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All posts for the month October, 2013

Orders …

Published October 29, 2013 by Tasha

Something happened to me a fortnight ago. It changed me and I know it has changed my life. And it’s something that will always haunt me, no matter how much time or healing passes.
I’m not ready to say what it is, hell I can’t even say it aloud … to anyone.
I’ve told as little people as possible, a grand total of 5 people know. All very close to me, all devastated and all burdened by it. I never wanted that. I’m one of those people who will do ANYTHING to make sure my loved ones aren’t hurt by me, burdened, disadvantaged by me. One of the people that I’ve told, who were one of the firsts to know, is Him. It was a massive step to let him know. He could of done two things, accepted what had happened and be willing to help me or freak out and run away. I was terrified of the second option happening as he has a habit of doing things like that.
But instead he came through. He has stood by me, believed in me, helped me, basically he’s been my knight in shining armor. How he sees me, how he treats me is  no different to how he treated me before it happened. He as been amazing and i cannot thank him enough for his constant care and support.

But now it’s my time to be there for him, and i don’t know how. He finally found out his orders … Where he will be posted for the next three or so years. Its ages away from home, its a 4/5 hour plane ride and a 2/3 hour car ride to get to him. When he told me, my heart stopped and then broke a little for the both of us. He’s not happy but he’s trying to make the most of it. I’m proud of him for doing that. But I know he needs support, I just have no idea how to give it to him. I don’t know what to say, because i was hoping, praying, wishing he’d get the base here at home. And its hard to be strong when you’re equally as disappointed.

At times he is okay and other times, a lot of the time for the past week, he’s been pushing me away, pulling away. And there’s nothing I can do, nothing that seems to get through to him. All I want to do is be there for him, hug him, reassure him that it wont be so bad … Even if I don’t believe it. But he’s purposfully avoiding me, not terribly, but its there. And he does this everytime there is a massive change coming up. He goes from being himself, to overly protective and caring, to pretty much dropping off the face of the earth or pushing me away to the point I get frustrated, back to being himself. And this process could take months.

I don’t know. I wish I could be with him, but I can’t. He still has another few weeks of training before his Grad and then he’ll be moving to his new base and then home for christmas (fingers crossed!). He needs a break.

The Military sucks sometimes.

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This is to You, The Military Wife/Girlfriend

Published October 17, 2013 by Tasha

I did  not write this …. This is from a lovely lady, Ashleigh.
This is the link to it, but i have no idea how to “share” thing on here … So cut and paste is the only thing i could do to get it here.
http://ashleighbaker.net/2012/11/this-is-to-you-the-military-wife/
This is everything ….

This is to you, the one who married the uniformed man. To you, the one who stands beside him. You, the one with whom he links arms, but not hands, because, of course, intertwined fingers aren’t authorized while in uniform.

This is to you, the one who planned your wedding alone while he was across the globe. To you, the girl who met him at the airport and drove straight to the rehearsal. To you, who spent one week with your new husband before he boarded a plane and flew away for the first six months of your marriage.

This is to you, the one who plans your career around being transient, knowing you won’t stay anywhere long. To you, the one whose resume is a mile long, but not because you can’t hold a job. You, the one who works at the bank, the salon, the retailer, the clinic, the studio, logging long hours to supplement military earnings.

This is to you, the base housing goddess. The one who reuses curtains, rearranges furniture, and transfers the pictures from one faded white wall to another. The one who hopes for an address in the good neighborhood, prays for quiet neighbors and crosses your fingers for appliances constructed during your lifetime.

This is to you, the off-base dweller. The one who dreams of paying a mortgage instead of rent. The one who forms community with people who don’t always understand the demands on your life, people who have family nearby, people who don’t plan to move away in three years. You, the one who ensures the military clause in your lease, ever prepared to break the contract if you’re ordered to move in less than a month.

This is to you, the one who hasn’t been home in two years, because your parents are thirty hours away and plane tickets are expensive. To you, the one who sends photos and plans Skype dates when new babies are born. You, the one who spends Thanksgiving with friends you’ve met at church.

This is to you, military wife, the one who delivers a baby without him. The one who calls your friends to drive you to the hospital, to hold your legs while you push. This is to you, the one who talks to him on the phone, tears staining your smile as you describe to him his newborn’s face.

This is to you, for when you felt yourself slipping, darkness pressing close, and everyone told you to buck up, told you it was just stress. To you, the one who heard that weakness is failure and that admitting it would harm his mission. To you, for when you went to the clinic doctor anyway and were strong enough to ask for help.

This is to you, the one who stands in the dining room, wiping the table with a rag the night he comes home and announces he has orders. To you, whose heart drops to your feet as your eyes lock with his. To you, the one who breathes in sharply, who feels your throat tighten. You, the one who wipes tears and stands taller and feels ill and immediately begins to compose a mental checklist.

This is to you, the one who wakes at 3am and bundles the little ones in blankets. To you, the one who drives him to an empty blackened parking lot. You, the one who waits in the cold while he loads his sea bags, gathers his weapons.

This is to you, the one who clings to his neck, who kisses his lips, who waves your hand high while he drives away on a full white bus.

This is to you, the one who waits for a call, who keeps your cell phone glued to your hand. To you, the one who checks the mailbox incessantly and refreshes your inbox ten times an hour. You, the one who quells the ever present pit in your stomach and refuses to listen to the news.

This is to you, the one who holds your little ones when they don’t understand. The one who explains why Daddy is gone again, or why he’s working so late each night, or why it’s time to say goodbye to their friends yet again. This is to you, the one who steels yourself, for them, when your own heart breaks.

This is to you, the one who maintains the routine, who moves through the days, who sits in the quiet of the evenings. To you, the one who pays the bills, mows the lawn and takes the car for its tune up. You, the one who falls asleep on the couch, who tries to fill the bed by sleeping diagonally.

This is to you, brave military wife, the one who counts the days and then the hours and then the minutes until he returns.

And then he does.

This is to you.

 

This is to you, the one who makes it to ten years, and then to fifteen, and then to two or three decades. To you, the one who thought he’d be out by now. To you, the one who remains as he reenlists, as he pins on rank, as he earns medals. You, the one who holds him close, knowing he’s yours, but sharing him every day.

This is to you, Marine wives, Army wives, Navy wives, Air Force wives, Coast Guard wives. I raise my glass to you, the brave and proud ones, strong and valiant ones, veterans in your own right.

This is to you.

This is to us.

 

#10 – Letters to Him

Published October 11, 2013 by Tasha

To You Baby,

Last weekend was magical.
It was breathtaking, it was exciting, it was also heart breaking. When you wrapped your arms around me and I reached up on my tiptoes to nuzzle into your neck, I didn’t realise how much I’d missed you.
When I breathed in your familiar cologne, when I saw you walking briskly towards me in uniform, with that smile, I didn’t notice how much my heart had ached for you.

When I saw you, hugged you, heard your voice first hand for the first time in four months …. It took me completely by surprise when my eyes started pooling with tears. I blinked them away before you could notice and replaced it with a smile that only you can bring out, but it still hurt. Just a little and in a familiar happy way. It was the way I use to feel every time I’d fly down to see you after being apart for a few months. Bittersweet. I was seeing you again after waiting but I knew that our time would end and we would have to return to the waiting again.

Last weekend told me everything I needed to know. I know you felt the same way. Those moments when I would turn to you and you’d already be gazing at me. So soft, so kind, so gentle. Those times when you’d murmur my name in the middle of the night, or the times when you wouldn’t stop holding me.

The four months we spent apart, struggling, felt like an eternity but the 3 days we spent together felt like a second. And then it was time for the goodbye. The last hug, the last kiss, the last word before you turned your back and walked slowly back to your truck. I stood there and watched you for as long as I could. Then I got in my car and shut the door quietly, I punched the address into the GPS and started my journey back home.

This time I didn’t let myself cry. I took a deep breath, reminded myself I will see you in two months and started to drive. I must have replayed our few days together a thousand times over by the time I walked through my front door.
This time I made myself focus on my work, on the life I have here. The hopes, the dreams, the reality. And then, when it’s time to fall back into bed, I let my mind wander to you, to us, and I find myself smiling. I go to sleep with a distant smile on my lips.

I don’t recognise myself as your girlfriend, because I’m not. We’re not there. But neither do I consider myself as your friend. I know I’m that at the very least, in our darkest moments. I know that I’m considerably more than your friend. I’m your “person” just like you’re mine. It will always be that way with us. We will always have that bond, that connection, that somehow cannot be broken. No matter what happens to us now, in the future, “we” will never be completely broken. It’s comforting.

Thank you for such a perfect weekend. It’s one that I’ve needed for a long time. And even though the timing is all wrong right now, we still have each other. We have dragged each other through hell and back this year, but somehow we’ve come out of it okay. Both stronger, more mature …. More confident people.

So thank you baby, whatever the future holds for us … I know you’re going to be there. Just like I will be. Always.