or moved back home. I hadn’t really made friends with the people at work who became my lifeline during the second deployment. I didn’t know any of the girlfriends or wives of the people that Steve was with, or the resources from the Marine Corps that were available to me. I really felt like I was ‘going it alone’. Although school and work kept me busy, it didn’t keep my mind off Steve being gone, it didn’t keep me from missing him, and it didn’t keep me from becoming discouraged and feeling defeated.

I also was faced with my first Christmas without Steve around, which was also a huge struggle. I went to Christmas with his family, which didn’t make it any easier. His family was always encouraging and positive, and tried their hardest make it seem ‘normal’. But, it is very hard to go to Christmas at your boyfriend’s house with all of his family, when he’s not there, and not feel a little out of place, and not miss him even more than normal. It was a struggle to make it through the holiday, and the struggle didn’t get any easier after Christmas was over.

With each month that went on, my calendar became more and more blank. Fewer phone calls, fewer letters being written, fewer “life happenings” to keep me busy. The month of February has one thing written on it. February 14^th marked 2 years in the military—the halfway point. That’s right, the one thing written in February wasn’t even a form of communication. One full month. One full month of no letters, no phone calls, no emails, no nothing.

It had actually been since the beginning of December that I had mailed him a letter. Now it pains me to know that he went that long without receiving anything from me. I also ended up missing more and more of his phone calls because I was in class or working. I wanted to just give up. I had never experienced something so difficult to cope with in my life. Each day I struggled to continue on and to face another day that Steve wasn’t a part of.

I’m not sure why I quit writing him letters and sending him packages, and answering his phone calls. I wish I did. I know that it’s not because I didn’t miss him. I did. Very much so.

I think that I just couldn’t handle him being so far away. I couldn’t handle hearing his voice, not knowing when I would actually be able to see the face that goes along with that voice. I couldn’t handle continuing to write him letters, pretending that it was just as good as talking to him. I couldn’t handle continuously living my life waiting for the next phone call or letter. I couldn’t handle feeling like I was by myself. I couldn’t handle any of it anymore. I was ready to be done. I was ready to just give it up. I was wondering how on earth people were expected to endure something like this for so long. Because I was certain I couldn’t, but there was no way to get away from it.

As hard as I tried to push all of it to the side and ignore that it was there, it didn’t work. He was still gone, my heart still ached, I still missed him, and I still wished it would all just go away.

I don’t even know exactly what day he arrived back in the United States. That somehow eluded my calendar of obsession. It was sometime at the end of March—about 7 months after he left. I was thrilled that we had finally reached the end of the tunnel, but at the same time, I was nervous about what the future held. I had talked to Steve for less than 5 minutes over the last two and a half months of the deployment. For this reason, it was a struggle to pick up talking to him every day again. I had so much to talk about, but so little to say. I no longer knew how to form words when talking to him on the phone. I didn’t know how to talk to him. What to say to him.

He had to stay in North Carolina for about a month after he initially set foot in the United States. Over time, we got used to being able to talk to each other more often and from there, things began to turn around. I was finally beginning to be okay with the military lifestyle again, and was no longer trying as hard as I could to push it out of my life. I realized that when I was trying to push the military out of my life, it also meant that I was pushing Steve out of my life.

This deployment, although one of the biggest struggles I have experienced, was a revolution for me. It was a turning point. A turning point that changed both, my individual life and the way I look at things, and also our relationship.

The Lull Before the Storm

In March, Steve’s parents made their way out to North Carolina to see him. I wished so much that I could go with, but unfortunately I couldn’t—I had to go to classes instead. But, it wasn’t terribly long before he came home again, and his visits became more frequent for a little while. This is another part in the “Marine Corps Era” of our lives that I don’t remember a whole lot about. It was pretty boring. Which was okay—because when it comes to the military, boring is ALWAYS good. It seems like the more boring your life was, and the more you blended in with the woodwork, the better off you were.

I do know this though. I was dreading summer, because I knew that it would be harder. It always was. During the school year I had classes every day, homework every day, and friends to hang out with when school wasn’t consuming my time. Oddly enough, I also dreaded the weekends during the school year, because people went home, including myself, and there just wasn’t as much to keep me busy. But summers were the worst. Nothing to do to keep my mind busy. Even with a job, the jobs I had usually consisted of a lot of waiting for people. And the kind of waiting where you can’t work on something else while you wait, the kind of waiting where you can just sit and think—which is never a good thing when your boyfriend, and best friend, is in a different state.

I didn’t realize that this was the lull before the storm.

He was home for Memorial Day (I think), and again for the 4^th of July. And then on August 5^th, he came home for the last time for at least 8 months. It was the pre-deployment leave for his first deployment. During that time, we spent some time in the cities doing some shopping, and also a few nights in Marshall. We spent time at the lack with family and just relaxing at home. He was home for 2 full weeks. Which, although it was the longest leave he had taken since he joined, still wasn’t long enough.

On the 19^th, I cut his hair and sent him off to the cities with his mom and dad to catch his plane. I must say, saying goodbye when the other half of your heart is just going halfway across the country is difficult. But saying goodbye when it is going halfway around the world to a different country—unsure of when it will return, is near impossible. Especially if you want to attempt to keep some of your composure. I once again found that it was the hardest thing I had ever had to do.

The most torturous thing about deployments, is there are so many “lasts” that you must face. First, it was the last time I would see him for at least 8 months. Then, it was the last time I would talk to him on the Internet, for at least 8 months. Then, it was the last time that I would be able to dial the number to his cell phone and expect someone to answer other than the voicemail. The last phone call came on August 28^th, about an hour before he drove his AAV out in the water to get on the ship that would take him to far away, unknown places.

This, initially spurred a new obsession. I had a little calendar, and I wrote down EVERYTHING. I wrote when we talked on the phone and how long we talked, where he was calling from, when I sent him letters, when I received letters. When I got emails, significant events that were happening while he was away. You name it, I probably have a record of it. I made copies of every single letter I sent, knowing that they all might not make it back with him when he returned. I kept them in a binder, along with deployment related emails from the military, other family members, and even some news articles about the places Steve was going.

I have been quite thankful that I started this obsession, and in some ways even wish I would have taken it further and written more about what I was experiencing. I wish that I had kept track of how I got to where I was going next.  

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”.