Finish ALL the Projects!

Apparently we still have at least a year before we'll be moving, but I'm still taking advantage of the interim to use up all the hoarded craft supplies that are clogging up the spare bedroom.  I'm finally finishing all the decoupage canvases I'd planned, and continuing the shift in the master bedroom color scheme from red to blue.  As part of that plan, the idea came to me to use Dave's old uniform blouses to re-cover two boring pillows that came with the comforter and add a personal touch.

These would also be a great idea for kids with deploying parents.

So Over It

This deployment is going to put me back on blood pressure medication.  For being so brief (as deployments go) it has been WRETCHED, and I'm not even entirely sure why.  I would like very much to walk away from my life right now, thank you.

New Routine

I finally took a job.  I really couldn't justify not trying given my wide open schedule.  It's one of those thankless and faceless part time retail jobs, but I wanted something disposable.  The real miracle is that they were still willing to hire me after I demanded never to work weekends or any later than 4 PM on weekdays.  That should nicely coincide with the husband's schedule, so there shouldn't be any real disruption of our home life.  That is, when we have a home life.

Deployment is every bit as sterile an existence as I remember.  The only thing to do is to somehow make the time go by without being terribly conscious of it, because if I were I'd be twice as miserable.  On the other hand, not having anyone to spend time with has allowed me to get a remarkable amount of work done on those Christmas stockings commissioned this year.  Despite an earlier bout of despair, I might actually get them all done in time.

But, speaking of deployments and general loneliness, I've been realizing just how vulnerable I am.  Living alone anywhere is still very new to me, and more than a little unsettling, especially with the strange characters we've had knocking on the door lately.  I've started making an effort to brush up on my target practice when I visit the old homestead, but that doesn't do me much good in the meantime.  So, in the interest of taking at least minimal precautions, I swung by Target after work today and picked up an old fashioned, wireless, all-purpose offensive weapon with built in fire escape.

Best of all, it doesn't require a license.  Yet.

Godchildren, Hindsight, and Living the New Normal

Yesterday I attended the baptism of Michael Joseph, our first godchild.  Unfortunately, Dave had to miss it, but we had a good friend stand as proxy.  It was a gathering of the usual suspects, other young families of Christendom's class of 2008.  Thankfully, I found I wasn't nearly as bothered by it as I would have been six months ago.

At this point, more than a year removed from losing Little Dave, I'm probably about as over it as I ever will be.  The last few weeks in particular have been much better, all things considered.  Everyone's personal tragedy has a social expiration date, after which one really shouldn't keep nagging Facebook about it, or look for ways to bring it up in conversation.  The world has moved on, even if I feel like I physically haven't.  Being alone has really brought it all to the forefront lately.  If you've seen the movie, "Into Great Silence," that's what it's like around our apartment, and not in a good way.  I got married because I was no good at the contemplative life.  Yet, here I am.

They say you never think it will be you.  I know I never did.  My life had been picture perfect vanilla until two years ago.  I had a lovely childhood with no serious injuries, illnesses, or setbacks, cruised through school, went to college, met a great guy who is so much like me he could be a long lost twin, and was engaged a year after graduation.  We did have some suspicion that the matter of children could be dicey just because of certain aspects of our medical history, but we didn't let it dampen our spirits too much.  We were married in January and pregnant by Easter, but then all our expectations began to crumble rapidly.

I had been looking forward to those kids for years.  I remember a specific trash bag commercial I saw during those weeks while I was waiting to follow Dave to California after the wedding.  I was sure Dave would be an excellent father and make adorable children, probably even cuter than that kid.

Needless to say, my expectations of my life have changed significantly.  At this point, taking all my medical setbacks into consideration along with our hypothetical genetic issues and my apparent inability to carry to term, I am resigned to the fact that we'll never actually be able to raise those adorable children we were supposed to have.  At least, not any that are biologically our own.  Some people just knock harder when that door refuses to open.  I tend to take the hint and accept the rejection before we waste a lot of money or I really hurt myself trying.

I have no problem whatsoever with adopting.  That's currently the five-year plan.  What actually still bothers me - more so while he's not around to tell me I'm being stupid for thinking it - is that Dave deserved to have his own family.  I feel like the defective one in this relationship.  He was wonderful throughout the whole ordeal, but he never asked for all this.  Of course, no one does, but I was mortified, particularly because the timing could not have been worse for him, BOTH times.  I married him to be a help and support, not an invalid who can't stay out of the hospital or muster up enough strength to feed herself.  Part of what has scared me away from deliberately attempting another pregnancy is the thought that the black icing on the cake would be for me to die of uterine rupture and leave him completely high and dry.  I can't even bear the thought.  I've already failed him often enough.

In the meantime, most of our friends have budding families with all the traditional milestones, baptisms, first teeth, first steps, first birthdays.  Their blogs and Facebook pages are full of happy pictures and updates.  It can be extremely bittersweet.  I've invested a lot of mental effort into trying to feel blessed to have two saints rather than merely deprived of viable offspring, and some days are better than others.

In order to move on and be functional we almost have to forget, but we really don't want to forget anything because we already have little enough to remember, and the only memories we have are of hospitals and heartbreak.  I feel guilty when I forget.  It seems particularly hard while there aren't any other children demanding my attention.  Instinctively I feel like I should spend time with them now and then, but what that has basically amounted to up to this point is sitting on the couch and thinking about what we could have been doing.

One lesson I have learned, or at least finally come to accept, is that none of us is entitled to anything in this life.  Their normal may not be our normal.  Our normal is not what we thought it would be, but we are expected to make something of it, and in the end it will be for the best.  Eventually it will be like cheese.  For almost a year I went dairy free and felt painfully deprived each time I saw a pizza.  But after several months I just accepted that cheese was only for other people and that I would have to be happy with something else.  Eventually I forgot what cheese tasted like.

Meanwhile, I'm trying to pull it together to be the tough Navy wife with nerves of steel who can handle anything.  I refuse to fail at anything else, because that would just be lame.  So long as I have some meaningful human contact at least once a week, I'll stay sane.  I actually don't know exactly how long Dave has been gone.  I don't remember, and I haven't kept track.  It's easier that way, since I don't know when he'll be back.

In any case, being alone has given me the chance to confront all my issues and pull my life back together for its own sake.  My life is still awesome, even with all it's apparent flaws.  I haven't been permanently traumatized, and the only substance I have ever abused is chocolate.  I'm determined to get this show back on the road despite the detour.  I haven't quite achieved the goal of domestic warrior demigoddess, but just you wait.

Learning to be Alone

I've had it relatively easy so far compared to other military spouses, so please don't interpret any of this as empty complaining.  This year we're riding the deployment learning curve, and I'm actually surprised by how different it can be.  Fortunately we don't have to face the sheer duration of time which seems to be standard issue in other circumstances; David is already gone on his second deployment in as many months.  Subsequent runs will be longer, but I'm glad we've had this warm-up period.  Up to this point, we had hardly spent two weeks apart (collectively) in the two years we've been married.

Now I'm trying to process the life of a childless, unemployed military wife with no husband to look after.  The middle of the day is remarkably unchanged, but mornings and evenings are suddenly very aimless.  The worst part is the recurring question, "What's the point?"

I used to wake up when Dave woke up, snooze while he showered, and then crawl out of bed to make breakfast.  We would have a nice visit while he got dressed, and when he left I would start my day, usually by 6:30.  Then I could do whatever until 4:00 or 5:00 that evening, when he would come home and I would start dinner.  He would ask, "Wanna watch something?", and we'd eat on the couch in front of a laptop and watch Netflix.  Then we'd go our separate ways doing our own things until bedtime.  Then the routine would begin again.  This actually did happen every single day with very little variation.

Now I can't be bothered to get up while it's still dark because there's no point in getting up.  There is no one to make a hot breakfast for, so I usually settle for cereal at around 9:30.  There is no one to dress for if I'm not running errands, so I end up wearing sweat pants and a ratty sweater.  What is the point of making a decent dinner?  Why should I turn extra lights on, or turn up the heat; it's only me here.  What is the point of going to bed on time if there's no one to go to bed with, and nowhere I need to be in the morning?  My life plan had obviously included children by this point, but that hasn't happened, so apparently I'm free to live the life of a twelve-year-old on summer vacation.

It's not as though I do nothing.  I've actually been doing a lot of writing exercises and working on my stocking commissions for this year.  It's the quiet that bothers me, the silence in the morning when I try to convince myself to get up and face my boring morning routine, exactly the same as yesterday and with very little prospect of anything more exciting happening until tomorrow morning when we can do it all over again.  When I do get rolling, I end up engrossed in whatever project I'm working on for hours on end until I finally look up and realize I'm hungry (maybe I should finally make lunch) or have to use the bathroom (has it been another four hours already?), and then it's quiet again.  I often stay up later than I usually would because I would rather keep playing that YouTube video or watch another Netflix episode than turn everything off and putter around a dark, cold, silent apartment.  

I asked one of my single friends last month how she avoided "What's the point?" syndrome.  Being on active duty in the navy herself, she said the prospect of going to jail if she didn't show for work was motivation enough.  Point taken.  I've often contemplated getting a job, especially now that we have extra debts to pay down and have abandoned any thought of attempting a pregnancy in the near future.  Making stockings is fun and all, but I'm essentially making $1/hour, and that isn't counting expenses.  The extra paycheck would be nice, but the only job I have paper proof of being qualified for is retail, and that stint at Target left me with an acute case of retailitis.  We shall see.