Missing U

Another school week over.

Time is passing. Summer is maturing into autumn. But there are times when this deployment is yawning out in front of me into an abyss. If I think about it too much I feel like I’ll drown in it. Lost forever in some imaginary hourglass.

To help the kids cope with the time I’ve numbered the calendar with how many days since we said good-bye and each day we cross it off. Liam’s job is to make the X. He’s gotten very good at it.

I’m using all the tips and hints I can find to help them both cope with this time. I know when I was his age it was an eon between the first day of school and Christmas holidays - if I’m feeling that time is crawling then I can only imagine how he feels.

Katie, thankfully, is almost impervious to time. Sometimes Katie’s disability is a glass half full thing. Sometimes it’s not.

Rick calls and at some point I mention how many days he’s been away.

“Wow,” he says, “I can’t believe it’s gone so fast.”

I bite my lip against the sarcasm that is bubbling up from within. It’s not his fault that he’s so busy.

“Feels much longer on this end, Hon,” is what eventually passes my lips.

Five minutes is a tease, it helps him to touch base every day. It keeps him grounded, linked to home via satellites and clicking relays. I wouldn’t trade those five minutes for anything but what I wouldn’t give for more…..

I struggle to keep the sadness out of my voice. Being upbeat for these five-minute phone calls should win me an Oscar; I’m feeling anything but chipper.

I’m lonely. It’s not as bad during the days – there are chores to be done. But at night, when the kids are sleeping and the house is quiet I feel it steal around my shoulders like a blanket and it takes my breath away.

Tomorrow we’re off to the Expo on base. We’re searching for extra-curricular activities for Liam. I’d love to find something for Kate – but I’ve lived here long enough to know better.

If I can get him involved in some groups or teams then he’ll have a male figurehead while his dad is away. Maybe he’ll talk to a man. For the hundredth time I wish we were back home.

Maybe tomorrow will be just what we need. I can only hope. Day 21.