Unaccompanied

I know it's been weeks since my last post. I've been really busy ignoring the outside world to be with Joe.

Yesterday, he left for Korea. So I've written. Journaled. My journaling often takes the form of letters to Joe, because that makes it feel more like I'm talking to him and less like I'm just talking into the dead-end void of my hard drive. That's why it starts this way:

04.25.11

Dear Joe,

   

    Your parents and I took you to the airport today. We got there three hours before your flight was scheduled to leave, because they told you to do that, and you got your luggage checked and we still had three hours to kill. We got breakfast.

    We went back to the airport and sat around for an hour and a half with the news on a big HDTV behind you and me and across from your parents. Eventually I asked you to walk me to the little airport sandwich shop around the corner so I could have a few moments with you. You and I stood next to a short history of golf in Augusta and hugged for a long time and you talked to me and I listened to your voice.

    We went back to where your parents were sitting, and you told us it was time for you to go. I didn't cry, because we were in public, I had things to do, and it just wasn't the time to freak out. You went into a restricted area with metal detectors where your parents and I couldn't go, and we followed in a parallel hallway and waved at you when you came out the other side. You went down another hallway, and when we couldn't see you anymore, we left.

    Your parents and I got back to the house, and they packed up their car, stayed with me for a few minutes, then headed back to Virginia. I was still okay (but just okay.) I took a shower, then called my family. I talked to mom and dad, then talked to Robby for a few minutes about the upcoming patch in LoL. They're making significant changes to a few characters. You said it was going to be a good patch. Robby seemed pretty excited about it.

    After that, I went househunting for the move I need to arrange within the next 18 days and looked up information about your flights. You texted me about an hour after we left you, when you got to Atlanta. Once you boarded your next flight, you told me there was a TV built into the headrest of the seat in front of you, and that you were in a seat in the middle by the window next to a door (the safest spot in case of a hijack.) Then you had to turn off your phone.

    I was done with my househunting for the day. I didn't want to play LoL, didn't want to do anything but take a nap. So I did, for about four hours. I cried when I laid down. I didn't want it to get out of hand, so I imagined you talking to me and soothing me and it worked and I fell asleep. I'd wake up every little while and see green leaves and blue sky through a crack in the curtains. It was a beautiful, gorgeous day and I just slept through it because I didn't know what else to do...and now it's almost dark, the sun's setting, and I'm sitting on the back porch feeling guilty for wasting such a nice day and I worry about being able to fall asleep tonight.

    I miss you. I feel empty. I wish you were holding me right now.

    There's a towel on the grill on the back porch from yesterday when the washing machine overflowed and you cleaned up the water and just left the towel back here, all balled up, and, oddly, that's what gets me the most. That's the kind of thing that makes me miss you. And the empty ice cream carton you left on your desk. And the empty couch where we spent so much time watching movies and cuddling.

    The map on the website of Delta Airlines says you're over Montana right now, about to enter Washington. It says your flight will arrive in Washington at 5:55 PM, so, 8:55 PM my time. That's in 40 minutes.

    This separation was supposed to be easier than the time you left for Basic, because we'll be in constant contact and because I have so much to do to to get ready to move. I guess it is easier...after all, today I was able to take a nap instead of crying for hours and hours, and when I did start crying I was able to turn it off fairly easily.

    But really the only thing making this okay is the thought that you're going over there to find a house for us. I'll be there with you in a few months. That's what I'm telling myself, what we're telling ourselves. Right now, I don't want to deal with the possibility that we might not see each other for six months, then be apart for another six, then who knows. So...I'll be living with you soon...

04.26.11

Dear Joe,

    I miss you. I last heard from you around 3:00 AM my time. You were in Seattle and had four hours to wait 'til your flight to Korea would be taking off. I was already in bed, and you were going to try to fall asleep at the airport.

    When I woke up this morning (afternoon,) I decided to organize the bathroom cabinets. Wrong move, apparently. Your stuff, pieces of our normal days are in there: your deoderant, cologne, the box holding the bandaids you were using every day to cover your smallpox vaccination site. I cried. Apparently, cleaning the bathroom is out of my range of abilities at the moment.

    I might be moving back into our old rental house, if the owners will have me. The more I think about it, the more I don't want to. I just want to start over somewhere where you haven't lived.

    I miss you. It's 3:03 in the morning in Korea. I hope I hear from you soon.

6:30 PM

    I think your flight was supposed to have just landed. It was an 11.5 hour flight and it left at 7:00 AM my time, so maybe. I'm still waiting to hear from you. I'm sure I will soon.

    Last night, you sent me some pictures of the art in the Seattle airport. In some of the pictures I could see your reflection. I stared at those pictures longer.

    Now it's 6:30 PM (7:30 AM in Korea.) I've finished up my work for the day. I've been busy and now I'm done, and I've taken my shower, and now I'm ready to relax and be with you...but you're not going to be here. It's time to play, and you're not here. Time to relax, but I'm not really going to, because it's quiet in here and you're not with me. The time will pass as I entertain myself, and it will get dark, and I'll eat, and it will be quiet and my messes will be the only ones and my dinner plate will be the only one and I'll miss you.

The Day He Left for Basic

I would've posted this a week ago, back when it was actually relevant, but I was too busy feeling sorry for myself. Oops.

March 30th, 2010, was one of the most significant dates in history: the day Joe left for Basic. It was the first time we'd ever been separated for longer than a couple of days in our 2 years, 7 months (and 14 days) of being married.

That morning, once he made sure all the packing was done, we just sat there without enough time to do anything. Mentally, he was already halfway gone, focused on what he had to do. I was clinging to him, to every hollow, half-there minute we had.

It was a sunny, gorgeous day. We met his parents for lunch at Golden Corral, which was my idea and probably not something anyone else was that interested in. I was stuck to him still. Except when we were getting food, I constantly touched him or forced my way into his arms and just generally made a nuisance of myself.

When we were done eating, it was time to take him to the recruiter's office. Then it was time to leave him there. Time for me to be strong and not cry in front of everyone and make sure I drove home safely.

I pulled up to my parking spot at our house. Then, from habit, I pulled my car forward a little bit to make sure Joe would have enough room to park behind me.

But when I looked up, his car was in the driveway already, pulled way off to the side, because he wasn't going to need it and he wasn't home and he wasn't going to be coming home for a long time.

So I cried.

With my face all distorted and gross-looking and tear-covered, I got out of the car, locked it, jumped the ditch, walked across the lawn, unlocked the door, went inside, closed the door behind me, locked it. I was immediately faced with Joe's computer desk, all his stuff right there, with his chair swiveled away from the desk as if he had just gotten up and would be sitting down again any minute...except that the computer was shut down. Sobbing, I went upstairs to change my clothes. There were all his clothes on the other end of the closet, the hangers askew as if he'd just gone through them. Wailing and half-naked, I walked around the room trying to decide what to wear. I saw his running shoes next to each other on the floor as if he'd just taken them off, and it upset me even more (even though I knew that I was the one who'd put them there during chores a few days ago.) Every time I saw something else of his, I'd go into a fresh bout of hysteria: the wrapper on my nightstand from the new travel toothbrush he'd bought the other day and unwrapped this morning; his clothes from yesterday, on the floor where he put them when he took them off; then, downstairs, his Xbox and gaming stuff left like he would be there to pick it all up again.

I had to stop crying; my roommate would be home soon. I leaned against the wall of the bedroom, my arms wrapped around myself, and I imagined what Joe would say if he could talk to me. Shh...it's okay. It's okay. I love you and I need you need to calm down for me, baby. It worked. (Mostly.)

I had no idea what to do with the rest of the day. My life had become my own. I never realized that, when he was there, every single moment I could plan was planned around his schedule and how I could be with him and what I could do for him. I didn't even know that I didn't really have freedom. That day, my schedule became what I wanted when I wanted, and I just wanted him.

I decided that what I needed was a change in my environment, to make it more "mine" and less "ours." With a lot of help from my roommate, I spent the afternoon dragging my computer desk away from Joe's desk and up the stairs into the bedroom that, when I was on the phone with him for a few minutes, I accidentally called "my" and not "ours."

He called me periodically throughout the day for a few minutes at a time. I didn't have much to say. What could I say? The most pressing issue in my life at that point was keeping myself from hysteria, and that's not really something you tell your husband who has his own stuff to deal with. I was glad to hear his voice, but he couldn't give me the comfort I needed. And then there was the part where we had to say goodbye again and hang up and I didn't know how many weeks it would be before I'd hear his voice again...but a few hours later, there would be another call...and then, again, the unknowing.

My roommate, who had gone through the exact same thing just a month before when her husband left for Basic, helped me pass that first evening with a rented movie, hotdogs, and sweet tea. I learned what it's like to live under The First Law of the Army Wife: Thy phone shall be turned to full volume at all times and shall at all times be at a maximum of two feet from your person.

Eventually, it was time to go to sleep. I typed a short note to him, the first of what became a routine of nightly just-before-bedtime letters. Then, crying, I laid down to sleep.

I expected I'd stop crying and fall asleep at some point, but an hour later, it hadn't happened yet. So I read a book for a while, then laid down again...and started crying again. So I read some more, laid down again. But every single time I laid my head down, I started crying. I was exhausted, tired of crying and of not being able to breathe through my nose, but I couldn't fall asleep or calm down. Luckily, I had the possibility of a 4:00 a.m. phone call to look forward to, and I texted Joe to make sure I'd get that call. The phone rang at 4, we talked (well, I babbled incoherently through tears more than actually talking - which I felt guilty about, since I didn't want to bother him like that,) and when we got off the phone I finally was able to sleep.

And that was the first day.

On March 30th, 2011, I was alone again while he was at a field training exercise. It wouldn't have been so bad if I wasn't panicking about our next separation, which would be within a month but for which we had no certain date of departure.

So...soon, it all happens again. Soon, he'll have to leave me again. We don't know if I'll be able to follow him. When we say goodbye in a few weeks, we won't know if we're saying goodbye for two months or six or longer.

He won't be in danger. I should smile and take it all lightly and say "It's not so bad" because he'll be safe and because we'll be in constant contact. But I'm not that good.

I see days stretching out too numerous to even begin a countdown, countless empty hours without my best friend, and I'm just not that good.