Saturday, Nov. 17
The boys wake me up saying, “Mom! Mom! It’s just two weeks until Dad comes home!”
All I can think is that 9 days of school vacation, Thanksgiving and two birthdays stand between us and homecoming. And that seems like an eternity, not “two weeks.” I don’t want to do another weekend without my husband, much less a 9-day vacation.
Sunday, Nov. 18
Owen walks in while I’m Skyping with Dustin. He hears me say, “How do you want me to wear my hair when you come home: Up, down, blonde, brown?”
“That is so weird,” Owen says. “I’m mean, that’s like really weird, Mom. Why don’t you ask him what he wants to eat, not how you’ll wear your hair.”
On the computer screen, Dustin is laughing.
Monday, Nov. 19
I should be ecstatic. Dustin is coming home in less than two weeks. But suddenly I feel like I can’t do one more day without him. My friend Amber asks whether the end of deployment feels like needing to use the bathroom: The closer you get to the restroom, the harder it is to hold on.
Tuesday, Nov. 20
I’m shopping at the grocery store for Thanksgiving dinner. I had to drag myself there. I don’t want to celebrate Thanksgiving. I want to speed right through the holiday and two upcoming birthdays, and get right to Dustin’s homecoming.
But wait: this deployment began with Dustin missing Thanksgiving and Christmas 2011. We’ve had a whole year of holidays and birthdays without him. What’s one more?
The food feels like 10-pound weights as I send it along the moving belt toward the cashier. In the next aisle, a woman is buying an exceptionally large turkey and a whole bag of potatoes. I realize she must have a large family waiting at home.
Thursday, Nov. 22
Ford’s 12th birthday and Thanksgiving.
Can I just go back to bed?
Saturday, Nov. 24
The boys wake me up saying, “Mom! Mom! Dad comes home in one week!”
All I can think is that the past 9 days of school vacation have been cruel and unusual punishment for me. And one more birthday still stands between us and Dustin’s homecoming.
Sunday, Nov. 25
I want to rally for Owen’s 10th birthday.
I’m in bed by 8 p.m.
Monday, Nov. 26
Dustin calls me. He is back in the United States, but he has to check out of his command in Norfolk. It’s one of the first times I’ve heard his voice intimately through a phone held to my ear (rather than a grainy, flickering computer screen) in more than a year. I become completely unglued.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I cry. “I don’t think I can make it one more week.”
“You’re doing great,” Dustin says. “We’re almost to the end. It’s less than a week now.”
“I’m so tired,” I tell him, and I’m crying so hard, he can barely understand me. “I just want you home. I’m done. Please come home right now.”
“I can’t.”
Wednesday, Nov. 28
People ask military wives, “How do you do it?” and we don’t always have an answer. Is there any other choice than to just “do it”? No, there is no (good) alternative. So we carry on, drag ourselves through the grocery store, and smile when people say, “Wow, just four more months!” or “Are you so excited that he’ll be home soon?” (By soon, do you mean, “Eight weeks, 22 hours and 15 minutes?” Then, yes.)
It’s only later that we look back and say, “How did I do that? How did I manage?” And sometimes, that realization hits even before the homecoming date. Dustin would be home in three days, but already I was asking myself, “How did I do it?” This is the emotional equivalent of not making it to the bathroom in time.
I begin to worry I can’t make it through the next few days.
On the phone, Dustin tells me, “I’m almost there. Just hold on a little longer.”
Thursday, Nov. 29
Dustin will be home in 48 hours! I leap out of bed and whistle as I pack the kids’ lunches. Nothing — no birthdays, no holidays, no school vacation — stands between us and homecoming now. I don’t even have to endure another lonely weekend.
Friday, Nov. 30
I can’t concentrate at work. The kids are wound up like tomorrow is Christmas. Even the dog seems full of anxious energy.
There is lots to do. Over the year, I’ve taken over everything from Dustin’s side of the bed to his closet and dresser drawers. It’s time to move back to my own side. Also, it’s time to get my hair cut and paint my nails.
Tomorrow, Dustin will be home.
Saturday, Dec. 1
To be continued.
Maine author and columnist Sarah Smiley’s writing is syndicated weekly to publications across the country. She and her husband, Dustin, live with their three sons in Bangor. She may be reached at www.Facebook.com/Sarah.is.Smiley.
I hope your family’s homecoming was everything you’d imagined and more!!
Wow – this article really got to me. Wishing you all well.
Happy Homecoming to all of you!
:) Welcome home Dustin, and thank you.
Thanks for your husband’s service.
I think you are more interested in the part about painting your nails etc. than many others might be but who knows. A lot of serious stuff going on in the world. I think sometimes people want a break from that, understandably.
I am sure it was difficult to be without your husband for a year and very difficult for the three boys. However, when you wrote how you cried and said you could not take it anymore, I could not help but think of the many many single parents in this country, who endure it somehow, day in and day out for years. I don’t think their situation is understood many times. They have to find ways to do it “on their own.” and somehow they mostly do. (for more than a year.) Many of them are widowed and other situations. It is very hard for them as it was for you.
Of course because I bring in the part of other families who struggle (single parents alone,etc.) some will take offense and think it should only be about your family and other military families. I think it can be about both.
While a single parent home has to “do it on their own” they are not sitting at home “doing it” while being scared to death that their spouse is going to be killed. You live in fear of every news broadcast that shows a roadside bomb exploding or a report of NATO troops being killed. You live in fear of the late night knock on the door and finding a chaplain and a casualty assistance call officer standing on your doorstep. But yet your expected to keep a stiff upper lip and take care of working, the house, the kids and the animals.
Yes, I know about that, as I was a military spouse for a while. I stand by what I wrote.
Welcome Home Dustin! I can not wait for the next update!
OK. It’s November 28th and I’m crying, too.
I would like to thank Dustin for serving his time away and I know that it is hard to go on without him there to help you but the remarks about how did I do it. We just do it!!
I’m so excited for your family. Thank you so much for sharing your journey with us all. I don’t think anyone could have read this without crying. Thank you for your service to our country. Merry Christmas!
Thank you for the sacrifice your husband and your family has made on our behalf. Thank you for sharing your diary of the last 2 weeks. This article touched my heart in a way that nothing has in a long time. Bless you all and enjoy your family <3
Welcome home Dustin. I hope your transition from a somewhat structured life to the chaos of family life is seamless. It seems appropriate to wish you and your family a
Jewish Blessing for a new year:
May the saddest moment in your future
Be no worse than
The happiest moment from you past.
It would appear you have some catching up to do—why don’t you take a break from your column for the next week or so?
Happy homecoming! May the transition be smooth and the holidays together a blessing!