And it makes me cry.
There is a part of military separations that you don't really think about...the collecting, the prepping, the gathering of items. And when they are gathered....they have to sit somewhere. In a house with 4 Beans - those things have to sit somewhere they will not be bothered. So, our room has been a disaster for the last month. Cliff bars, bedding, towels, uniforms, toiletries to last FOREVER, laundry detergent, pillows....all of this (and MORE!) have been lining the walls of our room. Stacked at the foot of our bed. Filling the empty spaces.
Our room is my haven - it isn't fancy, it isn't special, but it is devoid of toys and not a Kid Zone. It is my peaceful place. My easiest room to keep neat. So this last month of having sea bags and Bed, Bath, and Beyond bags, and boots, and all sorts of things messing up my one clean space....has been a rather big source of tension for me. I couldn't go chill and bury my head in the sand about this deployment. Because it was all around me. There was nowhere for me to hide.
But now - today - it is clean. The sea bags were loaded. The bedding was packed. I could vacuum all the spaces that are supposed to be clean - because all the gear was gone. And you would think that would make me happy. But it didn't. Seeing all those things loaded into a car, knowing they were headed straight for a boat...not to return for a horribly-long time...it was not a completely sane moment. I know some of my emotional psychotic triggers....so, I sent the kids downstairs before I started vacuuming. And melting down. Crying that ugly cry where your lip shakes and you hope no one ever sees.
So, yes, my room is clean.
The floor has lovely vacuum marks.
But the closet is half-full.
The armoire has an empty shelf and an empty drawer.
The shoe rack is missing boots and brown shoes and running shoes and flip flops and slippers.
And my tears are falling.
Loving a military man does not mean you love less deeply.
It doesn't mean you love less strongly.
It means your love is tested through fire.
It means you hurt and miss and cry.
It means you pick yourself up and wipe your tears and continue on with life.
So, while I may be making the short trip to crazy rather often - it is because I love this man more than anything in the world.
Being apart is hard - but he is worth it.
And I love his crazy as much as he loves mine. :)