R&R leave is recommended by the military so that the soldier can have two weeks of stress-free (as in nobody is shooting at you) relaxation and well earned family time. For the Army Wife, R&R should be described as a two-week virtual-out-of-body experience where your stressed out (as in somebody has been shooting at him for the past 6 months) husband returns home, sleeps, sleeps, and sleeps. Ironically, it is never a ‘restful’ sleep which fuels the fire for a greater need for more sleep. For two weeks, the Army Wife finds herself: reminding the kids that normal people have time to sit down as a family at the dinner table, cooking elaborate meals (while trying to disguise the fact that she hasn’t touched the oven in six months), and wearing X-rated lingerie (that she purchased from Victoria’s Secret with all of the gift cards that her friends generously donated once they learned that the hot soldier was finally coming home for two weeks). R&R is the time period where the kids can only be described as hyper-excited, the dog pees on the floor every time the soldier walks into the room, and your friends decide to ‘give you space’ and suddenly drop off the face of the planet. It’s a universal truth that R&R is the two week period where you find yourself going to bed with a cell phone that has a full battery—because nobody texts, calls, or dares to disturb the blissful reunion of the happy couple-- and gaining 5 lbs because you are suddenly eating three well balanced meals a day that all contain cheese, butter, and breadcrumbs. To the non-military, R&R is believed to be the second honeymoon, a time for googly-eyes, love poems, and beautiful families that blissfully cheer on the local soccer team while waving American flags… but to those involved, R&R is an emotional rollercoaster that is more exhausting then taking three kids to Disney World. It’s a surreal blip on the radar where suddenly- poof!-- your husband appears, your kids start behaving, and you have to remind yourself to shave your legs… but it is over in a heartbeat. You blink your eyes, and next thing you know you are back at the airport waving goodbye, pretending you have the strength to do the deployment dance for another 6 months. That’s where I am…five days into my own Pleasantville-version of R&R—a fully charged phone, three strung-out kids, and a suddenly incontinent dog.
My surreal blip started last Tuesday, when my soldier arrived home a good two days earlier than expected (Karma happens to support the troops). I had just finished up a spin class, and was dripping sweat ALL over the car, when I got the call that my hubs was in Dallas and would be landing in San Antonio in less than 1.5 hours. My initial reaction—YAY! OMG! He’s finally stateside! My three-second-later-reaction—OMG! HOLY SH#T! I CAN’T PICK HIM UP LIKE THIS?” A quick glance in the rearview mirror only confirmed my worst fears: I needed to shower, shave my legs, pick up my daughter from preschool, and somehow find a way to look smoking hot in a slutty sundress…. And I hadn’t even made it home from the gym yet. A quick mental survey of the house reminded me that the sink was still full of the morning dishes, the guinea pig hadn’t been changed in at least 5 days, and there was no telling when the last time the kids had last managed to get all of their dirty laundry out from under their beds and into the hamper. A quick regrouping of priorities (laundry and dishes were going to have to wait), the world’s fastest shower, and about a gallon of curl enhancer (flat ironing hair was no longer a viable option) and I was ready to go. I grabbed my cell phone, a new pair of sandals, and a tube of mascara and sprinted out the door.
Now, one would think Karma would have been done messing with the stressed out Army Wife-- after all, a 2.5 day early arrival had already wreaked enough havoc on my deployment-induced ulcer—but as usual she had only begun to rearrange the events in my life. At the same time as I was making a mad dash for the airport (while applying layers of mascara at every traffic light), I got a phone call from one of my closest friends who wanted to wish me luck (he totally agrees that Karma is out to get me) AND had some information about a job opening that I may be interested in. He gave me the brief details that he knew, and I half listened while occasionally grunting in acknowledgment—and mentally added ‘send out résumé’ to the ever growing list. I hung up the phone—feeling more strung out than a closet soccer mom on methamphetamines—and noticed that a new text had come in while I was driving. The text read, “In Dallas. See you soon.”…. and no, the text was not from Jim. The text was from Jim’s DAD—as in my father-in-law! There I was, flying down I-35 with hair big-enough and curly-enough to qualify me for the Miss America pageant to pick up my husband (who I hadn’t seen in 8 months) AND plan a rendezvous with his dad (who I hadn’t seen in a year) while wondering if I should I apply for this job AND wishing that University of Texas would hurry up and get back to me about grad school. In other words, I was a total big-haired-Yankee-biatch-train-wreck at a cross road in life… only I didn’t have time for any serious self-reflection (or a martini).
Thankfully, I somehow managed to arrive at the airport in one piece (and with eyelashes long enough to rival a llama) just as Jim was walking out of the USO. I froze mid-stride. Time seemed to stop. And for at least thirty-seconds everything in my own little Army Wife World ceased to exist. Jim had finally walked out of my dream and was suddenly standing in front of me—duffle bag casually slung over his shoulder his traditional lopsided grin gracing his face. He was tired, dusty, and smelled downright weird…. but he was there. Jim, the man who crushed my heart into a thousand tiny pieces when he boarded that DC-10 to Iraq eight months ago, was suddenly standing less than a foot away. And I instantly knew, that for the next two weeks all would be right with the world-- Karma couldn’t touch me.
Five days into R&R, and I am still dancing around taunting Karma. It hasn’t been an easy transition, nor has it always been a smooth one, but with every moment I learn a little more about sacrifice, honor, loneliness, and love. I know exactly who I am without him around—motivated, strong, passionate, and perhaps a bit of a binge drinker—but I also know what I am missing. And the answer is simply my other half. For eight months now, I have been walking around with this giant gaping hole in my soul that ripped open when Uncle Sam pulled him towards Iraq. I filled it with running, writing, service to others, late-night martinis with friends, and a desperate journey to figure out exactly where I fit into the world, but the wound never seemed to heal. Nothing could assuage the suffering. Loneliness was the ultimate enemy, and he was slowly choking away my vitality and strength with each day of the deployment.
But thankfully Karma wasn’t done with me yet—she may have shown me my weakness and presented me with a mountain of pain and more baggage than Paris Hilton to carry around, but she also gently reminded me that life is a gift. Each day is a blessing, and it is up to each of us to live life to its fullest. Pain teaches each of us that we are still alive and still struggling towards the ultimate goal. Loneliness reminds us that it is only the brave souls—those courageous enough to share their heart—that can ever truly define love. And I now know, without-a-doubt, that love—the real foot-popping, butterflies in the stomach, I miss you so much that it hurts kind of love-- truly exists. I found myself face-to-face—and against all odds-- with it five days ago in the San Antonio Airport. Love was beautiful, in need of a shower, and wearing the dusty uniform of a United States soldier. My soldier. At long last, Karma had presented me with the ultimate reward… Love had finally come home to me.
“what matters most is how well you walk through the fire”
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