This week has been hard.
I’ve felt like a helium balloon. Slowly deflating from its festive best into a sad shape hovering near the floor.
I’m going through the motions. Sort of “phoning it in”. Getting up. Getting the kids off to school and then I blink and I’m getting them off the bus. Nothing accomplished in between.
I didn’t think the week after would be so lonely.
I thought I’d have a few days of weepiness followed by the whole “get back on your horse” type of thing. And I’m trying. I really am. But I’m still on the ground.
I’ve got some fantastic friends who call and check on me. I don’t think they realize how much I draw on their strength.
Rick calls every day. I’m grateful for that. His voice is my link to myself at this point.
I need something to give me a shake. If my mother were here she’d smack me and tell me to get on with it she’d incite me to anger and that would be better than this numbing feeling. But she’s not. So I remain the same.
I’m watching everyone get ready for the holidays. Hearing about their trees, their presents, their decorations. Seeing their lights. Their preparations are all but complete. Mine haven’t been thought about.
A favourite teacher of mine used to say, “procrastination is the thief of time.” Well I’m the willing accomplice this week. Let the time go. Let the holidays pass and let me crawl under the covers until spring.
Day 98
Friday, November 28, 2008
Friday, November 21, 2008
Goodbye again.
Twenty days.
For twenty days I haven’t been alone. I’ve had my husband here to laugh with, talk with, argue with, love.
Nineteen nights I’ve not laid here alone. Nineteen nights I’ve not been awakened to a little boy screaming in terror. I’ve not had to cuddle into pillows to fall asleep. And I’ve not been the one to listen, even in my sleep, for noises outside the normal house sounds. I’ve slept.
Sixty meals I’ve not had to be a jack-in-the-box jumping up to get something. Dinner conversations were about something other than how many more bites before Liam could be done. Daytime meals were not eaten alone. I could look across the table and see his face.
Four hundred and eighty hours I’ve not had to be the “strong” one. Not had to be the only one responsible for everything in the house. Not had to keep an eye on Kate 24/7 and have been able to shower alone.
Twenty-eight thousand eight hundred minutes that I’ve not had to worry that something bad was going to happen to him. Not had to be on guard against that knock at the door.
But now it’s done.
Where did the time go?
Those twenty days flew by. I blinked and they were done.
I only picked him up at the airport the other day. I shouldn’t be dropping him off already.
We’ve spent a lot of time together, both as a couple and as a family. Storing memories like a squirrel stores food for the winter. I keep thinking of things we should have done.
I’ve had a dozen little breakdowns today. Little sobbing fits that he comforts me through. I’m trying hard to keep the kids from seeing them. I don’t want to make it worse. But it feels like my chest is being crushed and my stomach is in knots.
There are no other soldiers here this time. The other passengers appear to be mostly businesspeople. The tension is less. The sadness more contained in our little corner.
There is no luggage to check. He’s only got his carry on. The “official” airport business takes less than five minutes. He’s going to have to get new tickets at Heathrow for the second leg of his journey it seems the Air Canada/British Airways partnership isn’t that cosy.
Our good-bye is quicker than we’d like. Kate is upset and we want to avoid a meltdown. We watch him through the security glass for a few minutes and then decide to leave. I can’t breathe.
The drive home is in darkness and I offer a little prayer of thanksgiving. I’m crying hard by the time I hit the last set of lights on the way home. The darkness hides my face from the children. By the time we get home I’m more or less back under control.
Walking into the house after the airport is like walking into an empty shell. The home that was vibrantly alive for the last twenty days has somehow changed. Even the dogs sense it.
Liam has held it together all day. But by bedtime he’s emotionally wrung out and I hear him crying in his room. I sigh. Please God; don’t let the night terrors start again.
For twenty days I haven’t been alone. I’ve had my husband here to laugh with, talk with, argue with, love.
Nineteen nights I’ve not laid here alone. Nineteen nights I’ve not been awakened to a little boy screaming in terror. I’ve not had to cuddle into pillows to fall asleep. And I’ve not been the one to listen, even in my sleep, for noises outside the normal house sounds. I’ve slept.
Sixty meals I’ve not had to be a jack-in-the-box jumping up to get something. Dinner conversations were about something other than how many more bites before Liam could be done. Daytime meals were not eaten alone. I could look across the table and see his face.
Four hundred and eighty hours I’ve not had to be the “strong” one. Not had to be the only one responsible for everything in the house. Not had to keep an eye on Kate 24/7 and have been able to shower alone.
Twenty-eight thousand eight hundred minutes that I’ve not had to worry that something bad was going to happen to him. Not had to be on guard against that knock at the door.
But now it’s done.
Where did the time go?
Those twenty days flew by. I blinked and they were done.
I only picked him up at the airport the other day. I shouldn’t be dropping him off already.
We’ve spent a lot of time together, both as a couple and as a family. Storing memories like a squirrel stores food for the winter. I keep thinking of things we should have done.
I’ve had a dozen little breakdowns today. Little sobbing fits that he comforts me through. I’m trying hard to keep the kids from seeing them. I don’t want to make it worse. But it feels like my chest is being crushed and my stomach is in knots.
There are no other soldiers here this time. The other passengers appear to be mostly businesspeople. The tension is less. The sadness more contained in our little corner.
There is no luggage to check. He’s only got his carry on. The “official” airport business takes less than five minutes. He’s going to have to get new tickets at Heathrow for the second leg of his journey it seems the Air Canada/British Airways partnership isn’t that cosy.
Our good-bye is quicker than we’d like. Kate is upset and we want to avoid a meltdown. We watch him through the security glass for a few minutes and then decide to leave. I can’t breathe.
The drive home is in darkness and I offer a little prayer of thanksgiving. I’m crying hard by the time I hit the last set of lights on the way home. The darkness hides my face from the children. By the time we get home I’m more or less back under control.
Walking into the house after the airport is like walking into an empty shell. The home that was vibrantly alive for the last twenty days has somehow changed. Even the dogs sense it.
Liam has held it together all day. But by bedtime he’s emotionally wrung out and I hear him crying in his room. I sigh. Please God; don’t let the night terrors start again.
Day 90.
Monday, November 10, 2008
What's better than a hotel suite?
So we’re at the hotel.
I’m sleeping. Let me repeat that part – I am sleeping. For those of you who are following my blog you’ll understand what a monumental thing that is.
I’m awakened by the absence of the weight that lay across me all night and the sudden difference in temperature. Rick has gotten out of bed.
A one-eyed scan of the room reveals that it’s still night. The alarm clock says 0430 and since the times went back at midnight it’s really 0330. I expect him to come back to bed. I expected wrong…
Instead my husband is turning on the lights and packing his bag. When he’s done with his he starts on mine. I pretend to still be asleep for the first 10 minutes of his rummaging but I’m a curious person by nature and I can’t resist asking him what the heck he’s doing at such a godforsaken hour of the morning.
“I’m going to see the kids,” is the response I receive.
“Umm, Honey, it’s 3:30 in the morning. The kids won’t be up for a few more hours.”
We argue about the time change for a few minutes and he sullenly flops onto the couch and turns on the TV.
I manage to nap. But by 0530 he’s back to rummaging in my stuff and banging around loud enough to wake Rip Van Winkle himself.
“Get up. I need to see my kids.” All the patience is gone out of his voice.
And with that our romantic night is officially over.
I manage to drag my feet getting ready. Manage to get another bath in the Jacuzzi tub. And convince him to stop at Timmies for a morning coffee. But by 0700 we’re pulling into our own driveway.
He can hardly contain himself.
Bags are left in the car and he doesn’t even wait for me to get the video camera adjusted. He’s up the stone steps like a shot.
The lights are on in the kitchen, so hopefully the kids are up.
I’m about 10 feet behind him, trying to provide some voiceover information for the camera as we burst into the house.
Kate is there. She stops like a deer caught in the headlights. Eyes wide she looks at Rick. You can see the disbelief in her eyes. She takes a step towards him and then backs up.
He speaks to her. She moves forward again only to back up and dance. On the third attempt she manages to touch him. He’s real! You can see the words practically dance across her face and she squeals in delight. She grabs him by the arm, drags him into the living room, pushes him down on the couch and flops on top of him. Mandatory cuddle time apparently.
I call Liam up from the family room where he’s playing with his friends. We’re expecting a big reaction. I tell him to come with me there’s something in the living room I want him to see. He spies his dad.
We’ve been talking about how Liam will lose his mind when he sees his daddy. Thinking we’re going to get a big reaction out of him I’m all positioned with the video camera. My friend and her children are watching from the dining room when my son walks up to his father and says “Oh, hi Daddy.”
No tears, no drama. Just a hug for his dad and a “hi Daddy” – talk about anticlimactic.
Just before noon. Rick wants me to go get the older two kids. Their mom and I have worked out a story to get the kids out for the night on a Sunday. We’re supposed to be making cookies.
As I pick them up, they’re less than enthusiastic about staying the night. Holden has even given his mom a hard time about it.
As we approach our street I call the house to ask if anyone needs anything from the corner store. It’s our signal for Rick to get into place.
T-Lynn is on the camera inside the house. And I’m biting my lip trying to herd them both into the house while getting a front row seat for their reactions while trying my best not to giggle.
Holden spies his Dad peeking out around the refrigerator first. He’s gob smacked. Mouth open, eyes wide, grinning type of gob smacked.
Dani is greeting our Shih Tzu, Scrunchon, who is dancing at her feet. She hasn’t even looked into the kitchen yet.
“Dan”, I say, “what do you think about this?” and she looks in our direction. Her immediate reaction is tear-filled joy.
Rick encloses both kids in a bear hug and closes his eyes.
Now he’s home. Day 72
I’m sleeping. Let me repeat that part – I am sleeping. For those of you who are following my blog you’ll understand what a monumental thing that is.
I’m awakened by the absence of the weight that lay across me all night and the sudden difference in temperature. Rick has gotten out of bed.
A one-eyed scan of the room reveals that it’s still night. The alarm clock says 0430 and since the times went back at midnight it’s really 0330. I expect him to come back to bed. I expected wrong…
Instead my husband is turning on the lights and packing his bag. When he’s done with his he starts on mine. I pretend to still be asleep for the first 10 minutes of his rummaging but I’m a curious person by nature and I can’t resist asking him what the heck he’s doing at such a godforsaken hour of the morning.
“I’m going to see the kids,” is the response I receive.
“Umm, Honey, it’s 3:30 in the morning. The kids won’t be up for a few more hours.”
We argue about the time change for a few minutes and he sullenly flops onto the couch and turns on the TV.
I manage to nap. But by 0530 he’s back to rummaging in my stuff and banging around loud enough to wake Rip Van Winkle himself.
“Get up. I need to see my kids.” All the patience is gone out of his voice.
And with that our romantic night is officially over.
I manage to drag my feet getting ready. Manage to get another bath in the Jacuzzi tub. And convince him to stop at Timmies for a morning coffee. But by 0700 we’re pulling into our own driveway.
He can hardly contain himself.
Bags are left in the car and he doesn’t even wait for me to get the video camera adjusted. He’s up the stone steps like a shot.
The lights are on in the kitchen, so hopefully the kids are up.
I’m about 10 feet behind him, trying to provide some voiceover information for the camera as we burst into the house.
Kate is there. She stops like a deer caught in the headlights. Eyes wide she looks at Rick. You can see the disbelief in her eyes. She takes a step towards him and then backs up.
He speaks to her. She moves forward again only to back up and dance. On the third attempt she manages to touch him. He’s real! You can see the words practically dance across her face and she squeals in delight. She grabs him by the arm, drags him into the living room, pushes him down on the couch and flops on top of him. Mandatory cuddle time apparently.
I call Liam up from the family room where he’s playing with his friends. We’re expecting a big reaction. I tell him to come with me there’s something in the living room I want him to see. He spies his dad.
We’ve been talking about how Liam will lose his mind when he sees his daddy. Thinking we’re going to get a big reaction out of him I’m all positioned with the video camera. My friend and her children are watching from the dining room when my son walks up to his father and says “Oh, hi Daddy.”
No tears, no drama. Just a hug for his dad and a “hi Daddy” – talk about anticlimactic.
Just before noon. Rick wants me to go get the older two kids. Their mom and I have worked out a story to get the kids out for the night on a Sunday. We’re supposed to be making cookies.
As I pick them up, they’re less than enthusiastic about staying the night. Holden has even given his mom a hard time about it.
As we approach our street I call the house to ask if anyone needs anything from the corner store. It’s our signal for Rick to get into place.
T-Lynn is on the camera inside the house. And I’m biting my lip trying to herd them both into the house while getting a front row seat for their reactions while trying my best not to giggle.
Holden spies his Dad peeking out around the refrigerator first. He’s gob smacked. Mouth open, eyes wide, grinning type of gob smacked.
Dani is greeting our Shih Tzu, Scrunchon, who is dancing at her feet. She hasn’t even looked into the kitchen yet.
“Dan”, I say, “what do you think about this?” and she looks in our direction. Her immediate reaction is tear-filled joy.
Rick encloses both kids in a bear hug and closes his eyes.
Now he’s home. Day 72
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Being the Cheshire Cat...............
It’s Saturday.
Finally.
I’ve been keeping this secret for too long.
Rick will be home today.
He’s traded HLTAs with another member of the crew. We’ve made the decision to keep it under wraps and surprise the kids. For the last week I’ve been walking around like the Cheshire cat – I’m not sure I’m so good at keeping this secret.
His flight gets in at 2030. I look at the clock – sigh – just 11 more hours to go. I feel like I’m going to burst.
I had my hair done on Friday morning. I’ve been to Mulder’s – some gorgeous t-bone steaks are sitting in my refrigerator, special request from the sandbox.
We’ve rented a hotel room for tonight. My friend is coming over to stay with the kids. I’ve stripped and made the beds, packed my bags twice and have managed to get into the bath. Another quick glance at the clock reveals only 6 more hours to go.
This must be what the old lady felt like when she swallowed a bird. I’m still grinning.
I still have to pick up some wine, Red Bull – another request, and a fruit tray. T-Lynn and the kids will be here soon. I’m giggling…
T-Lynn sends me off with a “Have fun” and I grin even wider, if possible. “Oh, I plan on it” I hear myself reply with a laugh.
I don’t think the drive in has ever taken this long. Time is both rushing and standing still. It’s almost a surreal feeling – like being dropped down the rabbit hole.
My giddy feelings of euphoria must be contagious. I’ve got the lady at the front desk grinning for me as well. We’re on the fourth floor. Normally I hate the confines of an elevator – today it’s not even a blip on the radar.
Room 416. I stand in front of the door and take a deep breath. It’s real.
My hands are full as I try to juggle bottles of wine, my bag, my boots, a fruit tray and Lord knows what else as I attempt to open the door with the swipe card thing. It’s a miracle the whole lot didn’t wind up on the floor.
The door opens. The room is big. A mini-suite with a bar fridge, sitting area, fireplace, king sized bed, I giggle again. What the heck is wrong with me? – Am I twelve?
The bathroom is massive, with a Jacuzzi tub made for two. I’ve bought candles and I set them up around the edges.
Time to get ready.
Only an hour until his plane lands.
I take my time on my make-up. It isn’t something I wear everyday. I want to look extra special for him. I’ve lost weight since he left. Will he notice?
“Stop worrying,” my brain tells me. “The man loves you. And he’s been living in the middle of a wasteland with 10,000 other army guys – you at least look cuter than they do.”
I shake my head and zip up my boots. It’s a half hour until his plane lands. It’s only 15 minutes, more or less, from the hotel to the airport. I’m nervous.
As I walk through the lobby the front desk chick gives me a low whistle. I hope Rick concurs.
I drive too fast. I always do. It’s worse when I’m excited or nervous. I make it to the airport in 10 minutes. I can see his plane on approach.
The butterflies in my stomach have turned into giant birds. My heart is pounding. They’ve changed the parking area since he left and I circle the place twice before I figure out where I have to be.
I walk in just in time to see the Jazz plane land and taxi up to the terminal. My face hurts from grinning.
I can see the passengers disembark. They’re entering the terminal and finding their loved ones. No sign of my man.
Five minutes. Ten. Then there he is!
He’s dark. He looks tired. He looks like the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. My heart leaps. I lose sight of him for a minute behind two businessmen who seem to be having an argument. I fight the urge to clothesline them and instead step around them.
He’s standing in front of me. He’s smiling. He’s blurry. Tears have jumped into my eyes. And he reaches for me. I’m in his arms. I breathe in the scent of him. I can hear his heart.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Day 71
Finally.
I’ve been keeping this secret for too long.
Rick will be home today.
He’s traded HLTAs with another member of the crew. We’ve made the decision to keep it under wraps and surprise the kids. For the last week I’ve been walking around like the Cheshire cat – I’m not sure I’m so good at keeping this secret.
His flight gets in at 2030. I look at the clock – sigh – just 11 more hours to go. I feel like I’m going to burst.
I had my hair done on Friday morning. I’ve been to Mulder’s – some gorgeous t-bone steaks are sitting in my refrigerator, special request from the sandbox.
We’ve rented a hotel room for tonight. My friend is coming over to stay with the kids. I’ve stripped and made the beds, packed my bags twice and have managed to get into the bath. Another quick glance at the clock reveals only 6 more hours to go.
This must be what the old lady felt like when she swallowed a bird. I’m still grinning.
I still have to pick up some wine, Red Bull – another request, and a fruit tray. T-Lynn and the kids will be here soon. I’m giggling…
T-Lynn sends me off with a “Have fun” and I grin even wider, if possible. “Oh, I plan on it” I hear myself reply with a laugh.
I don’t think the drive in has ever taken this long. Time is both rushing and standing still. It’s almost a surreal feeling – like being dropped down the rabbit hole.
My giddy feelings of euphoria must be contagious. I’ve got the lady at the front desk grinning for me as well. We’re on the fourth floor. Normally I hate the confines of an elevator – today it’s not even a blip on the radar.
Room 416. I stand in front of the door and take a deep breath. It’s real.
My hands are full as I try to juggle bottles of wine, my bag, my boots, a fruit tray and Lord knows what else as I attempt to open the door with the swipe card thing. It’s a miracle the whole lot didn’t wind up on the floor.
The door opens. The room is big. A mini-suite with a bar fridge, sitting area, fireplace, king sized bed, I giggle again. What the heck is wrong with me? – Am I twelve?
The bathroom is massive, with a Jacuzzi tub made for two. I’ve bought candles and I set them up around the edges.
Time to get ready.
Only an hour until his plane lands.
I take my time on my make-up. It isn’t something I wear everyday. I want to look extra special for him. I’ve lost weight since he left. Will he notice?
“Stop worrying,” my brain tells me. “The man loves you. And he’s been living in the middle of a wasteland with 10,000 other army guys – you at least look cuter than they do.”
I shake my head and zip up my boots. It’s a half hour until his plane lands. It’s only 15 minutes, more or less, from the hotel to the airport. I’m nervous.
As I walk through the lobby the front desk chick gives me a low whistle. I hope Rick concurs.
I drive too fast. I always do. It’s worse when I’m excited or nervous. I make it to the airport in 10 minutes. I can see his plane on approach.
The butterflies in my stomach have turned into giant birds. My heart is pounding. They’ve changed the parking area since he left and I circle the place twice before I figure out where I have to be.
I walk in just in time to see the Jazz plane land and taxi up to the terminal. My face hurts from grinning.
I can see the passengers disembark. They’re entering the terminal and finding their loved ones. No sign of my man.
Five minutes. Ten. Then there he is!
He’s dark. He looks tired. He looks like the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. My heart leaps. I lose sight of him for a minute behind two businessmen who seem to be having an argument. I fight the urge to clothesline them and instead step around them.
He’s standing in front of me. He’s smiling. He’s blurry. Tears have jumped into my eyes. And he reaches for me. I’m in his arms. I breathe in the scent of him. I can hear his heart.
“Let’s get out of here.”
Day 71
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