Why deployments suck

February is the month my husband deployed. I have been very blessed. We have had time to heal from the deployment, but I still think about it at this time of year.

A deployment is something that is impossible to explain to a civilian family. I have had civilian wives tell me, "My husband travels a lot too, so I know what it is like." Uh, no, you don't, trust me. Your husband can call you when he feels like it, he could come home for weekends and special occasions, he doesn't have to wear his uniform 24/7, and the biggie: I seriously doubt anyone is trying to kill him and his co-workers. So it is not the same, not at all.

The time leading up to the deployment is almost as bad as the deployment itself. Something like standing in front of a firing squad, the main thought being, "Just do it already!" You know it is going to happen, you know you can't stop it (although I think every spouse secretly thinks that some miracle might happen and your spouse won't have to go--I think we believe that up until we see them walk away with all their gear over their shoulder). So mostly you just want it to start. The sooner it starts, the sooner it ends. And there is a tumult of feelings where you want to cling so desperately to your husband and yet at the same time you want to withdraw into yourself to test how it feels to be alone. Everything you do has a pall over it, knowing that next year, the anniversary, the birthday, the Christmas, will be one that you have to do alone.

The night before a deployment is a sad attempt to grasp time as hard as you can and slow it down. You want to be together, but you can't shake the fear that this could be the last time. The last time you touch, the last time he runs his hands over your body. Even if the rational side of you knows that the chances are very good that he will come back to you, even if you know that...the fear still sits in the corner of your mind, until your last time together just breaks your heart and leaves you with tears silently running down your face, praying he doesn't notice. Praying he could just disappear into you, and you could keep him safe forever. Praying that morning waits.

But it doesn't. You never really know how much you love someone until you think you might never see them again. I dropped my husband off outside the area where all the other soldiers were waiting to deploy. We kissed good-bye in the parking lot. A hard kiss, a long hug, the stuff of romance, but there is nothing romantic about watching your husband walk away from you. There is nothing romantic about knowing that a year stretches before you.

There is nothing romantic about knowing that one day you will probably have to do it again.