John Ache

He's gone.
And I'm left with a gaping hole in my chest that won't seem to stop hurting.
On the other hand, I'm okay. I'm breathing, have gone through most of the day perfectly calm and honestly have had a decent Friday...if I could overlook the fact I had to say goodbye to my husband for 6 months. It's the strangest combination of feelings. Fine/aching. And then all the regrets come welling up like vomit. Why didn't I hug him more? Why didn't I make more time? Why this, why that? It's silly really...I can't change anything. I don't really need to. I just wish he was still here. Oh God, I wish that more than anything in the world.
During dinner on Wednesday September 15th John got a call. He was chosen for an IA. (Don't ask me what it stands for because I don't know...International Assignment? Irregular Arteries? Intimacy Annihilation? We're probably never know...) An IA is a deployment separate from the squadron. He would also be leaving in 14 days. So instead of having a full month together before he deployed, we suddenly had two weeks. We both did our best to receive the news calmly. The fact that they had little to no information about the IA didn't make matters better but we made it through and spent as much time together before that date as we could. So two weeks come and go. John doesn't leave. Which was good in the long run because it meant A. More time together and B. Marine Corps Ball! Yay! (I will write about it and put up pictures...but as you can see, I am pretty distracted right now with other matters at hand.)
So basically, a bunch of set-backs, last minute details, and along with the previously mentioned lack of general info like um..."where should I mail my stuff?", "when am I exactly leaving?", "what am I going to be doing?", "awesome?", things were pretty retarded for awhile there. I think we both started to secretly believe it might never happen and we'd be able to stay together for another year or seven. Ah. Marine Corps. Always out-doing yourself on unpredictability and disorganization. Yesterday we finally got the call. John would be leaving today. My initial reaction was of course to fall apart and get angry...and then I remembered that I had just prayed that we would hear soon when he'd be leaving. There I was freaking out when I got what I asked for. Irony.
Today felt like a normal day. With a weird schedule. We drove to Jacksonville early in the morning to get John's orders and make sure everything was good to go. Afterward we stopped at the exchange on base (where a poor cashier embarrassed herself by asking "Oh, you're buying luggage tags. Are you going on a trip?" "Yes." "Where are you going?" "Uh...I'm actually going to Iraq." *instant flush of the face and profuse apologies* Honestly...there was no need for her to apologize. She had no way of knowing and we obviously were light-hearted enough to be able to laugh it off...) and made a Dunkin Donuts run before heading to the airport. We got him checked in, checked bags, and then hung out in the waiting area and tried not to cry. At least I did. When it was time for him to go through the security check, it felt so surreal. I felt like a normal wife dropping her husband off at the airport for a business trip. Only I knew that this wasn't any business trip. Once he went through that metal detector, I wouldn't be seeing him for half a year. The goodbye was too hurried, the last embrace too rushed. I watched him go through and waited until he was on the other side, as close to out of sight as he could be in that tiny airport. After several waves, I used the universal "I'm going to go" point with my finger and made my exit. I cried all the way to the car and in the car and I'm crying again now rethinking myself crying. It was short lived. I pulled myself together. I sang loudly along with Michael Buble on the radio. I found myself at Ulta. And then Barnes and Noble. And then Marshall's. And then I went home. The day was longer than that. But it consisted of little that would be considered important. The only things that count were the phone calls. John notified me when he landed and then called a few more times to talk before his next flight. We texted until he had to power-down his phone. And then silence.
I drove home in the most beautiful sunset, the long shadows painting the street between the orange light. I got home to some very hungry and cross cats. They let me off easy for arriving so late. I fed them. I ate too much myself. I watched a depressing movie about an unhappy marriage, something I've never experienced but physically ache in empathy for when I hear about it. And then the ache changed to John ache. I ache for that man. I ache in exhaustion thinking that this is the beginning. And what I would give for a way to fast forward a few months...just to have some time under my belt to look back on with satisfaction, knowing not THAT much is left to go. I ache obnoxiously. I want to obsessively facebook status update about how achy I feel. How much I miss him. How anyone who has never had to be apart from their loved one for longer than a month should sit down and seriously consider how fortunate they are and treasure every moment they have...even if it initially may not feel like a particularly "special" moment.
Deployments are a blessed curse. A curse because frankly they SUCK and they are much too frequent in the Prowler community. A blessing because they make us aware of our time together. They make us value that time, treasure it, guard it. Never take it for granted. And it rekindles this amazing spark when we're reunited and even before then. I'd dare to say it's stronger than the honeymoon stage. Because it has had plenty of time to brood...and mature. And it's not going away easily.
So what now? I wait. I live. I do the single life I lead when he's gone. I go to school. I care for my kitties. I check off every damn day we're apart on the calendar until I can smother him in my arms again. Until then...all I can do is keep praying and drawing close to God. I can't do this without Him. No really. I LITERALLY cannot do this and remain a whole person without God. So that's what I'm going to do. And live. And breathe. And lose 30 pounds. 8 down. 22 to go. Yes. I can do this.

Photo: Alberto Grieve found via Alberto Grieve