The months can be counted, but the moments cannot.

So for weeks, months even, I had been composing a blog post which would consist of nothing more than a poem enumerating some of the moments that both I had to endure and that M had to sacrifice for this deployment. Here are a few that I actually captured and wrote down…

1 broken water heater

1 new job

500 (approximately) new first words

2 daycare room transitions

1 new minivan

3 births, 3 new babies

1 broken lease, which lost me

     10-15 hours of sleep

1 small fortune in babysitting

1 95 mph wind storm, leading to...

     1 4-day power outage

1 2-week trip to California which entailed...

     2 5-hour flights with a toddler, solo

These documented moments were meant  to round out all of the things M had to miss out on, and all of the ways that he was missed.But an all-too-common writing experience befell me.  I would think of more moments that I should include (like, “oh yeah! 5 three-day weekends!), while I was out jogging, or daydreaming at work, or driving aimlessly while G finished her nap in the car, but never wrote down. I was going to call the poem “Countless.”

But here’s the thing… 

For every moment of frustration and isolation, of painful heart sink, there were equal and opposing moments of support, as well as shining moments of self-empowerment.

For example, the broken water heater was accompanied by two good friends having us come over to shower and extra workouts at my office gym since I was going to need to use the shower there any way. The broken lease, while stressful, resulted in our reverting to an original plan of taking over another lease of the townhome rented by our dear friends, one that has been our second home since we moved to DC. The storm and four-day power outage was met with at least five offers of shelter and company. (Sorry for the shameless self-touting to follow but...) I taught a class, landed a new job, and published three papers while M was gone. We have not been alone and I have managed to do okay in this deployment.

And still…

A few weeks ago, something that I had never before experienced happened to me. I literally woke up at about 12:30am, sobbing. I can't recall my dream only that I woke up crying because of, I suppose, stuffed down grief and anger over being deprived of our M for 8 months.  I am so mad at "them" and I don't even know who "they" are. I just want it to be over. It has caused me physical pain to know that he has been living through the trauma I awoke to in the middle of the night, of missing these last 8 months of G's life. I want to rewind the clock so badly for him, so he can go back.  I know he got glimpses and saw moments... but it was such a long deployment. It asked for so much, too much.

I know his work his important. He literally saved people's lives. M's work mattered, and so that matters. I know this, I honor this.

But now? I just want to hang on to him and for him to know, really know, how much I see him, and understand him, and marvel at his strength, his character, his grace through all of this.  His perseverance through all these months has been the most amazing character feat I have ever witnessed.

I suppose this is a back-handed gift from this experience.  But let this be read:
 

     I didn't want this, but I'll accept that we got through it.  

I just want M in our arms again.

I need to put this behind me, but at the same time never forget…
     of how much of a miracle it is to roll over and collide into his back, and listen to him breathe, in
     our shared bed.
     And to have him come home to a house of shared chores, shared child-rearing, shared meals,
     shared laughter, shared tears.

I will continue to remember to honor the moments together, as I have honored our moments apart.

Two. More. Days….

 Love of my life, come home!

 Let's get back to having Daddy in the picture....