To say it’s been a rough few weeks would be an understatement.
To make sure my son’s speech delay isn’t part of an auditory processing issue, he’s seeing a pediatric audiologist in a few weeks. I’m waiting on a call from an Endocrinologist at Vanderbilt, to schedule an appointment for blood work and x-rays for my daughter. We’re trying to figure out why she appears to be going through the early stages puberty at the age of six! (As if going through it at 10 wasn’t bad enough!) My husband’s timeline for deployment got changed, so we have even less time together than we originally did. I’m stressed to the max and have no support system in place, once my husband is gone. I haven’t spoken to my mother since April 1st, when she realized that she had missed my daughter’s birthday… Six weeks earlier… My grandfather passed away April 15 (what was that about death and taxes?) and I found out from a text message from my cousin, in Florida. Confirmed through a phone call from my soon to be ex-step-dad, in Missouri. Still no phone call from mom. It’s the middle of August. I’m not even sure she knows my husband is deploying. I know she doesn’t know about Sissy’s issues, or that Little Brother might have a hearing problem. My sister at least texted my son a “Happy Birthday” on his birthday. We haven’t spoken since August 2010, when she “tweeted” (that’s right, on Twitter for the world at large to see!), “Maybe if you stop treating her like a retard, she would stop acting like one.” This was in reference to the way we had to bathe our daughter at the time. She’s hypersensitive to water near her ears or on her face. We had to adapt ways of bathing her to make it easier on her. She has since begun taking showers and we’ve found things that work for her.
Anyways, It’s just been a rough week. I don’t want my husband to deploy, not that the Army consulted me on the matter before issuing his orders. I wont stop him from going because I know he wants to lead his men. He has trained for this moment and it’s his job. Which means, I’m alone. It’s just sad. I don’t want to lose him. There are so many ways to lose him. He could be killed, he could enjoy the time alone so much that he doesn’t want to come back to us, he could end up with PTSD and not come home emotionally whole, he could be injured and give up. There are many ways to lose someone.
We talked about some of this last night. I told him, “I will love you every day. If you just keep breathing. I wont count fingers and toes, as long as you are breathing. I wont give up on you, as long as you are breathing. We can work through anything, as long as you don’t stop breathing. Every day, all day long, I need you to breathe. I just need you to breathe.”
I really don’t care how he comes home. He could dive under the table when a car backfires, I will be there beside him. He could be paralyzed, I would build the ramps to our porch myself. He could be missing a finger, toe, half an ear, I would make him one out of macaroni noodles, if it would make him laugh. As long as he keeps breathing, he will be fighting and I will be fighting beside him.
He will leave sooner than we had planned. We have less time to get things in order and make sure it will all work while he’s gone.
But I know this…
He will keep breathing.
I will keep breathing.
And next summer, hopefully, we will be breathing together.