Emotional

My hunny is on his way home.

Suddenly, I don't have anything to wear and feel completely inadequate.

I spent a lot of time and energy getting things for him to wear, and I forgot about me.

And my mother-in-law thinks its absurd that I'm going to work in the morning instead of spending the whole morning tomorrow sitting by the phone with balloons and a welcome home sign.

I didn't get balloons and a welcome home sign. That's just not how I roll. Is that lame of me? Should I be standing there with balloons and a welcome home sign for a 25 year old? I think I'm just lame.

And I have work to do, and he doesn't get in until afternoon or evening. Why am I letting her make me feel badly?

I'm nervous that Hug is going to think I'm lame, because he expects some all-out crazy two weeks of non-stop action and adventure and fun. What if I just don't meet his expectations? Why am I so nervous????

I know when I hug him at the airport everything will be fine. Things will fall into place. We'll figure it out. We'll make whatever adjustments we need to make.

But until them....I'm going freaking crazy!

R&R Now Please

Dear Army,

Why are you always disappointing me?

Its okay. I know you well. I was prepared for this. Thanks for teaching me never to do countdowns because you always break your dates (or at least postpone them).

I'm not freaking out yet. We're only a little behind right now. We could catch-up. He could make it in time...

Actually, I don't really plan on freaking out, because, like I said, I was prepared for this.

Okay, maybe I'm freaking out a teeny bit. If he's two days late, I can deal, but if he's more than two days, I'm going to be upset.

But we'll deal with it. It'll be fine. Everything is flexible. This is why we nixed the trip to Hawaii, so we wouldn't have to freak out if the dates were pushed.

But really - I'm just ready for him to come home. It is sooo freaking time! Eight months. Eight freaking months! My co-worker was a wreck after her husband was gone a week, and her mother-in-law lives with her! Try eight freaking months.

And you know what sucks? Two weeks is going to be gone before we know it, and he'll be back there, and I'll be back here.

BUT we'll be two weeks closer to him coming home permanently...hmm...semi-permanently...well, until next time, I guess. It won't be long now.

I'm not complaining. Deployment has been easy for me comparatively, having no kids, and living with my parents...umm...well, saving money anyway. But having my husband be away still SUCKS.

Sincerely,
Jess-Marie

My Weird Dream

I wouldn't say that my dreams are especially realistic, because normally they are off-the-wall, clown-juggling-upside-down-in-the-corner kind of dreams. They make no sense and pretty much just make me laugh. Every now and then I have a real "doosy," though. The kind that I can't get out of my head for days. I had one last night.

The dream started off great. I was making love with Hub. It was really really good. I was only half present...probably had a few drinks that night, because it wasn't just really really good. It was euphoric, like a really good dream. I'll keep all the juicy details to myself. When it was over, I was holding onto his shoulders so tightly and I eased up on my grip, wondering if I had hurt him at all. I started stroking his shoulders in a light, tickling kind of motion, and I thought to myself that Hub had lost too much weight - his shoulders seemed a lot smaller than I remembered. I then realized I had my eyes closed the entire time, so I slowly opened them and joined the real world again.

That's when I realized I wasn't laying with Hug. I was with someone else. He was someone I knew, but I couldn't place him. I was only dreaming that of Hug in my hazy, euphoric state. But who was this guy, and where did he come from? And why was he in bed with me?? And why was he having sex with me??? And the worst thought of all - How could I have done this to my husband????? I was so upset and confused that the fact that he had violated me wasn't fully registering. I was just trying to figure out how I could have let this happen and how I was going to tell Hug.

I remember walking, thinking this was it for us. Hug would never be able to forgive me and, if he could forgive me, he'd never get passed it. He'd never trust me again. I felt terrible, knowing that the relationship I always thought was for forever was going to end over this.

The next thing I knew, I was sitting in a crowded restaurant. It looked like a new place built to remind you of an old place, so everything was well-polished medium dark-stained wood, and there was a long wooden bar running along one side of the restaurant. It looked like people were having brunch. I was drinking an orange juice and sitting at the bar part with two people, who must have been my friends, but I didn't recognize them either. They were chatting and laughing, but all I could think about was what I was going to say next time I saw my husband.

Suddenly, a truck pulled into the restaurant. A tractor trailer-type truck, minus the trailer. It drove straight towards where we were sitting, then made a right turn, passed some tables, and a left turn. It passed a few more tables and a few wood column-type support beams, then tried to turn left again, but it ran into a support beam. I was the only one watching this like it was an odd thing to be happening. Everyone else was just continuing their brunch and conversations like nothing was out of the ordinary. The truck backed up slightly, and i thought he was going to try to maneuver around the beam, but he hit the gas and rammed the beam again. This time, when he backed up, people started to notice. I told my friends we should go, so we started gathering our things, but didn't make it far before he rammed the beam again. This time, the beam collapsed, and the ceiling caved in on that side of the restaurant.

It was total chaos as people ran for exits. I ran towards the collapsed part, thinking I should help anyone who might be hurt. My "friends" were nowhere in sight, so they must have gotten out. It was hard to fight my way towards that side of the restaurant since people were making their way to the exit behind me. When I couldn't get any closer, I stood still and decided to wait until people had evacuated, then try to move in to help. As I was struggling to stay on my feet in the crowd (where did all these people come from??), I saw someone I knew, a friend - a friend who I had been hanging out with earlier in the evening the night before! It was then that I realized I didn't remember much of anthing from the night before. I couldn't remember how I got home, or when my friends left or how late we had been out. He saw me then and must have seen the spastic look on my face, because he immediately came to me and said, "I know. Its okay. Its going to be okay."

WHAT??

What did he mean by that? How could he know? And, if he did know, how could he possibly think it was going to be okay?? Before I could ask any of those questions, he started to walk away. The crowd was now thinned out and we could make it to the wreckage. I didn't see any people laying around hurt. It looked like the truck had held up the roof enough for people to get out. The guy who said it would be okay was checking around the truck, and asked me if I saw where the driver went. In the chaos, I didn't even realize he got out of the truck. I told him the driver must have ran off with the crowd, and the guy I knew started heading toward the outside, clearly on a mission to find the driver. Somehow, I knew at that time he was a cop. He must have been undercover. But why wouldn't he have told any of us that? We'd hung out enough times for it to come up. Was it possible he was investigating someone in our group of friends? I followed him down the road, because he didn't tell me to stop, and I followed him into a building that was under construction. As we carefully moved through the shell of unfinished walls, I started to ask him how he knew...

Then the fucking phone rang and I woke up!

I didn't answer it, because I was trying to make sense of that totally insane dream, and didn't think I could muster up the energy to reach over to my night stand to pick it up. I was thinking that it must be Hug calling me, but I knew if it were him, he would call again right away, and that would give me enough time to get my thoughts together.

It wasn't hug, though. It was my boss. I was working from home today, and he was calling to talk about what we needed to do. I had to put the dream aside and focus on other things. It wasn't until after dinner tonight that I was sitting around thinking about my day that I remembered the dream. Still so strangly vivid.

I don't know what to make of it, but the whole damn dream bothers me now. Everything about it.

My Friend JC Kid

JC thinks Hug and I are going to name our firstborn after him. Well, maybe he doesn't really think that, but he talks about how we are going to all the time. Funny thing is, I would totally do it.

I just like the name, and he's great with kids, and he's been Hub's brother for as long as they've known each other, and his parents have filled in all the gaps where Hug's parents lacked. Why the heck not? If JC were confirmed Catholic, he'd be our kid's godfather anyway. I'm thinking he needs to go get Confirmed just so he can have the title Godfather.

Anyway, that's not what I'm here to write about. I'm just rambling because my throat hurts and I'm trying to do talk much, and I miss talking.



JC is doing great! Better than I expected. Better than his therapists expected. I asked if he was doing better than he expected, and he said he was trying not to have expectations, but he was very happy with the progress.

His wounds are now all stitched up. He walked six laps around the hospital yesterday and up and down two flights of stairs. He's decided to ditch the cane he was using to walk. One of his wounds has some bacteria in it, so he's still on strong antibiotics, but not IV antibiotics anymore, so that's good news. The oral antibiotics upset his stomach, though, so that's not so good, but he says its tolerable. JC is a sugar-a-holic, so everyone who visits him has been sending sweet treats, which he shares with the nurses, doctors, and nursing students, who love him and have been taking really good care of him. He has not been discharged from the hospital yet - they're expecting him to be on out-patient status by early next week - but his mom did convince the doctors to let her check him out for a night Saturday, so JC is extremely excited at the prospect of Freedom, if only for a night! JC wiggled his right foot, just a bit, which was HUGELY exciting for both him and his dad. The doctors think that will improve a little, but then plateau, and are still estimating six months for full rehab of that foot, based on the muscle damage and nerve trauma.

JC commented that by the time Hug gets home, we'll hardly be able to tell there's anything wrong with him at all, and Hug will tease him, saying its time to go back to Iraq. He's probably right. I told JC if I knew he was going to be doing this well in his physical therapy, I probably wouldn't have freaked out like I did. He laughed. When I shared that with his mom, she laughed, too, and admitted his progress is surprising even her.

So...its a great day. I will not complain about my cold because a sore throat and congestion is nothing compared to having two bullets tear up your leg muscles and then choosing to push yourself to walk just one week later with zero painkillers, but plenty of stubborness and determination.

Why Hasn’t My Husband Called Me?

Yesterday morning when Hug called me (I’d like to start calling him Huggy Bear after seeing a funny episode of Two and a Half Men last night, but I think that would be a little too gay, even for me), I was very frustrated and impatient, and I know I was not being a nice wife at all.

It was stupid work. I owed a client a file that I was waiting on from a coworker, and I had bugged him for it twice and still hadn’t gotten it. It was a graphic he had done for the project I’m working on, and – in his defense – he was just fixing issues he saw, because he is somewhat of a perfectionist, but I thought I was clear that it didn’t matter, and I just needed a draft as-is. As it turned out I got it to the client 40 minutes late. He didn’t even say thank you, so either he’s very rude, very busy or he was upset because he needed it sooner. Oh well.

Anyway – Hug called while I was waiting, and I wasn’t pleasant, maybe borderline mean in inconsiderate. I’m not sure. But – I was really looking forward to apologizing today when he called, but he hasn’t called. And, although I know he’s probably just busy, I’m worried that maybe he’s not calling because he doesn’t feel like “dealing” with me today, or maybe he’s not calling because they are blacked out, which would be worse.

I hate the uncertainty that goes along with having your loved one halfway around the world. Not knowing what he’s doing, where he’s sleeping, how he’s feeling, if he’s warm, if he’s sick, if he’s hungry, if he’s angry, if he’s sad.

People who get to see their husband, wife, boyfriend, girlfriend, fiancé everyday often take it for granted. For example:

One of my friends spent Christmas separately from her boyfriend of 6 years because they couldn’t agree on what family to see when, and they see each other every other day anyway...

One of my friends does monthly (or semi-monthly boys’ nights/girls nights with their group of close friends, where all the girls spend the night at one house, while all the guys spend the night at another house.

My sister-in-law flew to California, while her boyfriend drove.
These are amazingly strange concepts to me, because I cherish every hour I have with my husband. Two months before Hug deployed, I cried because he was going to New York for two nights without me (he had to visit his sister, I had to go to my college roommates’ bachelorette party and then go to work). Two nights. In reality, two nights is nothing. But to me, at that time, knowing Hug was leaving for a year (or more), two nights apart seemed like an eternity.

War is an Ugly Thing

I was going to comment on Sissy Ben's posts (On Coffins, Circuses, and Civilian Awareness and May They Rest in Peace), because I am in full agreement with Sis B and wanted to offer my support in advance if she decides to march on the whitehouse or on CNN or whoever to let them know how we feel about violating the privacy of a grieving family and/or exploiting the deaths of American heroes to meet their agenda (whichever agenda that might be)...

...but I had too much to say, so I'm going to spill my guts (a little), too.

My opinion is that people are ignorant of the impact of this war (of the "full human cost")because they want to be. If they wanted to know, the internet has plenty of pictures of the war itself and the impacts of the war (the coffins, the graves, soldiers grieving over memorials, families grieving over coffins), or they could just take a stroll through Arglinton National Cemetary, where I've been many times, and you just might see a young widow or another family member sitting or kneeling in front of a gravestone crying or praying or talking to their loved one. No one needs to go digging, violating peoples' privacy to get more pictures. There are plenty out there already.

Many people who heard about that question from the CNN reporter probably didn't even give it a second thought. And that's not because they haven't seen enough picture of the war and the coffins and the grieving families. Its because they don't feel the impact of the words "flag-draped coffins" like those of us who live in fear everyday that our soldier will come home in one. That is the burden of the military family, and we accept it for what it is and we learn to deal with it however we can. Seeing pictures could never lift that burden, and they could never make you feel the same.

I check Defense Link News Releases everyday for names of soldiers who made the "ultimate sacrifice." Everything in the short announcement effects me: the name, the rank, the age, the hometown, the cause of death. It all means something to me. I don't need to see a picture. Go to one funeral of one service member and you will never need to see another picture. The ugliness of war will be burnt into your memory.

So spare me having to see more sad pictures in the news. Don't mess up the good days I have - the days when I'm not missing my husband so badly it hurts or realing from the impact of hearing someone else in my husband's unit was killed or hearing that my friend or my friend's friend was injured. Don't make me come home from work to see pictures on the news of the family crying over the coffin. Many people get to live happy, ignorant lives most days of the week. Let me have my one.

I'm a Quitter

Isn't quitter an odd looking word? It looks like its spelled wrong, doesn't it? I looked it up, though, so I know its right.

Anyway...

I quit smoking. Last Thursday was my last day, I think. For most people, this is a momentous occasion. For most people its such a struggle to quit. Not me. I'm an on-and-off casual, mostly closet, smoker. Cigarettes have been a bit of a crutch for me during this deployment, though. I can calmly work out my frustration and anger by taking a few slow drags. They don't cure sadness, of course, but they help calm me. Because of this, I thought maybe this time would be a struggle, but its not. So far its been easy. My co-worker smokers are impressed and inspired by me. I try to explain that its not that big of a deal, but it is such a big deal to them, they can't comprehend how easy it is for me to walk away and forget them for weeks, months, or years (yes, I have quit for years and then gone back).

I quit at Hug's request, so now he better be quitting, too.

On a completely different topic, it seems my body and finally given in and decided to be sick like everyone else I know. Weird thing is that all day I feel like I'm smelling dog poop. Its not possible, though, because I smelled every single article of clothing, my shoes (literally - took my shoes off and smelled bottoms and insides), my purse, my cup and mug, my desk at work, my coat, my car, my cell phone, my hair, my hands, and nothing smells like dog poop. Plus, the smell followed me from home to work and home again. I've now checked every corner of my room for dog poop, but there is not. Its just so faint, and I'm not really even sure its a dog poop smell, because I also think raw red meat and wet cat food smells like dog poop. Sinus infection, maybe?

Losing Weight

I’m down to my wedding weight. I don’t know how many pounds that is, but I know I can now wear the skirt I bought for my rehearsal dinner without feeling like my big butt is going to bust the seams. That makes me feel good.

I haven’t been doing any extra exercise or anything, so I can only assume this lack of extra poundage is thanks to the Synthroid I’m taking. I do have a little extra energy and that seems to improve a little each week. I went from rolling out of bed in the morning after hitting the snooze five times, hating the world and being the grumpiest person at work to getting up after one snooze, fairly well, and being somewhat cheerful and personable by the time I get out of the shower. How fantastic is that? And – it doesn’t take me three coffees just to feel like I’m not a zombie anymore. I hardly even finish my first cup before I feel ready to go. My energy still fades at the end of the day, but I’m hoping that will improve still, and I’m hoping my new diet will help that, too.

My resolution (which occurred slightly after New Years) was to eat more organic foods. I know its hard to eat TOTALLY organic, but I’ve found with Giant’s new organic section, it’s a lot easier to eat MOSTLY organic and all-natural. I’ve also found that when I’m conscientious of eating natural foods, as a side effect, I’m more conscientious of the quality of food I’m eating. By that I mean, I’ve been choosing more fruits and multi-grain meals and snack than sugary and fatty foods. Its wonderful. I don’t know how much of an impact it is having on my body, since I started this the same time as I did the Synthroid, but its had a great impact mentally. I feel so much better about myself when I go for an organic granola bar for my mid-afternoon snack instead of a candy bar.

Although the organic food a little more expensive, I’m actually saving money, because I stock up on granola bars and fruit instead of hitting the candy machine, and I buy Kashi frozen lunches instead of ordering lunch from the local pizza place or whatever quick bite my co-workers are grabbing, which (as we all know) can really add up. Dinner’s a little more difficult, because organic meat is hard to find. I think I need to check Wegmans. The real problem with that right now is that my mom buys the dinner food, and she is pretty stubborn about where she shops and what she buys – there’s no way I’m going to switch her over. I’m off to a good start, though, and when Hug is home and we’re off living on our own again, I’ll go all the way with organic dinners, too. Hooray!

Abortion

I struggle with this issue. I’m morally against it. I would never do it. Never. Under no circumstances. But I’m not sure that the Government has the right to tell people that they can’t do it. I am absolutely, unquestionably opposed to partial birth abortion under any circumstances and I’m opposed to allowing abortions after the first trimester. Too many people are going through hell trying to have or adopt children for us to have others just throwing them away.

Now, I’m going to say this. While I don’t agree with anyone’s decision to do It, I recognize that it must be extremely difficult to choose the end a life that has been living inside of you for any amount of time, especially 23 weeks. So I imagine that after struggling with the decision and choosing to abort, it must be heart-wrenching for a woman to have to go through labor, give birth to a live baby, and watch that child (who, granted probably would not have survived after only 23 weeks) be haphazardly placed in a biohazard bag and placed in the garbage.

I am, of course, talking about the botched abortion in the Florida clinic. Even though I don’t agree at all with the decision that 18 year old girl made, my heart goes out to her for having to go through that and having to live with that memory for the rest of her life. I would expect that to have an awful impact on any human being. What a sad, sad thing to have happened.

My Stupid "Friend"

I know this girl. I used to call her my friend, but I don't call her that much anymore. I went to high school and college with her, and we were always pretty good friends, maybe even "best" at times, but now our so-called friendship is so frustrating and upsetting, I can't call it that anymore.

I remember the bad parts of knowing her more than the good parts anymore. In fact, I can't - at this moment - think of a single positive.

I remember her lying to a friend of mine, saying I was hooking up with her boyfriend (when I wasn't). I remember her making out with a boy she knew I really liked (thought I loved at the time, but that word has taken on a totally different meaning since I've been with Hug), and then making fun of the whole situation to my face, knowing how I felt about him. I remember her backing out of plans time and time again. I remember her talking down to people. I remember when she decided over and over again she was too good for her real friends and trying to become someone she's not. I remember her staying with a boy, defending him, looking the other way when she knew he was nothing short of abusive (for lack of a better word...or my lack of willingness to use the more accurate term) of not only me, but another one of our friends as well (as I found out years later).

Since my husband has been deployed, she has called me exactly twice.

We were supposed to hang out on Saturday, and I was actually excited about it (against my better judgement), especially after this past weekend. But when I texted her today to confirm our plans, she pretended to know nothing about it, despite the fact that we made these plans three weeks ago, and I have the e-mails to prove it.

I guess she doesn't want to be my friend. I guess its time to stop trying to be nice and give up on it. I have much better friends now than she has ever been to me. Hell, Hug's friends were better friends to me the first day I met them than she has been in 11 years of knowing her. Its time to leave the past in the past and move on.

Bye, Lex.

Work Work Work

I can’t concentrate at work

I’m not sure why.

Could be because my mind never got any rest this weekend.

Could be because we are getting closer to R&R.

Really, I can’t wait.

Thanks for the nice comments about My Rough Weekend. JC had surgery yesterday to close up his right leg wounds and has sworn off all pain medication. I'm on a hunt for a Good Luck Bear (remember the Care Bears - he was the green one with the four-leaf clover on his belly) for JC, since we both loved Care Bears when we were younger (and probably both still do - let's be honest), and he is one lucky kid.

My Rough Weekend

Now that I know everything’s going to be okay, I think I can put it in words.

I got one of the scariest phone calls I could anticipate getting last Thursday. My friend JC, who I’ve seen as my little brother/child almost since I met him four years ago, was shot in Iraq. His mom called me the morning after she found out. She barely got this words out before the tears started flowing and my hands started shaking. I was completely panicked, drawing on mental pictures of my dad in the hospital after being shot when I was in 5th grade. His mom gave me details that should have made me feel better about the situation, but I didn’t hear them. I couldn’t get past the first sentence. That was around 10am. I cried on and off most of the morning quietly at my desk until I could escape at a reasonable time for “lunch” when I went to see my mom. It helped to tell someone, so I was able to mostly hold it together for the afternoon. By 5:30, I thought I had it together enough to call JC’s mom to ask for all the details she tried to give me in the morning.

He was med-evac’d to a hospital not far from me by Friday night, so I went to see him Saturday. It was tough to remain calm until I could see him. I saw him everytime I closed my eyes and I couldn’t stop thinking about his family and the soldiers who were with him and his girlfriend. And I just wanted (and still want) my husband to be home so badly.

I cried on the way to the hospital, riding in the car with Hug’s dad, and my hands shook when we rode the elevator up to his floor, not knowing what to expect. I don’t think I breathed in between the nurses station and his room, and I barely noticed anyone else in the room until I saw him. Luckily, he didn’t look anything like I had pictured. He was sitting up, smiled at me, and hugged me back when I asked if I could hug him. I stood next to him, talking for what seemed like an eternity, feeling the weight lift off my shoulders, before I finally turned and acknowledged JC’s family, who was all sitting in the room. We stayed for a while, talking, joking, pretending nothing was odd about the fact that JC was laying in a hospital bed with bullet wounds through both legs. He looked fine despite the drainage tubes – no monitors or IVs and all limbs intact (thank God), but there was a distance in his eyes. Well, what do you expect after being shot, having two surgeries, and being in three different countries in less than 72 hours?

I still didn’t sleep Saturday night, because I worried about his little brother, my husband, and JC’s girlfriend, and the look in his eyes. I gave up on sleep at 5:30 Sunday morning.

Sunday, we went back over to the hospital and I had a moment to talk to JC alone. I felt a little better hearing him be honest about wishing he was back with his unit and being frustrated about being confined to a bed for now. I felt even better after talking to him Monday and hearing his optimism after having the wound on his left leg sewn up and meeting the physical therapists, and I felt like a freaking rock star on Tuesday after hearing he not only stood up out of bed, but walked down the hall, wanting to go further, but being reined in by his therapist.

By the time Hug gets home (which will be soon – hooray!), JC should be on crutches with full use of his left leg. I believe in Guardian Angels, and he definitely had one looking after him that day. While he’s certainly not lucky to have been shot, the fact that those bullets missed bones, organs, and major nerves and arteries makes him one really lucky kid. Between that and JC’s upbeat attitude and determination, he’s going to impress doctors and be back on BOTH feet in no time.