Bye bye daddy

Mondays suck.  This Monday really sucked.  Our 3 week vacation was over, daddy had to leave.  For the third time in our six years of marriage I was saying goodbye to my best friend, sending the father of my children off to fight a war, and facing another long and sometimes lonely year.

Monday morning seemed like any other morning.  Justin and I awoke to a babbling Rowan in his crib.  We could hear Jenssen upstairs, demanding for papa to play cho-cho's with him.  We made breakfast, had coffee, laughed at Rowan's face full of peaches, and tried to reason with and bribe Jenssen as to why he refuses to use the potty.

But this morning was different.  After breakfast, we had to put the final touches on Justin's bags, pack a day bag for the boys, and figure out what to do with the few hours we had left.  There was so much yet to do, so many memories we hadn't yet made.  I need those memories to get through the year I thought.  But there simply wasn't time.  The last few hours you have with your husband before he leaves for a deployment go by so quickly and yet drag on and on.  Just leave already I kept thinking to myself.  What an ugly thought, huh? I was so mad at myself for thinking that, but in a way it was true. The sooner he left, the sooner we could start counting down to his homecoming.  However, reminding myself of that didn't make me feel any better about thinking it. This was not going to be fun, but it was going to happen.  I just wanted it over.

In what seemed like both a second and a lifetime at the exact same time, the morning was over and it was time to leave.  Omaha was a nearly 3 hour drive.  Having children sure has changed that drive.  I couldn't even tell you how many times I've made that drive over the last 8 1/2 years to send Justin back to wherever the Army has said he needs to be.  It used to be my head on his shoulder, taking in those last moments, trying to remember exactly how it felt to have his hand laying over mine, to listen to him breathe.  It is those little things that get taken for granted, and are missed so dearly during the separation. With kids, it is no longer my head on that shoulder, but theirs.

Later trips found us sitting on opposite sides of an infant car seat, staring at a baby that Justin wouldn't know over the next year. 

This last trip on Monday had us sitting in opposite areas of the car; Justin trying to get in a few last laughs with Jenssen while watching a DVD, and later comforting Rowan in that same infant seat, telling him the airport was only 20 minutes away.  Twenty minutes.  Just like that morning, I couldn't wait for those 20 minutes to get over, but at the same time wished they would never end.

People always ask me if it was hard to say goodbye.  I just smile and say "yes",  but I really want to close my eyes and say "you have no idea."

I love airports.  I have been known to show up early when picking someone up from an airport, grab a coffee, and take a seat.  There are such interesting people there, and a lot going on.  I can zone out and think about nothing else other than if that person is coming or going from vacation, or if that person is flying on business or personal reasons.   Monday I loathed airports.  No part of me wanted to be in Omaha, wanted to be at the airport, or wanted to be sitting there at the little coffee shop table, watching Jenssen and Justin share one last cookie for at least 8 months.  I didn't know where I wanted to be, but I didn't want to be there.  Anywhere but there.  If I wasn't there, then I wasn't saying goodbye, I wasn't sending him off with no guarantee he would return, and mostly, I wasn't going to have to watch a father say goodbye to his sons.

As our family grows, each goodbye gets harder.  Justin has more to say goodbye to, and I know he will be missing more.  I always think I'll be stronger this time, and that eye make up won't be wasted.  I won't cry, I'll smile and leave him with a memory of a beautiful composed wife smiling as he walks away.  Maybe next time, because this time he will remember that mascara smeared, sniffling, puffy eyed, wild haired lady holding a kid or two (wild hair due to Rowan's new addiction to pulling my hair, I wasn't that crazy). 

As we walked towards the gate, Justin turned around and I saw the strongest man I know more vulnerable than I have ever seen him.  Holding a little boy, who would be a little less little the next time he sees him, he tried to get a years' worth of memories in one hug.  As we buried our heads into our family, Jenssen happily pointed out a picture of a bear across the way, and Rowan continued to smile and babble.  Oh to be so unaware of what exactly was going on.  At 2 1/2 years and 7 months, they can't understand that it will be some time before there are daddy horse rides, shaving cream art, or bedtime stories the daddy version. 

I can't imagine the strength it takes to turn around, and walk away from your family, but he found it.  I put my head down and hugged those boys, because I just couldn't watch him walk towards security.  As I picked up Rowan, and took Jenssen's hand, Jenssen turned around and said "Love you Daddy."  Justin turned around and smiled.  Really kid?  That sealed the deal; no eye makeup would remain today.  As we walked back to the car, Jenssen didn't get why daddy got to get on a plane, but Jenssen didn't get to.  I said "Daddy has to go to work, for a long time."  "Oh, okay." said Jenssen, as if I was telling him why we were having a grilled cheese over macaroni for lunch. 

Although each goodbye gets harder, the recovery seems to get easier.  I know how to cope; what works and what doesn't.  And kids help in this area.  I used to cry for days after he left.  I couldn't look at a picture of him, or see his tshirt without bawling.  Now I have kids.  Just like they don't understand the goodbye, they wouldn't understand why mom is crying instead of making lunch or playing trains.  Seeing his picture gives me the opportunity to point out daddy to the boys, and keep him fresh in their minds.  I have my moments, where I feel weak, and I fight back tears.  They never last long, as I always seem to have a little hand on my arm happily exclaiming "daddy!"

Back at the car, my dad and I got them in their seats, then I took a moment to break down, bawl, feel sorry for myself, and cry.  It isn't fun, it's gonna suck, and I'm gonna miss him.  It is important to recognize that, but it is even more important to move on.  Life won't get put on hold while I feel sorry for myself.  So, I cried.  A lot.  Hard.  I wanted to throw up.  Then I wiped my tears, sucked it up and buckled up. 

A few more teary moments, and the day was over.  Still, the longest and quickest day of my life up to this point.  On the drive home, I got to thinking about what I would do this year.  Should I get a job?  When I got home and began putting all of my "remember daddy" plans to good use, I realized I have one.  Make sure these boys know their dad, and their dad knows them. The pay is pretty good.

I can't tell you how much all of your words of support and encouragement mean to us.  This isn't a fun lifestyle, and sometimes I'm not even sure why we are living it.  Your prayers, love, and support keep us going on dark days, and help us keep moving towards the brighter ones.

Yes, I miss him.  Yes, it was hard to say goodbye.  Yes, it sucks to be apart.  Yes, I will take your prayers.  And Yes, this is doable.  This is so doable.  Even if it isn't, there is no other option.  After all, you never know how strong you are until strong is the only choice you have.