I awake at 6:30 AM alone. This in itself is not so disturbing; after-all most days my husband is gone long before I rise.  The realization that my husband is not coming home for a very long time hits me when I glance over to his side of the bed and see the smooth bedcovers and tidy pillows. I pause for a moment to allow the sadness to wash over me. I have vowed not to dwell or wallow, but to fully feel the peaks and valleys of emotion that are sure to come. My hope is that by honoring and acknowledging all of the accompanying feelings that may arise throughout this journey that I will in some way ease the angst.

The moment has passed and it’s time to face the day. The thought occurs to me that making the bed will be easier with only one side to straighten. I rip the pillow case off his pillow as if to make a clean break and toss it in the dirty clothes basket. (I am sure there is some deep psychological meaning to that action, but I have no desire this morning to examine it.) I have not slept well and am in desperate need of a cup of coffee.

I pour my coffee and head up to turn on my laptop. I am berating myself for not getting up earlier so that I could exercise and spend some quiet time reading before starting my day, but that just makes me feel worse. My stomach is feeling queasy; most likely anxiety, the strain of the last few days and weeks of apprehension and stress. I begin my daily work regimen. Routine is my friend and my solace.

Unexpectedly Anthony calls from Germany and we catch up for a few minutes on what has happened since his departure. He asks how I am doing and about the children. I fill him in on the evening before; the tears, the conversations, my son’s excitement over getting a Facebook account, the donuts, the carwash and the $30 worth of candy I bought at Wal-Mart for the kids’ “countdown jars.” I neglect to mention that I have a “countdown jar” of my own. He fills me in on his schedule for the next few weeks in Germany (at least as much as he is allowed.) We may not be able to have any contact from him for the duration of the training. I wake my youngest son knowing that he will be devastated if he misses an opportunity to speak to his daddy and hand him the phone. They speak for a brief few minutes. Not much is said, but the connection is all that matters.

I feel so much lighter. I thought perhaps that I would be sad when I talked to him, but instead I am reassured and comforted. The ocean that separates us disappears and we are just having a conversation like so many other insignificant days. Words have power and the sound of his voice is like a touch, a connection that restores normalcy. The kids get up, the day goes on and it is like nothing has changed.

I take a break and remember to send an email/text to the rest of our family to let them know that Anthony has arrived safely in Germany. I am the information and communication portal. That is one of the many roles that a military spouse must fulfill. He cannot contact them all; he is only allowed a couple brief calls a week and that is barely enough for us. They must subsist on nuggets from me for the time being.

The day passes in uneventful fashion; work, household chores, dinner and activities, until it hits me…someone has to clean up the dog poop, clean the hamster cage and empty the dehumidifier. These are all tasks that usually fall under Anthony’s jurisdiction. We meant to divide them up and re-assign all of his home duties before he left, but just never got around to it. I have an emergency meeting after dinner with the two younger children at home and we quickly devise a plan to cover the chore gap left by Anthony’s absence. Elijah will do garbage day, Alex will vacuum the pool, I will empty the kitchen garbage, clean the Hamster cage, test and chlorinate the pool and we will split dehumidifier and poop duty. We have a game plan and we are off; how long that will last I do not know. All goes well until Bob the Hamster will not come out of his cage and into his rolling ball that is his home for the duration of his cage cleaning. My patience are thin and I refuse to be defeated by a small pet rodent. I get tired of coaxing and just reach into the cage, grab his wiggling, furry form. Elijah informs me that I am not cleaning the cage the way dad does it. This is met with a glare as I calmly explain to him that I am much more efficient than dad and from now on we will do it my way.

I finally settle into bed with my laptop to write my journal entry for the evening. It has been a long, mentally and physically exhausting day. I have a glass of wine and some cheese and crackers. I celebrate that we have made it through the first day unscathed. I am feeling very hopeful that all will be well and it might not be as awful as I had remembered from the last time. It was too good to be true; I should have known. As I got about two-thirds of the way through my writing, Alexandra came home from a friend’s birthday party, knocked on my door and said there was an awful burning smell coming from the VW Beetle or “Bug” as we affectionately call it. My stomach dropped and I asked the “burning” question, fearful of the answer. “Did you remember to take the emergency brake off?”  “Ooops!” she replied. “Is that really bad?” I put my hands over my face, trying to maintain my calm and composure and simply said, “Yes, that is kind of bad.” It will have to wait until morning.

We have made it through our first day safe and sound, but not quite unscathed…