Copacabana

Ladies take note

I had to post this entry from Villainous Company in its entirety because it is beautifully written and exemplifies how a real woman gets along in the world of sacrifice -- without whining and self-pity. Thanks Cassandra; you are someone I admire.

This Empty House

When I awoke this morning, the house was silent again except for the sound of birds chattering in the woods outside my bedroom window.

I am an early riser. I like those stolen moments before the rest of the world begins to stir; before the paper lands on my driveway with a reassuring smack, before the neighbors in my crunchy granola neighborhood escort their miniature elephants on leashes to my rock garden, where they leave their calling cards among the daylillies and blackeyed susans (the elephants, not my neighbors). If I'm lucky, I'll savor a cup or two of coffee before He Who Must Be Obeyed summons me with his great, barbaric yawp to free him from his lair and stand aside as he thunders up the stairs, tiny dachshund paws sounding like a herd of buffalo.

Solitude can be a gift, an oasis of peace amid the noise and confusion of daily living.

I thought of that the other day when reading about deployment and separation. I've often thought that if one question should come to define this deployment for me, it will be, "So, how are you doing all alone in that big empty house?"

It's a good question, and I know it comes from a good place. People ask because they are concerned, because they want to make conversation, or simply because they know nothing about military life and wonder what they would do in a similar situation? And I have my stock answer, given a thousand times before. It rolls off my lips almost without thought. "Piece of cake. I've done this so many times before. Not a problem." Deep breath, big smile; I don't want to dwell on it. I have stock answers for so many things.

"And how is your husband doing in Baghdad?"

"Oh he's living the life of Reilly! Hot and cold running belly dancers. Living in one of Saddam's palaces. He's partying like it's 1199." Of course, he's not living anywhere so fancy, but the corny jokes head off the flood of sympathy and commiseration. And that's the only thing I can't deal with, because it erodes all those carefully constructed barriers.

How am I dealing with living all alone in this empty house?

That's a complicated truth that even I don't understand fully, because I'm too close to it. But I've completed enough deployments to understand that, like pregnancies, each one is different yet each one has elements of sameness to it. I can remember the first few times my husband left for a year. Feeling brief moments of doubt before he left, as the prospect of entire year alone stretched out before me. How would I cope? What if we both changed too much, drifted apart? What if he stopped loving me? It's the unknown that threatens. Not sleeping at first, being afraid at night in our empty house in a new neighborhood with no neighbors, the weight of caring for and defending two small children seeming overwhelming. What if I let him down?

But as the deployment stretched on I adjusted. Normally I am somewhat of a closet anarchist. I hate nothing more than lists, watches, timetables, schedules; but during a deployment rules and lists came to define my life. I made rules for everything. They filled up the day, gave it purpose and structure, kept me from drifting, feeling sorry for myself. I would try something new - it had to be something that scared me - every month. I would go out more. I would join something (I hate joining things). I would learn a new hobby.

I would take lessons in something, learn a new skill. I would go against the grain.

As time passed and I stretched my wings, I became more confident. Free of the necessity to accommodate another adult, I reordered my life to suit me. I had time to do things I couldn't do when he was home. There were advantages to being alone, as well as drawbacks.

And I counted the days, and as I grew and changed, I tried not to grow too far apart from the woman I had been before my husband left. Because that is the danger; when you put your feelings on the shelf, when you try to cope well, there is always the risk of overcompensating, of forgetting how very much you need that person on the other side of the world.

And you do. And he still needs you to need him. It is not that you couldn't survive without him. Any adult can, and this is the good part of deployments. We are reminded that we can cope with anything, that life can be difficult and stressful at times but that when we are challenged, we will dig deep and find within ourselves the resourcefulness to answer those challenges. We emerge from this crucible of sorts stronger, better, wiser people; hopefully with a better understanding of how the world works, of the tasks he performed for us when he was home.

How am I coping with being all alone in this empty house? Most days, far better than I expected to. For the first time I can recall, I am not at all afraid at night, to be alone in the house. I think it is because my children are gone and I don't have to worry about defending them anymore. I never realized how heavily that weighed on me.

But I think the answer to that question came home to me early on a Tuesday morning in August when my cell phone rang unexpectedly. My husband was in Atlanta, flying into Dulles earlier than expected. My home phone had been taken out by a lightning strike and the phone company wouldn't come out to fix it for a week. I had things to do at work. I was, actually, out in my yard trying to finish some yard work.

The airport was over an hour away and I hadn't even taken a shower.

Two hours later, I walked into the baggage claim area at Dulles dressed in a hot pink sundress I'd bought especially for the occasion. My brand new, to-die-for high heeled sandals were torturing my feet, but at least I was calm as a cucumber.

Until I saw him in his desert cammies, standing by the baggage carousel. And as he wrapped his arms around me all the tears I hadn't cried over the past six months just washed over me like a summer storm. Where did that come from?

I get so annoyed at the pitying articles in the Washington Post and the New York Times about the heartbreak of deployment, the agony of separation, about families "torn apart" by the prospect of yet another tour of duty in the sandbox. As I go about my daily routine, I don't feel heartbroken, agonized, or "torn apart". I never have. And if you ask me how I'm dealing with being all alone in this empty house, I'll tell you, "fine". And I'll smile.

But also, I will remember that moment in the airport when I didn't ever want to let him go, when I couldn't stop touching him: his sleeve, the muscles in his arms, his back, the reassuring stubble on his cheek, just to make sure he was still there. Because there is a price. But what they don't understand is that we are strong enough to pay it and even when we grumble, which we do now and then because we're human, we don't mind so much.

Except every now and then. If we dwell on it.

Posted by Cassandra at 07:35 AM | Comments (8) |TrackBack (0) | Blogroll VC!

posted by Lola @ 3:21 PM