Tales of the Married...

First off, I’d like to say, that I have what is probably the most amazing husband in the whole world (maybe I’m a little biased?). And every day seems to be a new adventure and hold some new “quirk” that I usually find quite comical.

One of the first things I found out upon living together is that Steve has a very complex methodology for waking up in the morning. He sets a total of 3 alarms. 2 on his phone, one on an alarm clock strategically placed at the opposite end of the room. They all go off at different times. The first one, I call the “If I get up now, I can take my time getting ready, watch some TV and eat breakfast”. The second one would be the “I have plenty of time to get ready, and can eat breakfast if I inhale it on my way out the door”. The third one (the one across the room), of course is the “I need to go now, I’ll be lucky if I have enough time to get my pants buckled before I get out the door” alarm. As with 95% of the rest of the population—he never actually gets up until the last one goes off.

This sometimes results in a lot of confusion for me, and sometimes black eyes for Steve. One morning, after his first alarm went off, I apparently fell back asleep and dreamt that he had already left for work. After hearing his alarm #2 going off, I shot straight up (perhaps a flashback from deployment days), and began to reach across the bed in the direction of the ringing phone. Except Steve hadn’t left for work and was still in bed next to me, causing my over excited reach to end with my elbow in his cheek. I have always been the type of person who hears the alarm and has it shut off before it can beep twice, because I can’t stand the sound of blaring noises right away in the morning. So I have gone from listing to half a beep for an alarm, to having to listen to 3 go off every morning for about 5 minutes each—I usually kick him by the third one so he will get up and shut it off. I usually fall back asleep in no time though, since I never get up until 7:30.

Now, to change gears a little, when Steve gets home, he usually has a little bit more work to do on his computer, so he messes around with that while I make supper, and then while we are eating supper, I will attempt to have a conversation with him. Since our “kitchen table” is better known as our “coffee table”, the TV is generally on and as with most men when the TV is on, he is completely zoned out. I could strip naked and to streaking right in front of him out the front door and around the block and in the back door and he would have no idea that I even left. (I just asked him if this was a valid statement, to which he replied “it depends what’s on”). So, all hope for a conversation is pretty much lost.

That being said:

This morning, the plumber was scheduled to come to fix our backed up sewer. I had called my grandma yesterday to see if she could stop at our house and lock it up since Steve and I would both be at work—Steve in Alex, and me in Starbuck. Steve contemplated just staying home, and starting work late so he could be here in case they needed anything, and lock up himself. So, this morning, his alarm(s) went of at 5, 5:15, and 5:30 (the normal times), and he laid in bed contemplating whether to go to work at the normal time, or start late and stay with the plumber. He had asked me what he should do the night before, and I told him it was completely up to him.

Now, this isn’t the first time that this has happened, but all of a sudden, at 5:30am, he wants to hold a conversation with me. This morning it happened to be about the “stay or go” dilemma, but usually it is about other things. While I appreciate the fact the he wants to be conversational, I have yet to figure out why 5:30am, when I’m trying to sleep, is the magical time of the day that makes him all chatty.

After I silenced the conversation by responding with “it doesn’t matter to me what you do, it’s a decision you have to make yourself”, I thought for sure I was on my way back to dreamland. Here is how the next ¹/₂ -1 hour went:

Steve gets out of bed.

Steve turns on REALLY BRIGHT hallway light.

Kayla rolls over, turns back to said light.

Steve gets back in bed and snuggles up to Kayla.

Steve gets out of bed.

Steve gets dressed in his work clothes.

Steve leaves room for about 5 minutes.

Steve comes back, lays on top of covers.

Steve gets up.

Steve takes off dirty pants/shirt.

Steve crawls back in bed.

Steve snuggles up to Kayla and damn near pushes her off the other side of the bed.

Kayla gets ZERO sleep after methodic alarm schedule that started at 5:00am.

Needless to say, Steve decided to take a late start and stay at the house and wait for the plumber. Despite the fact that I was crabby all day—due to a bad day at work, and 2¹/₂ fewer hours of sleep, I couldn’t be crabby at him. I came home to the basement floor wet, but cleaned up after the sewer created quite a mess, and the “tracks” on the kitchen floor from going back and forth also cleaned up. I love him!

Brutal Honesty

So, maybe I haven’t been entirely honest about why I wanted to stay in North Carolina, and why, now that I am back in Minnesota, I am wishing I could go anywhere but here. Yes, I did really, really like North Carolina, and wish I could have stayed. There are many things that I love about that place. The weather (believe it or not), the architecture, the scenery, the history. I love it all. And I would gladly go back there. But, I would likely be just as happy going anywhere else too. Anywhere but here. Even somewhere that I’ve never actually been before. Why? The honest truth?

I feel like I don’t belong here. And I don’t know that I really want to. Before I moved to North Carolina, I found myself feeling like I wasn’t where I should be. I tried to force myself to believe that it was because Steve was in North Carolina, and I was here, but there was always a part of me that had the feeling that it was something different that was making me feel that way. Maybe because I had felt like that before Steve even left.

This was probably the biggest driving factor in my decision to move to North Carolina. I used “I didn’t have a job anyway” as an excuse, but to be honest, I wasn’t searching all that hard. If something would have landed right in my lap, I probably would have taken it, but what were the chances of that happening—especially in THIS job market? Reality is, I wanted to go. I NEEDED to go. I had to see if my suspicions of what I was feeling were correct, or if it was just an unexplainable feeling I would always have.

When I packed up and moved out there, I was so excited. It is something that I had wanted for a while. I had friends out there, before I even moved. Friends that I shared a special bond with that would never be broken, friends I had all kinds of things in common with, and friendships that had become some of the best friendships I had ever had in the short 7 months before I had even moved out there.

The 4 months I lived out there were the most exciting, and happiest months of my life. There is something very liberating and stress-free about being out on your own, being able to be who you want to be, and do what you want to do. I loved every minute of it. And for the first time in a long time, I felt like I fit somewhere. I felt that feeling inside me disappear and actually stay away for a full 4 months. I had hoped that this 4 months would give me a long enough break from this feeling that maybe when I went back to Minnesota, it would stay away.

One of my favorite pictures of home...

It seems like it was almost immediately after I returned to Minnesota that the feeling returned and hasn’t left since. Everyday my eyes are opened to another reason why I wish I was somewhere else. Why I simply don’t belong here. Why I am meant to be in a location other than here. Each day, I wish more and more, that I was on my way to somewhere else. That I could take my husband and I, and our jobs, and transplant them somewhere else. To go from an environment where I was happy, had no stress, lots of friends, and felt “at home”, to an environment where I constantly feel out of place, have stressors that likely shoot my blood pressure through the ceiling, and have called my home all my life, but have no friends, is almost unbearable. And the biggest reason I want to go back to a place where I felt like I was at home.

Someday I hope (only because I know that I will never actually get to move) that I can find my place here, and that it will begin to feel like home, but right now, I don’t feel like that will ever happen. Unfortunately, I think it will always be this way. And that I will always struggle with the desire to go somewhere, to live life in a different location, to recreate who I am and who I want to be. But for now, it is back to the old way of doing, the old way of feeling, in the place I’ve always called “home” but has never felt like home.

“’Cuz I’m a rambling (wo)man, I ain’t ever gonna change. I’ve got a gypsy soul to blame and I was born for leaving…”

-Zac Brown Band

Sometimes When Words Fail You, Inspiration Is Born...

Last year, at this exact moment, I was on my way to the gymnasium at Courthouse Bay on Camp LeJeune in North Carolina. It was down pouring in rain, and had been for almost a week.

About ¹/₂ hour earlier, I had gotten the most exciting text message I had received in at least 8 months, probably my entire life. One of my fellow military wives and I had been driving around look at the “Welcome Home” signs notoriously hanging on the fence. The fence surrounding the military base is always COVERED in them. Someone removes them every Thursday, and by Friday, they are covered again. It’s become a permanent and familiar fixture in Jacksonville and the other towns surrounding the base. It is a good indication of how many families are reunited each week, and how many Marines return home safely after fighting for my freedoms for 7+ months. And what a good reminder they are! We were taking it all in, when I got it—the text message.

It was 3 words, but spurred the excitement I was already feeling to new heights you wouldn’t even think imaginable. “Through the gate.” I read it to my friends who was driving and we were immediately done admiring signs and off the gymnasium, through the flooded roads in the pouring rain. We had endured 7 long months without so much as a phone call from our husbands, a grand total of 4 delays, and what seemed like a ridiculously long drive bus ride (for our Marines) from Cherry Point, to Jacksonville.

And they were finally here. When we got the gym, we waited, and waited, and waited. The top priority of whoever was in charge of our Marines was to get the guns to the armory and get them locked up. I guess that’s a reasonable top priority…but not much fun when you are waiting for them to arrive.

After what seemed like two hours of waiting, but was probably really just ¹/₂ hour (in the rain, no less) we finally saw the bus. At a turtle’s pace, it pulled closer and closer and…kept going. Chinese Water Torture, anyone? It continued to go at a turtle’s pace around the block and finally came to a stop in front of the crowd of rain drenched, but still excited family members. 

I find it kind of funny. I don’t really remember the rain. I mean, I know it was raining, but I don’t really remember it. I don’t remember wishing that it wasn’t raining, I don’t remember complaining about being wet, and cold while standing outside waiting for the bus to get there. I think I was so excited to be there. To be able to be at the homecoming. To be a part of something so exciting. And to be living my life, that the rain was completely irrelevant, and unimportant.

Apparently one of the people “in charge” (perhaps the same one who ensured the safety of the weapons at the armory?) had some compassion. I had never been to an ordeal like this before, but was informed by others who had, that generally they get off the bus, and are led in front of, and past the crowd of people standing in the rain waiting for them, without the ability to acknowledge their presence, and would meet in the gym for one final formation (as if someone would be careless enough to miss the bus that was bringing them home) and one final “debriefing”. Does this sound familiar to anyone? Perhaps from reading about my boot camp experience?

I think some people were rather surprised when the first of our Marines stepped of the bus, and almost impossibly instantaneously located his wife/girlfriend/sister/whoever, and with one swift motion, picked her up and hugged her. The Marines continued to file of the bus—some picking their family members out of the crowd unbelievably quickly, while others—presumably those who did not have family members there to greet them—went straight to the storage compartment of the bus, and began unloading the bags.

While I stood their waiting for Steve to get off the bus, part of me wanted so badly to go to the guys who didn’t have family or friends their to greet them, to tell them how much they missed them, to thank them for what they did, and to welcome them back to the US of A. But even being a military wife, and being involved in the military lifestyle, and being exposed to Marines on a regular basis, it seems words fail you in a situation like that. So instead, I said nothing. Instead, I stood and observed that slowly, but surely, as more and more Marines filed off the bus, the crowd was overcome more and more with desert cami color, as families—mothers, fathers, children, wives, aunts, uncles, and friends were reunited with their Marines. Two of these men held their first child for the first time on this day, after missing the birth of their babies while they were in Afghanistan.

I continued to wait, and wait, and wait, beginning to think that Steve had somehow been left in Afghanistan, or Bulgaria, until he FINALLY stepped off the bus—one of the last ones—I should have known he would do that to me…

And there we met, about 3 feet from the bus, in a sea of other men in uniform and reunited families. There I finally got my turn to be picked up, and hugged. There is where I finally got to see my husband, and finally start BEING husband and wife—even though we had already been married for 9 months. It’s more or less where my married life started—maybe we should count THIS day as our anniversary, since we are having so much trouble deciding which date to use as our “official” anniversary.

There is so much more that I could say about this day, but for now I think I will leave it at that. It’s so hard to come up with words to describe something that few other people have experienced, and will ever experience. I am hoping some day I will find the words to describe what it’s like the moment you see someone you love for the first time after 7 months of only talking to them on the phone. But much like when I was watching Marines step off the bus with no one to greet them, words fail me now as well.

I will say this though, although I have said that this day was a beginning, it was kind of bittersweet, because I knew it was an ending too. I knew that this would be the last homecoming of this caliber, that we would never again be separated by the military (unless there is a war of epic proportions—knock on wood that doesn’t happen), and I knew that from here on out, the rest of Steve’s military career would merely consist of “going through the motions” to make everyone happy. All of the things that had made me feel so strong, so independent, and so supportive, were coming to and end. And although there is excessive amounts of stress that came with the job title, there was so much pride, and so much courage that came with it also, that cannot, and will not, ever be able to be replaced.

There was so much that I learned during the 7 months that Steve was in Afghanistan, about who I was, what I was capable, and what I wanted to do. Perhaps some of it was spurred by the sight of Marines with no one to greet the, perhaps some of it was from knowing that Steve shared his care packages with a buddy who didn’t get very many, perhaps it was a desire to continue to be connected to the military and supportive of our troops in any way that I could, but following this deployment, I had a desire. I’m still working on what all that desire entails, and how I want to go about it, but hopefully in the next few weeks, I will be able to find some way to go about it, and have enough information to post about it, and maybe involve some of my readers who want to be a part of it as well (is this the longest run-on sentence you have every seen, or what?!). Only time will tell if I find a way to fulfill my desire!

In the meantime, I will bask in this day, knowing that last year, at this time, the best part of life (the married and actually getting to be together part) was just beginning. Just remembering the events of this day last year, makes my heart beat faster, and harder, and brings tears to my eyes. And makes me wish that I could remember exactly how it felt, exactly how it happened. Although I still cling to a past lifestyle that I miss dearly, I am starting to be more comfortable with moving on to something new, and continuing a life being married to my best friend.

D-Day

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 6^th—“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.

Goodbye Again, My Love

(This is another break from my military life story. I seem to be struggling with how exactly to write about the “Afghanistan deployment”. I have it mostly written out, but can’t quite decide how I want to finish it.)

Tomorrow (today) Steve leaves for training for 10 days. I have to leave for work early in the morning, and shortly after, he will be leaving for the cities to board an airplane to Ohio. Which means I won’t see him at all for almost two weeks. I realize that it is Ohio, and not Afghanistan, but I’m still completely dreading this. I know that I have endured far worse, but it is still something that I don’t want to have to go through.

He came home from Afghanistan less than a year ago, and since then, we haven’t been away from each other for more than 40 hours. And the one time we were away from each other for 36 hours, I was awake until 3am because I couldn’t sleep without him there. It’s funny how I spent 4 years at opposite ends of the country as him, and 14 months at opposite sides of the world as  him, and yet I am dreading him going somewhere that is within a days drive of where I will be, and only for 10 days.

It’s hard to imagine life without him—even if it is only temporary. I have gotten so used to coming home and either finding him already there, or knowing that he is on his way. I have grown accustomed to falling asleep in his arms and being able to cuddle up next to him any time I want. I was convinced that the last goodbye before his deployment, was, in fact, the last goodbye that I would have to endure.

Oddly enough, right now, my heart is aching, and I have already found myself trying to hold back tears. Even though I know that it is only for 10 days and that I will live, I can’t seem to convince my heart that this is only short-term. I can’t seem to convince my heart that this will be a “piece of cake” compared to the past good-byes. All of the emotion and heart-wrenching thought of letting him go, has come flooding back, and has my heart thinking that this good-bye will be just like the so many before it, and just as difficult.

I’m not sure how I will feel come tomorrow. Although, my guess is that I won’t really notice it until I get home and find that he isn’t there, and isn’t coming home. I am hoping that I will be able to sleep, even without his arms wrapped around me, and without being able to kiss him goodnight, but I’m thinking it’s not likely. So, my other hope, is that God grants me the same amount of adrenaline as I had when I was in school, so I can continue to run efficiently on minimal sleep.

In many ways I hate myself for even thinking that this is going to be difficult. But when you’ve had to deal with devastating good-bye after devastating good-bye, all of them seem like the end of the world—even when they’re not. So, hopefully I will be able to convince my heart that all will be okay, and that this good-bye isn’t going to be as difficult as all those previous ones. And hopefully my heart is as strong as it was just a few short  months ago…

The Last Goodbye, Take 2

Upon arriving in the airport, we were informed that there was bad weather in Atlanta, and that my flight was delayed. This time I had chosen to fly into and out of Jacksonville, instead of Raleigh, and because of the size of the Jacksonville Airport (3 gates), they only have the smaller planes, so you ALWAYS have to have a connecting flight. The nice thing about flying out of a TINY airport in a town that is made up of about 95% military families, is that they allowed Steve to come through security and sit with me at the gate while I waited for my plane. I was supposed to fly out at 3:30, and was still sitting in the airport in Jacksonville at 6:00. I think this was the first time that I had finally convinced myself to not think about the good-bye, until it was actually happening. Usually the whole day leading up to it was just torture for me. I would cry off and on all day. And although I would always tell myself, “don’t think about it until it’s actually happening”, it never worked. Until this time, surprisingly.

While we were sitting in the airport, we played games on Steve’s phone, and probably grossed people out with our PDA, but we didn’t really care. I don’t remember what time I actually boarded the plane, sometime within an hour and half after 6:00. The plane was packed since it was actually 2 flights worth of passengers, and somehow I ended up being 1 of 2 people who didn’t have someone sitting next to me. For that, I was very thankful. I fell asleep, as I usually do, probably even before takeoff and woke up mid-flight completely nauseous. We were (obviously) getting closer to Atlanta, and the turbulence was terrible! Not only was it stormy out, but we were also in one of the smaller planes that experiences turbulence every time the wind blows. I kept hoping and hoping that we were going to be landing soon before I puked all over. I made it, and landed in the Atlanta airport to find the busiest place on the planet. I found my gate (always a big concern for me when I fly) and sat down, only to have some guy tell me that the gate to Minneapolis had changed.

So, we walked down to the new gate location, sat there for a while, only to find out that it had changed again. I FINALLY got settled in the third, and final gate change, and listened to the entire airport cheer for their respective times as the Super Bowl played on every single TV in the airport. I was supposed to make it back to Minnesota around midnight, but was still sleeping in the airport in Atlanta at 11. My parents stayed at a friends house in the cities while waiting for me. At about midnight, we all boarded the plane—this time 4 flights worth of people, plus a few more whose flights had been cancelled until the next day, HOPING there were extra seats left. The whole flight was full, and it was a HUGE plane. I, of course, slept the whole way once again.

I think I finally landed at the airport in Minneapolis at about 2 am, and went down to baggage claim. I called my parents and informed them I had finally landed, and I sat there and waited for my bag to start its right around the carousel. I stood there and watched tons and tons of bags circle the thing, and never once caught sight of mine. They had lined some bags up that had somehow taken a different route and ended up in Minneapolis sooner. I walked up and down the rows of bags, checked the carousel again, and then started panicking a little.

I kept going between the carousel, and the door to the pick up/drop off zone to see if my bag had showed up, and if my parents had arrived yet. After my parents finally got there, I tearfully told them that my bag was missing. So, mom came and stood in the baggage claim line with me behind the 20 other people whose bags were also missing, and we were told that according to their records, my bags had never left Jacksonville. How that happened, I have no idea. Like I said, the Jacksonville airport has 3 gates—you could honestly WATCH them take your bag and put it on the plane. I didn’t, because I didn’t really think it was necessary, especially since they had 3 hours to get it from the inside of the airport to the plane that was right next to the building.

Somehow they screwed it up though, and I was without my bag, and without all of my daily necessities. We took our little baggage claim ticket, in place of my luggage, and headed for the car. I’m pretty sure I cried more in the car until I finally fell asleep once again. Now I think it seems silly to cry over delayed baggage, but I guess 12+ hours of sitting in airports/airplanes AFTER saying good-bye to your husband for the last time before he goes to Afghanistan will make you cry over silly things.

I slept most of the way home, and woke up once arriving in my hometown. I sat up, looked out the window, and saw…nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was a blizzard out—the wind was blowing ridiculously hard and it was blowing snow like crazy. We couldn’t see more than 5 feet in front of the car. Plus it was dark outside, and  it had been blowing for a long time, so the country roads we live on were drifted like you wouldn’t believe. Apparently it had been blowing like this—complete white-out conditions since we had gotten off the free way about 45 miles ago, but we lucked out and ended up right behind a semi, and dad was able to follow the semi going at a reasonable speed until it turned the opposite way in town, and left us fending for ourselves. We got part way down a road on the way home—going about 5 the whole time, and decided to turn around realizing that the drifts were going to be WAY too bad. We tried an alternate route, and although it didn’t make the visibility any better, it was at least a road that drifted less than the others.

We continued to drive about 5 miles an hour, never really sure whether we were in the middle of the road, or riding the edge of the ditch, but with 4 sets of eyes, we managed to stay well enough on the road that we could keep going. I don’t think we got home until about 6am. I was supposed to work the next day at about 9, so I went straight to bed, and woke up in a couple hours. The wind still hadn’t died down, but it was at least light outside, so I started my drive to Marshall. It took me about 1 hour to drive 10 miles. And it was that point that I realized that it was a really stupid idea to keep going—my friends had told me that it was the same way down there, and I wasn’t about to find out if it was the same way in the middle too. I turned around and started driving back home. After about another hour worth of driving, I finally made it back home, and spent the day recovering from the day before/that morning.

It was probably the most stressful flying experience I have ever had in my life, but I had finally gotten a good-bye I was satisfied with. One that would last me until I got to see him again.

The Impromptu Trip

I’m pretty sure I slept the whole way home. It was the easiest thing to do during a car ride like that! Three hours is WAY too long to sit and think after a goodbye like that. So I just slept. I feel bad that I wasn’t more social with my mother and father-in-law. I don’t think I hardly spoke to them the whole way home. Although, I think they understood. If I remember correctly, my new sister-in-law (Steve’s brother’s wife) said that’s usually what she did after dropping her Marine husband off at the airport too. There’s just something about letting your mind slip into subconsciousness where what is actually going on in real life, (usually) has no effect on what happens in your dreams.

For the next few days, the goodbye at the airport continued to replay again and again in my mind. It was so quick, and short, I could hardly remember it. I had already forgotten what the last hug felt like, what the last kiss tasted like, and even what our last words were—knowing that it wasn’t “I love you”. I think that if he had just been going back to North Carolina, I would have been satisfied with the way things worked out. But since he was going to Afghanistan, on a deployment that there was a chance he wouldn’t make it back from, I couldn’t be satisfied with it, and I couldn’t let it go.

I couldn’t let him go to Afghanistan without tell him one last time, to his face, that I loved him. So, within a couple days, I decided that I would never be satisfied with that goodbye, and that I needed to do something about it. Two weeks later, I was on my way to the airport once again, this time with Steve’s mom (and another lady, who was also flying somewhere) and with my bags packed. I skipped out on the second week of classes, and headed to North Carolina to see Steve one more time, and hopefully conclude with a “satisfying” goodbye.

I got a little more “daring” with this flight, and decided to fly straight into Jacksonville, which meant a connecting flight in Charlotte. I made sure there was about a 4 hour gap between my flights so I could be sure to make it! And I did! I think I could have made it from one gate to the other in about 20 minutes, but I’ve really become accustomed to sitting in airports for long periods of time, and I don’t mind it one bit (it helps that I’m kind of a “people watcher”).

I got there at about 4, and ended up waiting at the airport for about an hour until someone could come and get me. Steve ended up having to work late, so he sent his friend—the one with a car that is willing to do pretty much anything—to pick me up and take me to the hotel. And when I say Steve had to work late, I don’t mean, until 6ish. I’m pretty sure he didn’t get to the hotel until 11:30 that night. I remember being RIDICULOUSLY antsy, and checking my phone about every 2 seconds hoping to see a message informing me he was finally off work.

I also know that my attention span was the shortest it had ever been—I had all kinds of “entertainment” packed for my long wait in the airport, and the plane rides (although I don’t think I actually took out any of it until I got to the hotel) and I couldn’t concentrate on ANYTHING. I think I finally fell asleep, but even when I woke up he wasn’t done with work yet. It seemed like the longest 7 hours of my life.

He finally got done with work and made it to the hotel, and when he opened the door, I don’t think he was even able to set his bag down before I hugged him and didn’t let him go for about 5 minutes. It was SO good to see him again after that disastrous first good-bye.

He had to work every day, so I had to stay in the hotel room by myself while he was at work, and it drove me absolutely insane to sit there by myself. Before long, the weekend finally came and Steve was actually able to stay with me. One of the nights, we went to one of Steve’s friends houses—a friend that I had heard stories about, but hadn’t yet met. This was my first encounter with another military spouse that was going through the same things that I was, at the same time. We mostly sat around and talked, and despite having a double ear infection, I loved every minute of it. I was so happy to finally meet Steve’s friends and people that I had heard about so often.

The next day I spent nursing my ear infections, and we pretty much hung out in the hotel room all day and watched movies. Which was fine with me because it was not only time spent with him, but time spent with him that was completely unexpected until about a week earlier.

After about 4 days at the hotel, we packed up all of our stuff and moved it to the cabanas  on base.  These were slightly nicer than the hotel and it was MUCH better for me because I felt LOADS safer being outside by myself while Steve was at work. The cabanas had a kitchen so we bought all kinds of food and I cooked while Steve was at work. Staying in the cabanas also meant that we were closer to where Steve worked, which meant less driving time for him, and more time together for us.

Most days Steve would get up ridiculously early to go to work, and I usually couldn’t get back to sleep after he left. Only a few days of being married and sleeping in the same bed made me wonder how I ever fell asleep without someone next to me. So, I would get up and watch the sunrise over the ocean, and then usually head inside to start making dinner.

During that time, we also had some of his friends out for supper so I was able to meet more people that I had heard stories about and seen videos of. I found that they were just as hilarious as I had imagined they would be. I could immediately see why they and Steve were such good friends.

I don’t really remember what all we did during this trip out there, although I know it wasn’t much. We did some walking on the beach, but I don’t think we spent any time doing sightseeing—we didn’t really want to. We were lucky enough to be given extra, unexpected time together, and we wanted to spend as much of it just enjoying that time together as we could.

Sometime during the week, we had a sudden army of ants that decided to make a home in a crack in the wall in the bathroom. Now, initially, I was thinking “how on earth am I going to kill all these ants?!”, because when I say army, I mean there were hundreds of them. As I was about to start killing them a small area at a time with toilet paper, Steve says “I have an idea”. Not entirely sure what his big idea was, I stayed in the bathroom, mesmerized by how the ants seemed to be multiplying before my eyes. I heard him dig around in his bag a little, and then in the kitchen drawer. All of a sudden, back he comes with 3 items: a spoon, a bottle of hand sanitizer, and a lighter.

What we did from there is pretty self explanatory, I think. What you may not know is that during Steve’s first deployment, he and his friends went through LOADS of hand sanitizer. But not for what it’s actual use is. They used it to light things on fire—including their own body parts. To see this and other crazy things they did on their deployment, you can go HERE.

Anyway, we put the hand sanitizer on the spoon, lit it on fire, and burned lines of ants off the wall. We killed them all quite quickly, and then sealed off the crack in the wall they were coming through with toothpaste—apparently Steve had done this before in the barracks. Who knew toothpaste worked as caulking mechanism?!

Our final, rather humorous adventure from that trip occurred one of my last mornings there. Either the morning on the day before I was supposed to leave, or the morning of the day I was supposed to leave, I talked Steve into getting up early with me (he didn’t have to work) and watching the sunrise over the ocean on the deck. I had gone out on the deck to watch the sunrise every morning we were there, and since I stayed on the bench next to the back door, I never found it necessary to lock the door, so I left the door that locks automatically upon closing, wide open, and just closed the screen door.

Well, Steve apparently found it necessary to close the door that automatically locks (knowing that it automatically locked) and assumed that I had the key. Immediately after he closed the door, I asked why he closed it to which he responded “I dunno”. I said, “Well you have the key, right?” And of course, he didn’t and neither did I. So, we knew right away that we were locked out. Thus started Steve not enjoying the sunrise with me, and instead trying to find a way to break into the cabana. It was ridiculously early in the morning, so we didn’t really want to have to walk down to the campground where the person in charge stays, wake them up, and ask them to come down and unlock our door for us.

He tried each of the windows hoping that one of them was unlocked, and after a whole sunrise worth of trying, we walked down to the campsite, and luckily found that the person on duty was already awake. He gave us a ride back to the cabana, and unlocked our door. Upon getting back into the cabana, we checked the windows again to find that they WERE unlocked and that, if easily pushed up (not panicked, rather hard pushing, like Steve was doing) they slid open quite easily from the outside.

The last couple days I was out there, we spent relaxing together. My flight was scheduled .

on a Sunday and Steve had the weekends off, so we were able to spend the last couple days together. Plus, after the last time I was out there, we wanted to make sure that Steve was going to be able to take me to the airport