I’m a “How It’s Made” junkie. I’ve loved learning how things are made ever since Mr Rogers showed me how crayons were produced when I was a little girl. I never really want to know the details, like how many gallons of wax and all that jazz – but just enough so I can get the big picture. A taste is how I prefer to think of it.
So I’m sitting here and I’m watching how they string pianos and I think, “I feel like that.” Not like music – but like the piano wire. Stretched so taut that you’d think I’d break but somehow able to withstand all the pounding from the keys that make up this tour.
Until the deployment, I’d only had a taste of all that it means to be an Army Wife. Rick went in the field, he went to work but we were never apart for longer than a week or two. This tour, well, this tour has been the never ending, all you can eat, stuff your face ‘til you pass out, get up and eat again banquet of what it means to be an army wife.
People who read this blog ask me “how do you do it”. The truth is - I don’t know. To be honest I’m worried all the time. I’m worried about Rick; I’m worried about the kids; I’m worried about our friends. I’m worried about the people Rick is serving with. I’m worried how he’ll be when he gets home. And I can’t seem to shut that part of me off. It’s been revving for almost six months now.
Through it all Rick has been strong, stoic even. Eye on the ball, mind on the prize type of focused about his mission, his job and his troops. But lately something has started to creep into his voice and even into his e-mails. He wants to come home.
It’s not homesickness exactly, but I suppose that’s a close enough description of what he’s feeling. For the first time since I’ve known him, and I’ve known him since we were twelve, he’s seriously talking about not being a soldier. Oh, we’ve always had the lottery dream of winning the “big one” and moving back home. But this is different.
He’s finally gotten a date to come home. I’m thrilled. I’m not at the point where I can count down sleeps, but I can think in terms of weeks instead of months. It’s like travelling in darkness through a tunnel for months and all of a sudden there’s a pinpoint of light in the distance.
I think it’s the same for him. He’s been strong and diligent for so long. He’s tired - a marathon runner who’s using the last dregs of physical and mental energy to force himself over the finish line type of tired.
I’d siphon some strength to send to him if I could – but I’m running my own marathon.
Day 175
So I’m sitting here and I’m watching how they string pianos and I think, “I feel like that.” Not like music – but like the piano wire. Stretched so taut that you’d think I’d break but somehow able to withstand all the pounding from the keys that make up this tour.
Until the deployment, I’d only had a taste of all that it means to be an Army Wife. Rick went in the field, he went to work but we were never apart for longer than a week or two. This tour, well, this tour has been the never ending, all you can eat, stuff your face ‘til you pass out, get up and eat again banquet of what it means to be an army wife.
People who read this blog ask me “how do you do it”. The truth is - I don’t know. To be honest I’m worried all the time. I’m worried about Rick; I’m worried about the kids; I’m worried about our friends. I’m worried about the people Rick is serving with. I’m worried how he’ll be when he gets home. And I can’t seem to shut that part of me off. It’s been revving for almost six months now.
Through it all Rick has been strong, stoic even. Eye on the ball, mind on the prize type of focused about his mission, his job and his troops. But lately something has started to creep into his voice and even into his e-mails. He wants to come home.
It’s not homesickness exactly, but I suppose that’s a close enough description of what he’s feeling. For the first time since I’ve known him, and I’ve known him since we were twelve, he’s seriously talking about not being a soldier. Oh, we’ve always had the lottery dream of winning the “big one” and moving back home. But this is different.
He’s finally gotten a date to come home. I’m thrilled. I’m not at the point where I can count down sleeps, but I can think in terms of weeks instead of months. It’s like travelling in darkness through a tunnel for months and all of a sudden there’s a pinpoint of light in the distance.
I think it’s the same for him. He’s been strong and diligent for so long. He’s tired - a marathon runner who’s using the last dregs of physical and mental energy to force himself over the finish line type of tired.
I’d siphon some strength to send to him if I could – but I’m running my own marathon.
Day 175
1 comment:
You are loved, you are supported by many you will never "know". Prayers and prayers and more prayers are sent up for you and your family.
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