Military musings.

Ugh. So the surge. THE SURGE. It has already sparked debate in my household... I agree with the plan (this would be the "shitting" portion of my previously held position of "shit or get off the pot") generally speaking... even though I know as well as most of you what this surge means... and I hate the price that we will have to pay for success.

It means extended tours. It means increasing the OpTempo once again. It means tapping into a well that is already running dry. And worst of all, it means that my friends, my military family (and possibly Swiss and I), will have to pay the price... paid with fear, worry, trepidation, loneliness, holidays spent alone, a year without their loved ones, living with the omnipresent cloud of a loved one at war... every day. It will be paid with blood, sweat and tears. It will be paid with lives lost too soon. It will be paid with young widows and children who will never grow up with two parents.

I shudder to think about all of the other families getting ready for this surge. The ones who will leave yet this month... the ones who are getting the calls to ready for deployment. The ones who's hearts sunk when the final word broke today- knowing full well their families would be the ones bearing the burden. The ones who's lives will be put through the ringer (wringer?) in every imaginable way. The ones who will live this next year on the edge of their seats... afraid of the news, the phone ringing, the unfamiliar sedan in front of the house... the ones who will live in fear of the ringing of their doorbell.

But more than anything... watching the CBS News and hearing the reporter say that these troops would be there for "just one year"... my temper flared, my voice rose two octaves and I was using my outside voice inside. JUST ONE YEAR? Just. One. Year. *gasp* I've lived that year. I'm still living it. There is no "just" in one year. That is every holiday spent alone. That is 360-ish nights alone in your large bed meant for two. That is a full year of mowing the lawn, raking every leaf, shoveling every last snowfall alone. That is a full year of involuntary single parenthood. That is countless missed birthdays... missed first steps... missed first anniversaries... missed nights spent like any other normal couple across this country. There is no "just" in a year.

Inevitably, my rant turned into my least favorite (and admittedly touchiest) subject. "They signed up for this." And you know who said it? My parents. My blood began to boil. My rationality went out the window. I KNOW he chose this. But in no way, shape or form does that make this easy or fun or not horrible. And then I was told that "that isn't what I meant, it isn't personal". How could it not be personal? These are real people who have to enact this surge... families torn apart... IT IS, AT IT'S VERY ROOT, PERSONAL. It couldn't not be personal, if for no other reason, because this surge could lead to Swiss's retirement paperwork being denied. Which means he will be part of this surge. Another war. Another deployment. Another round of God Please Just Bring Him Home, every night, every day. How much more personal could it be?

I don't think I will ever get over how disconnected the American public is from this military lifestyle and all it entails. I understand that living it gives one a unique understanding an outsider could never match (Maude knows I didn't get it until I lived it). But I don't see how the general public can be so flippant about it. "Its their job." "Its about time." "They should send more" ... I want to shout that there aren't more to send.... they can't keep this up... this is taking its toll in ways you can't even begin to fathom!!! But I know, no matter how I say it, it will fall on deaf ears... because it isn't their spouse. It isn't their kid. It isn't their sibling. And it isn't their concern. It's just another talking point... another way to grade a President... another game to armchair quarterback. And it isn't personal.

So, to all of you who are or will be touched by this: May your loved ones come home safely, may this conflict end swiftly and without loss, and may your family, friends and whomever you pray to give you the comfort, support, love and reassurance you need. And know that I will be here for you.

What I know and what I don't.

I know that we only have somewhere around three-ish months left now that Swiss is headed back to theatre. I know that the countdown has begun and that we are technically short-timers. I know that three-ish months is a piece of cake in the grand scheme of things. I know that the worst of it is behind us. I know that we are doing wonderfully and that we will get through this with flying colors. I know that I can do this and I can handle the relatively little time that we have left apart because I've already done it and done it well for 8.5 months. I know that this is the last time (knock on wood) we have to do this. I know all of this. Really, I do.

But Good Maude. This is still so effing hard. I don't know why I didn't think it would be. I don't know why I wasn't prepared for how much this hurts. Swiss and I have spent the better part of our relationship saying goodbye. In fact, I'm reasonably certain we've spent more time apart than we have together (which really should be more disturbing than I find it). Shouldn't I be used to this? Shouldn't it get easier? Shouldn't I have figured out by now how to cope with this?

Today has been so much harder than I thought it would be. It is so completely different than any other time he's had to leave. It is certainly different than when he first left for the sandbox... that one was the worst by far (as you all know). It doesn't feel so foreboding, so menacing, so long. But it does feel like I've been punched in the gut, chewed up and spit out, gutted. I feel empty and kind of lost. Like my world has been upended yet again... I suppose it has. I feel the raw emotions that are almost like those of a break-up... that fresh, searing hurt because you can't possibly imagine life without that person in it. Like you can't breathe and can't figure out how you'll go on. And it is the kind of emotional tsunami that crashes over you when you least expect it. An hour plus driving in the car? I was fine. Hop in the shower? Meltdown. Moving his bag of dirty ACU's? Fine. Thinking about how long it will be before his arms are around me again? Meltdown. Typing this in a hotel lobby? Meltdown.

I guess I just didn't think that this would be so hard. I though I was tougher. I thought that since we had knocked out so much of this deployment already, dealt with goodbyes so many times before (albeit in different circumstances), mentally prepared myself for what this would be like... I thought that I would be okay. Its just that I don't feel okay right now. Not even close.

I know I will be okay. I know I'll find my groove and get back into the old new routine. I know he will be home "soon" and that with the holidays coming up and the move to Fort X the time should fly by. But as far as I'm concerned? It won't be soon enough. And I wish I knew how to make this empty, gut-wrenching hurt go away.