A little late in getting started. . .

I probably should have started this ages ago. . . but here I am, coming up to the end of my husband's deployment overseas with the U.S. Army.

So anyway, I'm going to do some back tracking, some pouring my heart out, and just general ramblings. Consider yourself warned. . .

So here goes. . . how do you survive a deployment? Well I think that answer is different for everyone. The situation affects people differently so I would never assume that I speak for all (or even most) military wives when I talk about what this year has been like. This "how to" is more or less the things I have done during this time and how it has all affected me and my ability to cope with this situation. If anyone out there finds it useful, wonderful! Otherwise hopefully it will make for an interesting read. . . at any rate, it will be my outlet to rant upon in hopes of assisting the coping.

Anyway. . .

let's rewind to the beginning. . .

How to survive a deployment: #1 Move far away and start a new life.

Seems like a stupid thing to do right when you're about to go through a major life changing event- like you'd just be asking for more stress/trouble. For some maybe. . . for myself? It was the best decision ever.

Basically one little ad in a Great Clips publication, and my inquiries into the advertisement, lead to a complete alignment of the stars and bright green flashing arrow pointing to Fair Oaks, California.

Driving out here. . . what an adventure! It proved to be some good one on one uber bonding time with my husband. I mean, what else is there to do when you cram a 30 hour, 2,000 mile drive into- well- 30 hours? Quick pit stops to grab gas, use the toilet, and get some food (which we usually ate in the car, you know, to save time)- literally it was over 30 hours in a Ford Focus jammed pack with all of our stuff- oh- and an almost 2 year old- can it get anymore adventurous?

Somewhere between a cop nearly catching me peeing on the side of the road somewhere in. . . Nebraska- possibly Nevada- one of the "N" states with a whole lot of NOTHING for miles and miles (and miles. . . and miles), our trunk exploding at the California border inspection, and being so incredibly tired that hallucinations of a kangaroo crossing the road ensued- it was truly an adventure to be remembered.

Anyway. . . so after 3 blissful weeks in California it was time:

Time to say goodbye.

Driving back to Minnesota made me feel sick- no, not because I hate the cold winters and will take the ocean over a few lakes any day- but because I knew what was coming.

October 24th 2010, 6:30 am. The sun had not risen yet- it was dark, dreary and rainy. Downtown Saint Paul was quiet, which only seemed to intensify what us family and close friends had come to endure: saying goodbye to a soldier. One last hug- and I watched him walk away. I found myself watching him- drinking up the last few moments of actually seeing him- somehow hoping that a few extra seconds of seeing him would make things easier. Part me felt like I was just saying a normal "Bye, have a good day at work, see you tonight" goodbye, but imagining the reality of the fact that it would be a while until we saw each other again felt impossible.

I didn't have much time to sit and sulk over the situation, an hour later I pulled up in my parents driveway- car re-packed with a second load of belongings- and stepped out to greet my mother. The sun had finally risen, but the clouds blocked any ray of sunshine as they continued to spatter rain down upon us. We finished packing her things into my car and set out on our way.

I drove down 160th street headed towards Lakeville, must have driven that route hundreds of times, never once thinking "Hm one day I will drive this route and I won't be stopping until I get to California". Pulled onto interstate 35 headed south- and didn't look back.

By nightfall we had reached Cheyenne, Wyoming. We checked into our hotel. . . everything seemed so surreal. But instead of climbing into *our* bed and laying there alone thinking of the empty spot beside me, I was climbing into a cheap motel bed several hundred miles from the place I had called "home" for the greater part of my life.

My cell phone rang- it was Adam. We spoke for a while, Mercedes talked to him a little. . . odd because now I hardly remember what it was like- to be able to send a text to a cell phone which I knew he would receive instantly. And to receive multiple phone calls throughout the day to connect with each other, it almost seems foreign now.

And that was the first night alone.