I used to wonder,
"Does Jesus live in this box?"
As I confessed sins.
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
melt
You were mad
Frustrated
and pissed off.
For reasons I could only guess,
but still took out on me.
Don't hide
or run away
don't leave me here alone
to muddle through this mess
of emotional
trash.
I want you to know
that you don't have
to do everything.
Just love me
and share
so I can help
you
with stuff.
It's the joy of being together
that comforts me
not having a servant
to do
my dirtywork.
do men feel overburdened?
by life,
women,
bills, work.
I wish I could say
what I feel
and show you
my love
in a way that would
actually make a difference.
And I know that you know
that I
love you.
But do you know just how much?
Or how deep?
It overwhelms me?
to even say your name...
the dishes aren't done yet
I'm at work making money
to help out at home.
I haven't worked out in a while
and i feel small and alone.
give me one promise
anything at all!
promise to love me
or think of me
when you're gone
or
just say my name and
breath a sigh
it says it all
when you say
nothing
at all.
you're away
and I am mad
that i keep growing
and changing
and i have "pretty" days
yet you're not here
to see
the changes.
and I can't see
yours
the world keeps turning
though i wish it would stop
i must keep moving
one foot in front of the other
and walk
so you will know that I can live
and still laugh
without you
or maybe I just pretend
to be whole in this world
of the living
inside I feel frozen and dead.
this is why
it amazes me
that with one word
just one tiny word from your lips,
i melt
it all vanishes
this intricate world
I retreat to
when i am lost
and I am normal once again.
Frustrated
and pissed off.
For reasons I could only guess,
but still took out on me.
Don't hide
or run away
don't leave me here alone
to muddle through this mess
of emotional
trash.
I want you to know
that you don't have
to do everything.
Just love me
and share
so I can help
you
with stuff.
It's the joy of being together
that comforts me
not having a servant
to do
my dirtywork.
do men feel overburdened?
by life,
women,
bills, work.
I wish I could say
what I feel
and show you
my love
in a way that would
actually make a difference.
And I know that you know
that I
love you.
But do you know just how much?
Or how deep?
It overwhelms me?
to even say your name...
the dishes aren't done yet
I'm at work making money
to help out at home.
I haven't worked out in a while
and i feel small and alone.
give me one promise
anything at all!
promise to love me
or think of me
when you're gone
or
just say my name and
breath a sigh
it says it all
when you say
nothing
at all.
you're away
and I am mad
that i keep growing
and changing
and i have "pretty" days
yet you're not here
to see
the changes.
and I can't see
yours
the world keeps turning
though i wish it would stop
i must keep moving
one foot in front of the other
and walk
so you will know that I can live
and still laugh
without you
or maybe I just pretend
to be whole in this world
of the living
inside I feel frozen and dead.
this is why
it amazes me
that with one word
just one tiny word from your lips,
i melt
it all vanishes
this intricate world
I retreat to
when i am lost
and I am normal once again.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Sister
Sister,The bond between us is profound.
It has molded me into the person I am today.
And because I have you in my life,
I am not alone.
I am better.
Little one,
With her bright, sunshiney scrunched up smile
that crinckled up her eyes into two thin black lines
On her glowing white baby face
As she smiled and laughed
And looked up,
And hoped to be like me.
My sister.
We dressed alike at bedtime:
Carebear nightgowns with pink elastic belts worn over them,
stretched to the max by our soft, warm toddler tummies.
Freshly scrubbed, long jet black hair wet and newly combed.
Two identical china dolls, one an inch or so taller
than the littler one.
Pictures taken before bedtime, courtesy of mom.
And wet kisses from you.
My sister.
I still remember soft ringlets
And wisps of delicate, silky tendrils
Being snipped by my clumsy, inexperienced
hands.
I hid your hair under the nightstand.
You loved your first haircut
Because you thought
you looked
like me.
My Sister.
Playing Barbie all day and night
for way too many years.
"It kept us off the streets!"
Our imaginations would soar.
Writing stories, singing mom's Motown songs
and wearing out her records.
Drama, heartache and love,
With plastic dolls
In our own little wonderland of dreams.
My sister.
High school and hormones.
Public school.
Cutting class and going to Boston for the day.
We ended up in the Boston Public Library.
What nerds!
Then off to FAO Schwartz, the biggest toy store in town!
We bought barbies
and said to the cute checkout boy,
it was for our...
Niece!
(who did not exist)
My Sister.
She got a boyfriend first,
I got jealous.
But we still played,
and laughed,
and dressed alike
With our, "I love Jesus" shirts
and flavored chapstick.
And she would watch when I didn't notice
And hope to be like me.
My sister.
Bras, makeup and tampons.
Dance class, recitals and hairspray.
Before I knew it, we were women.
Different friends,
Different colleges.
Who were we?
No more dolls.
Or make believe.
I dyed my hair
And cut it short.
And you stopped wearing chapstick.
Lipstick now, colors I could never pull off.
No more wet kisses.
We felt like strangers.
My sister.
Heartbreak.
Separate rooms.
Secrets.
Boys.
Fights.
I am not like you.
My sister?
An emotional gulf formed.
The love was still there,
But there was no denying
that we were different.
And life went on.
My sister.
Soon, we shared secrets again.
Dreams.
Love at last!
Will you,
Be my,
maid of honor?
Remember?
My Sister.
There was an unexpected silence.
I moved away.
We had to learn
to be.
individuals.
Courage to walk our own road.
It hurt.
my Sister.
Who are you?
Lies and hurt brought each of us down.
But still,
each sister would meet
the other
and help her up.
Off the ground.
my sister.
Though the rain will fall
and dark clouds block the sun,
I can still see
that you will always be-
My Sister!
With your bright, sunshiney scrunched up smile
that crinckles up your eyes into two thin black lines
on your glowing white woman face
As you smile and laugh
And look up at me:
and I hope to be more.
like You,
Your sister.
Different
Something happened to me. Something deep and transforming. I can't put it into words, but I see it when I look at myself in the mirror. I hear it when I am quiet and still. I feel it when I am alone.
When I was a little girl, I would walk around the house as my parents and three siblings sat watching tv. I would wander down the hallway that lead to the front door, which at the time seemed endless.I would pause and trace the thick plaster grooves that were roughly smeered in jagged crisscross patterns about the wall. It actually looked quite pretty with the sunlight beating off of it. At night, I would get lost in its many folds and ridges. I'd run my fingers over it, ignoring the tiny thin scratches that formed on my curious fingers. I would wound my way upstairs and sit at the top step, lean over and rest my head between the banister rails. I'd look down to the spot where I had just stood tracing the wall and then I'd drop a tiny dot of saliva from my mouth and watch as it swiftly and quietly drifted down into the shadows. I'd make my way into each room. Examine the smells, the contents stored and hidden. My favorite was my parents room. I always had the impression that my parents were hidding something from the rest of us. Especially mom. Her closet was a storehouse of suitcases, bags, boxes. I once found pictures of us in her bags, and lots of shiny jewelry in her boxes. My mom was such a mystery to me, with her many secrets and forgotten memories. I know mom had a different husband before my dad, and they had my older brother. I've often wondered about her other husband. What her life was like with him, why they split up. Did he hit her? Did she love him still? Did she love my dad? These were the things I pondered as I drifted aimlessly in my house of mysteries.
I liked to hide. I'd hide myself in the kitchen cabinet and wait until someone called for me. Or under someone's bed and lay there all afternoon, until hide and seek was long over. When I emerged from my spot, my siblings would casually regard me. I was too good at hide and seek, and they lost interest in trying to find me.
I'd lock myself in the bathroom and look out the window at our neighbors apartment, listening to their nightly routine of eating, yelling at the kids, hitting the kids and putting the kids to bed. I'd inhale the cold New England air and watch as the sky went from baby blue to gray, to a dark deep midnight blue and finally pitch black.
As a child, I looked out the windows like this. My many ventures throughout the house always ended up with me looking out the window. Sometimes I would wish to be whisked away into the night by my prince. We'd fly away forever. Not knowing that as an adult, I would feel whisked away, time and again and not like it. But I'd still be with my prince. I fantasized about running away and leaving my family behind. I ran away twice. Once when I was about 4. I made it to the lobby of our apartment before I was caught. The second time I was older, around 10. I ran away to my neighbors house. I played games with the kids and the mom and dad for hours before my mom figured out where I was. Something about that time together with a different family made me want to stay forever. I hated going home that night.
I've always felt different from my family. My sister once commented to my mother how Carla is different from the rest of us. When mom told me that, I wasn't sure if it was a complement or not. I have never felt left out or unwelcome, just...different. And even when I was the center of attention, I would always feel a pull in the back of my mind. Later, I would drift back to myself and feel detached again.
As I grew older the need to explore the world manifested itself and I moved to college. Right after college I got married and lived away from my family. At that time I really bagan to miss them and yearn for their presence. Now, whenever I am with them, I am reminded of the space between us. We are all very close and love each other deeply. But there is a stream, ever so slight, that trickles into my mind and shows me time and again, that I wish for other things. Things unspoken and only felt. And I am able to break away and live this different yet somehow familiar existence that I call "the present". And it is warm and whole and magical and right.
So why then, do I feel sad?
When I was a little girl, I would walk around the house as my parents and three siblings sat watching tv. I would wander down the hallway that lead to the front door, which at the time seemed endless.I would pause and trace the thick plaster grooves that were roughly smeered in jagged crisscross patterns about the wall. It actually looked quite pretty with the sunlight beating off of it. At night, I would get lost in its many folds and ridges. I'd run my fingers over it, ignoring the tiny thin scratches that formed on my curious fingers. I would wound my way upstairs and sit at the top step, lean over and rest my head between the banister rails. I'd look down to the spot where I had just stood tracing the wall and then I'd drop a tiny dot of saliva from my mouth and watch as it swiftly and quietly drifted down into the shadows. I'd make my way into each room. Examine the smells, the contents stored and hidden. My favorite was my parents room. I always had the impression that my parents were hidding something from the rest of us. Especially mom. Her closet was a storehouse of suitcases, bags, boxes. I once found pictures of us in her bags, and lots of shiny jewelry in her boxes. My mom was such a mystery to me, with her many secrets and forgotten memories. I know mom had a different husband before my dad, and they had my older brother. I've often wondered about her other husband. What her life was like with him, why they split up. Did he hit her? Did she love him still? Did she love my dad? These were the things I pondered as I drifted aimlessly in my house of mysteries.
I liked to hide. I'd hide myself in the kitchen cabinet and wait until someone called for me. Or under someone's bed and lay there all afternoon, until hide and seek was long over. When I emerged from my spot, my siblings would casually regard me. I was too good at hide and seek, and they lost interest in trying to find me.
I'd lock myself in the bathroom and look out the window at our neighbors apartment, listening to their nightly routine of eating, yelling at the kids, hitting the kids and putting the kids to bed. I'd inhale the cold New England air and watch as the sky went from baby blue to gray, to a dark deep midnight blue and finally pitch black.
As a child, I looked out the windows like this. My many ventures throughout the house always ended up with me looking out the window. Sometimes I would wish to be whisked away into the night by my prince. We'd fly away forever. Not knowing that as an adult, I would feel whisked away, time and again and not like it. But I'd still be with my prince. I fantasized about running away and leaving my family behind. I ran away twice. Once when I was about 4. I made it to the lobby of our apartment before I was caught. The second time I was older, around 10. I ran away to my neighbors house. I played games with the kids and the mom and dad for hours before my mom figured out where I was. Something about that time together with a different family made me want to stay forever. I hated going home that night.
I've always felt different from my family. My sister once commented to my mother how Carla is different from the rest of us. When mom told me that, I wasn't sure if it was a complement or not. I have never felt left out or unwelcome, just...different. And even when I was the center of attention, I would always feel a pull in the back of my mind. Later, I would drift back to myself and feel detached again.
As I grew older the need to explore the world manifested itself and I moved to college. Right after college I got married and lived away from my family. At that time I really bagan to miss them and yearn for their presence. Now, whenever I am with them, I am reminded of the space between us. We are all very close and love each other deeply. But there is a stream, ever so slight, that trickles into my mind and shows me time and again, that I wish for other things. Things unspoken and only felt. And I am able to break away and live this different yet somehow familiar existence that I call "the present". And it is warm and whole and magical and right.
So why then, do I feel sad?
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
Family, Part 1
My mom does this thing when she laughs that is so funny and cute. Her tiny nose scrunches up and so do her eyes, until they are just two horizaontal lines on her face. She laughs so hard that she actually stops breathing. Then her hand rises and covers her mouth. And she stays like that, all bunched up and not breathing. You can tell it hurts her but she can't stop laughing like that! So my unspoken goal in life has always been to make my mom laugh hysterically. It's never hard to do, but I like to think it is a challenge.
All my life I've lived for a challenge. I guess I always wanted to do things before I was ready, just to say I did them.
I was born at 7 months gestation during a cold snowy February morning in New Haven, CT. That should have been the first indication that I was an eager child. When I was 4 years old my parents, older brother and little sister lived in an apartment in Chelsea, MA. One morning I woke up and decided it was time to explore the apartment complex. I pushed the chair to the door, unlocked it, pushed the chair back to the table. Then I grabbed my toddler sister and we took off. I even put a jacket on her! Not soon after, my family woke up to discover the girls were gone! I had also closed the door behind us.
Adriane and I ran down the hallway and to the elevators. We giggled the whole time, until dad found us. Then it wasn't so fun. I remember being in trouble and watching my baby sister erupt in giggles. She thought it was all a game. And for us, it was.
All my life I've lived for a challenge. I guess I always wanted to do things before I was ready, just to say I did them.
I was born at 7 months gestation during a cold snowy February morning in New Haven, CT. That should have been the first indication that I was an eager child. When I was 4 years old my parents, older brother and little sister lived in an apartment in Chelsea, MA. One morning I woke up and decided it was time to explore the apartment complex. I pushed the chair to the door, unlocked it, pushed the chair back to the table. Then I grabbed my toddler sister and we took off. I even put a jacket on her! Not soon after, my family woke up to discover the girls were gone! I had also closed the door behind us.
Adriane and I ran down the hallway and to the elevators. We giggled the whole time, until dad found us. Then it wasn't so fun. I remember being in trouble and watching my baby sister erupt in giggles. She thought it was all a game. And for us, it was.
Monday, February 19, 2007
My Husband
-My husband.
We met for the first time...three times. I had been rumaging through my new computer my dad got me for college. Chatting online was the big hit. Well, around that time I was confused had gotten into some bad relationships. I wanted advice on how to move on but didn't want to talk to family or friends. I wanted advice from someone who didn't know me and my situation, tendencies, etc. I thought the advice would be more honest that way. I searched different "rooms" online for sane Christian people who could offer advice. I met some characters! I also met some nice people too. I was about to signoff, somewhat satisifed with the pool of opinions I had gathered, when I saw the "Reading and Literature" room. I clicked it and scanned the list of screen names. The very last one said vladvik67. What's a vladvik? I thought to myself. I innocently clicked his name and typed a DEEP message:
"Hi. You don't know me, but what does your screen name mean?"
...A young West Point military cadet worked intently on his research paper, when all of a sudden he received an IM message from Sarai10260:
"Hi. You don't know me, but what does your screen name mean?"
He was confused and asked who she was. She was hesitant to give her name, but they kept talking. Pretty soon they were laughing and he was thirsty for more.
"Vladvik", was in reference to VLADimir the VIKing. Get it? Got it. Good.
I had the answer to my "deep" question and was ready to say goodbye to this guy, who was way into history! But he asked me to stay and chat. Then he asked for my email. I lied about my name, my hobbies and appearance. I'd never meet this guy....
Months went by. The occasional email consisting of 2-3 sentences. School sucks, blah blah blah. Then nothing. Summer came and went.
-Junior Year
I was an R.A. Alone one night on my new dorm floor, I was bored and logged onto my computer. I had 2 emails from some guy. I soon realized it was Mr. History. He talked about being in Germany for the summer, how the poppies were so beautful this time of year, and how he wished I could see them...he ended his letters with "Love", and being a girl, I read into it. We picked up where we left off. Except, I confessed about my name and hobbies. He was truthful, which made me feel bad. For the next few months we wrote faithfully. Wearing mismatched pajamas and unkept hair, I'd share my dreams, convictions and desires with a sweet young guy miles away. He'd do the same. He called me for the first time that October. It was like getting to know each other again. His voice revealed so much that his letters did not. I felt almost naked when we spoke. I'd instinctively cover myself in a blanket when he called. It was the honesty and excitement of hearing his voice each time that moved me. It revealed some covered up part of me. A part that I never knew was there.
-Winter
"Hello"...again. He what!?! He wanted to meet me- in person! Oh my gosh! What if he's really a pervert? Or weird? Or what if he lied about who he was? I had a picture of him though. But still, what if? By then, all of the girls on my dorm floor knew of him. I could NOT meet him. I already thought he was incredible. So I agreed to it. Now if only I could lose a bunch of weight in 2 days- I'd be golden! He took a bus from New York to Boston and we met at South Station. My friend drove me down there, and she and my sister waited in the car. It was Feb. 16th, I turned 21 that day. I walked to the "meeting point". It was dark out, and slightly rainy. I'll never forget the moment I saw him. He was a distance away but we made each other out. I slowly walked toward him, we were both curious. Is that him/her? As I approached I recognized him from the picture. I was nervous. Would he still like me? As I stepped closer, he opened his arms and smiled warmly. And that's how we met. I walked right into his arms, enveloped in a warm safe embrace. There was something eerily familiar about being in his arms. But what stood out more, was the "rightness" of the situation. I'd never be the same after this. We fit perfectly. We knew each other so well, yet...we didn't at the same time. I stepped back shyly and he grinned that playful grin I'd see thousands of times from then on. "Hi, I'm Nate."
We met for the first time...three times. I had been rumaging through my new computer my dad got me for college. Chatting online was the big hit. Well, around that time I was confused had gotten into some bad relationships. I wanted advice on how to move on but didn't want to talk to family or friends. I wanted advice from someone who didn't know me and my situation, tendencies, etc. I thought the advice would be more honest that way. I searched different "rooms" online for sane Christian people who could offer advice. I met some characters! I also met some nice people too. I was about to signoff, somewhat satisifed with the pool of opinions I had gathered, when I saw the "Reading and Literature" room. I clicked it and scanned the list of screen names. The very last one said vladvik67. What's a vladvik? I thought to myself. I innocently clicked his name and typed a DEEP message:
"Hi. You don't know me, but what does your screen name mean?"
...A young West Point military cadet worked intently on his research paper, when all of a sudden he received an IM message from Sarai10260:
"Hi. You don't know me, but what does your screen name mean?"
He was confused and asked who she was. She was hesitant to give her name, but they kept talking. Pretty soon they were laughing and he was thirsty for more.
"Vladvik", was in reference to VLADimir the VIKing. Get it? Got it. Good.
I had the answer to my "deep" question and was ready to say goodbye to this guy, who was way into history! But he asked me to stay and chat. Then he asked for my email. I lied about my name, my hobbies and appearance. I'd never meet this guy....
Months went by. The occasional email consisting of 2-3 sentences. School sucks, blah blah blah. Then nothing. Summer came and went.
-Junior Year
I was an R.A. Alone one night on my new dorm floor, I was bored and logged onto my computer. I had 2 emails from some guy. I soon realized it was Mr. History. He talked about being in Germany for the summer, how the poppies were so beautful this time of year, and how he wished I could see them...he ended his letters with "Love", and being a girl, I read into it. We picked up where we left off. Except, I confessed about my name and hobbies. He was truthful, which made me feel bad. For the next few months we wrote faithfully. Wearing mismatched pajamas and unkept hair, I'd share my dreams, convictions and desires with a sweet young guy miles away. He'd do the same. He called me for the first time that October. It was like getting to know each other again. His voice revealed so much that his letters did not. I felt almost naked when we spoke. I'd instinctively cover myself in a blanket when he called. It was the honesty and excitement of hearing his voice each time that moved me. It revealed some covered up part of me. A part that I never knew was there.
-Winter
"Hello"...again. He what!?! He wanted to meet me- in person! Oh my gosh! What if he's really a pervert? Or weird? Or what if he lied about who he was? I had a picture of him though. But still, what if? By then, all of the girls on my dorm floor knew of him. I could NOT meet him. I already thought he was incredible. So I agreed to it. Now if only I could lose a bunch of weight in 2 days- I'd be golden! He took a bus from New York to Boston and we met at South Station. My friend drove me down there, and she and my sister waited in the car. It was Feb. 16th, I turned 21 that day. I walked to the "meeting point". It was dark out, and slightly rainy. I'll never forget the moment I saw him. He was a distance away but we made each other out. I slowly walked toward him, we were both curious. Is that him/her? As I approached I recognized him from the picture. I was nervous. Would he still like me? As I stepped closer, he opened his arms and smiled warmly. And that's how we met. I walked right into his arms, enveloped in a warm safe embrace. There was something eerily familiar about being in his arms. But what stood out more, was the "rightness" of the situation. I'd never be the same after this. We fit perfectly. We knew each other so well, yet...we didn't at the same time. I stepped back shyly and he grinned that playful grin I'd see thousands of times from then on. "Hi, I'm Nate."
I feel like a leaf...
I feel like a leaf
So small and delicate
Who once was part of something
Big and communal
To lend my gifts was my desire
To strengthen the whole
Or to just be connected
To others like me.
Now I have fallen away
Strong winds pulled me from the familiar
And now...
My skin feels cracked and dry
I am empty.
Where is my place?
Where is the road that will bring me
To the next tree...
So small and delicate
Who once was part of something
Big and communal
To lend my gifts was my desire
To strengthen the whole
Or to just be connected
To others like me.
Now I have fallen away
Strong winds pulled me from the familiar
And now...
My skin feels cracked and dry
I am empty.
Where is my place?
Where is the road that will bring me
To the next tree...
Deployments
-On deployments-
"I knew what I was getting into when I signed up". That's what I usually tell people when they ask me how it is I handle the military life. Full of deployments, frequent moving and daily frustrations, military life is less than glamorous. We were married for 6 months when i first heard the much dreaded words come softly from my new husband's lips: "Honey, it looks like I'll be deploying." Then the concerned look would come over his face, as he watched tears pool in my eyes. Through a bright smile I whispered, "it's okay..." But the tears rushed past my lids and spilled down my cheeks. He pulled my close to his chest. No words. Just his familiar warm embrace.
I often wonder what real depression and lonliness is like. I know I've felt it, but I also have the impression that it is like an abyss, it has no end. I'd be lying if I said I was able to move on and live life just fine. But I wasn't. I'd still eat and shower and stuff, but life lost its color. I remember the day he left. I tried not to cry in front of him. Even while I watched him pack his ruck sack, and completely turn the house upside down as he prepared for the next 6 months of his life...without me. I smiled for him, I said I loved him, we kissed. I went home. Alone. I cursed myself for forgetting to make love with him the night before, but he was too busy packing and I was numb.
When I got in the house, my dog greeted me. I didn't noticed her though, for the strong smell of Nate's soapy scent hit me like a ton of bricks the second I entered our house. I could hear his voice, see him laughing. But he was not there. Instead he was on a plane bound for Kuwait, with the rest fo his battalion, the Red Devils, 1/504 Parachute Infantry Regiment. How many other women felt as I did just then? But I knew in my heart that Nate was in pain too. He felt guilty for leaving his new bride home alone. I just learned to drive standard before he left. He explained the finances to me, the car title I should be on the lookout for, tithing...
I leaned on the washing machine and broke down. How am I going to do this? I wondered. My dog laid on the kitchen floor with me and we looked soulfully into each other's eyes. I still have every single phone message he left me on our answering machine. I'll never delete them.
Those were hard days. I remember feeling like my life was a dream. Our courtship was something out of a fairy tale. Our marriage was filled with discovery and laughter. When he left, it was so abrupt. Had it all been a dream? But the remnants of our time together lingered, proving that he was real. Dirty dishes stacked high in the sink, laundry piled on the bed. Our shoes lined neatly by the front door. Yes, it was real. He did exist. But reality was too quiet and too painful.
I examined the military badges he'd rummaged through. They were all scattered on the coffee table as he rushed to pack. BDU's (Battle dress uniforms), socks, books... these remnants would have to stay behind with me. I was jealous of the things that got to go with him across the world. Mere triffles that have no place in his heart, but they made it on the pack-list, I did not. I left his things exactly as he left them. Carelessly abandoned. As I felt. So I did what any other girl would have done given the chance: I packed my bags, and my dog and stayed with my mother-in-law for 2 weeks. During that time I learned to be friends with her. I learned about my husband's life before I came along. It was a time to dig into the past and be connected to the person who knew my husband the best. His mother. Having that piece of him to be near saved me. And I believe that God wanted that to happen.
-#2-
Nate had been home for a year from his first deployment when we found out he'd be going to Iraq again. Whe he told me I let out a deep breath. I think some part of me had been holding my breath, waiting for the shoe to drop. We had been playing make believe until that point. Make believe we are normal people who don't have to deal with deployments. Make believe he'll never leave again. But the shoe did drop. When it did, I just let it go. There was nothing I could do. Just watch it happen. Watch as my heart broke, as the fear set in. The familiar cloak of sorrow wrapping her arms around me, holding me and filling the void spot in my heart with her sad song. After a while, I actually stopped fearing sadness. Giving in to it helped me move through it. I would feel this way many times, so I had to learn how to coexist with this new friend.
But I did have doubts. Would he come home this time? We knew a lot of people who died and got injured. We were the lucky ones. Too lucky. How lucky can you be before your time runs put? But I never conveyed these feelings to him. I supported him, was strong for him. When he thought of me, I wanted him to know I was okay. This time was different as well. I had a job down the street and it kept me busy. I some ways I was better off because of the job. But at night, when I was alone, I'd cry thinking of him. All day I posed as a self-sufficient girl who could tackle anything, and at night the mask melted, and I was vulnerable, soft so very alone. If the phone rang, my heart would jump, and race- is it him? I still live for the moment when the phone rings: "Hello?" I say and hold my breath. A pause- "Carla?" His familiar voice, so rich and clear and deep sends flames to my heart, reviving it and bringing warmth back into my blood. We talk and laugh and sigh. Wishing, wanting, wondering. The world is as it should be. Was I ever sad? Oh, silly me! Then his time is up. The guy behind him needs the phone so he can call his wife. A battle rages inside me but I stifle the screams. "Okay hun, I love you so so so so much! Be careful! God bless you. I'm praying for you, I love you." Over and over. He makes me hang up first every time. I cry as I do so.
I never watched the news. It was biased anyway. I can't tell you how many times I'd hear something bad. When I heard from Nate I'd ask if it was true? It never was. The media fabricated a lot of what went on. The rest was hyped up. But the things that were true, were never really discussed the way they deserved to be. Like when someone died. Now, it's better though. I think.
Now Nate's training in Georgia. He deployed over there for 6 weeks. We've been able to visit each other though. So it's not as bad. But it still sucks.
I wonder if having children will make it feel better? Being without him. I'm sure it would be hard, but I would still have some part of him with me.
My sister once said how she thought it was so selfish of some women to want a baby before their husband's got deployed. I think she thought I felt the same way. I didn't. I told her that you have to be in the situation before you can judge. I know what it feels like to watch your husband leave you and wonder if he'll come home again. I have had that yearning of wanting to carry his child and share that joy together. She got very quiet. I felt bad.
Now today, I am at work- wasting time, wondering how on earth I ended up where I am! No kids at home. Not sure why. Finances? Fear? Not sure. But I do know that no matter how hard it gets, it can always get worse- and God prevents that from happening. The dull ache that weighs me down won't go away. When he leaves, I loathe the strength that comes over me. I want to be weak and not go on. But God prevents that too. And even still, life can be beautiful. God still smiles regardless of what I do or don't do. And for that I am in awe.
Not sure how many deployments I have ahead of me. But I hope there is a lesson to be learned. I hope that I can open my eyes and see what God wants me to see. I hope, that I can learn to be content.
"I knew what I was getting into when I signed up". That's what I usually tell people when they ask me how it is I handle the military life. Full of deployments, frequent moving and daily frustrations, military life is less than glamorous. We were married for 6 months when i first heard the much dreaded words come softly from my new husband's lips: "Honey, it looks like I'll be deploying." Then the concerned look would come over his face, as he watched tears pool in my eyes. Through a bright smile I whispered, "it's okay..." But the tears rushed past my lids and spilled down my cheeks. He pulled my close to his chest. No words. Just his familiar warm embrace.
I often wonder what real depression and lonliness is like. I know I've felt it, but I also have the impression that it is like an abyss, it has no end. I'd be lying if I said I was able to move on and live life just fine. But I wasn't. I'd still eat and shower and stuff, but life lost its color. I remember the day he left. I tried not to cry in front of him. Even while I watched him pack his ruck sack, and completely turn the house upside down as he prepared for the next 6 months of his life...without me. I smiled for him, I said I loved him, we kissed. I went home. Alone. I cursed myself for forgetting to make love with him the night before, but he was too busy packing and I was numb.
When I got in the house, my dog greeted me. I didn't noticed her though, for the strong smell of Nate's soapy scent hit me like a ton of bricks the second I entered our house. I could hear his voice, see him laughing. But he was not there. Instead he was on a plane bound for Kuwait, with the rest fo his battalion, the Red Devils, 1/504 Parachute Infantry Regiment. How many other women felt as I did just then? But I knew in my heart that Nate was in pain too. He felt guilty for leaving his new bride home alone. I just learned to drive standard before he left. He explained the finances to me, the car title I should be on the lookout for, tithing...
I leaned on the washing machine and broke down. How am I going to do this? I wondered. My dog laid on the kitchen floor with me and we looked soulfully into each other's eyes. I still have every single phone message he left me on our answering machine. I'll never delete them.
Those were hard days. I remember feeling like my life was a dream. Our courtship was something out of a fairy tale. Our marriage was filled with discovery and laughter. When he left, it was so abrupt. Had it all been a dream? But the remnants of our time together lingered, proving that he was real. Dirty dishes stacked high in the sink, laundry piled on the bed. Our shoes lined neatly by the front door. Yes, it was real. He did exist. But reality was too quiet and too painful.
I examined the military badges he'd rummaged through. They were all scattered on the coffee table as he rushed to pack. BDU's (Battle dress uniforms), socks, books... these remnants would have to stay behind with me. I was jealous of the things that got to go with him across the world. Mere triffles that have no place in his heart, but they made it on the pack-list, I did not. I left his things exactly as he left them. Carelessly abandoned. As I felt. So I did what any other girl would have done given the chance: I packed my bags, and my dog and stayed with my mother-in-law for 2 weeks. During that time I learned to be friends with her. I learned about my husband's life before I came along. It was a time to dig into the past and be connected to the person who knew my husband the best. His mother. Having that piece of him to be near saved me. And I believe that God wanted that to happen.
-#2-
Nate had been home for a year from his first deployment when we found out he'd be going to Iraq again. Whe he told me I let out a deep breath. I think some part of me had been holding my breath, waiting for the shoe to drop. We had been playing make believe until that point. Make believe we are normal people who don't have to deal with deployments. Make believe he'll never leave again. But the shoe did drop. When it did, I just let it go. There was nothing I could do. Just watch it happen. Watch as my heart broke, as the fear set in. The familiar cloak of sorrow wrapping her arms around me, holding me and filling the void spot in my heart with her sad song. After a while, I actually stopped fearing sadness. Giving in to it helped me move through it. I would feel this way many times, so I had to learn how to coexist with this new friend.
But I did have doubts. Would he come home this time? We knew a lot of people who died and got injured. We were the lucky ones. Too lucky. How lucky can you be before your time runs put? But I never conveyed these feelings to him. I supported him, was strong for him. When he thought of me, I wanted him to know I was okay. This time was different as well. I had a job down the street and it kept me busy. I some ways I was better off because of the job. But at night, when I was alone, I'd cry thinking of him. All day I posed as a self-sufficient girl who could tackle anything, and at night the mask melted, and I was vulnerable, soft so very alone. If the phone rang, my heart would jump, and race- is it him? I still live for the moment when the phone rings: "Hello?" I say and hold my breath. A pause- "Carla?" His familiar voice, so rich and clear and deep sends flames to my heart, reviving it and bringing warmth back into my blood. We talk and laugh and sigh. Wishing, wanting, wondering. The world is as it should be. Was I ever sad? Oh, silly me! Then his time is up. The guy behind him needs the phone so he can call his wife. A battle rages inside me but I stifle the screams. "Okay hun, I love you so so so so much! Be careful! God bless you. I'm praying for you, I love you." Over and over. He makes me hang up first every time. I cry as I do so.
I never watched the news. It was biased anyway. I can't tell you how many times I'd hear something bad. When I heard from Nate I'd ask if it was true? It never was. The media fabricated a lot of what went on. The rest was hyped up. But the things that were true, were never really discussed the way they deserved to be. Like when someone died. Now, it's better though. I think.
Now Nate's training in Georgia. He deployed over there for 6 weeks. We've been able to visit each other though. So it's not as bad. But it still sucks.
I wonder if having children will make it feel better? Being without him. I'm sure it would be hard, but I would still have some part of him with me.
My sister once said how she thought it was so selfish of some women to want a baby before their husband's got deployed. I think she thought I felt the same way. I didn't. I told her that you have to be in the situation before you can judge. I know what it feels like to watch your husband leave you and wonder if he'll come home again. I have had that yearning of wanting to carry his child and share that joy together. She got very quiet. I felt bad.
Now today, I am at work- wasting time, wondering how on earth I ended up where I am! No kids at home. Not sure why. Finances? Fear? Not sure. But I do know that no matter how hard it gets, it can always get worse- and God prevents that from happening. The dull ache that weighs me down won't go away. When he leaves, I loathe the strength that comes over me. I want to be weak and not go on. But God prevents that too. And even still, life can be beautiful. God still smiles regardless of what I do or don't do. And for that I am in awe.
Not sure how many deployments I have ahead of me. But I hope there is a lesson to be learned. I hope that I can open my eyes and see what God wants me to see. I hope, that I can learn to be content.
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