military girlfriend

All posts tagged military girlfriend

Saying Goodbye

Published February 15, 2015 by Tasha

You know its coming and even though you’ve gone it a million times before, it still leaves you feeling empty. It leaves you feeling hollow and alone, even if you’d just had the most amazing time with him. And every time they leave you have that moment, that second, where you really consider what it’s doing to you. To them. To the relationship. Instead of seeing a light at the end of this dark, tiring tunnel, you see a small flicker and sometimes, in these moments, it almost goes out completely. Almost.

By now, coming into our third year of distance, this May, I have a routine down pat. Once he leaves, I walk back into my room with my heart still beating fast from that last kiss, that last hug, those last few touches and I curl up in bed. It still smells like him and I wrap myself in the blankets, with his hoodie on, and I fall asleep for a few hours. He usually gives me a text when he’s arrived home, just so I know he’s okay. We’ll talk for a little bit before one of us falls asleep. And then I get up the next day and go about my business, wishing I could come home to him.

Saying goodbye is never easy. And there have been, there are times, that we have both really thought about what we are doing. Moving to Darwin was a decision I made to close the distance, but even then, we still have a car ride and fuel prices to pay before we can make the trip to see each other.

One day it will be over. One day he will come home to me, every single night. One day I will be able to wake up to him every single morning and not have to worry about when he is leaving again. One day we will have a place of our own.
One day, we will look back and say “we’ve made it.”


The Beginning of the End

Published December 17, 2013 by Tasha

I can feel it. I can slowly feel the year coming to an end. Christmas season is in full swing, is boiling hot with clear morning skies and summer night time storms. Decorations are up everywhere and the crazy Christmas rush will soon appear. The shops will be packed in the next few days, making the simple task of getting milk and bread a two hour mission. It all comes with the season I guess, it doesn’t bother me.

But this Christmas feels broken.

My parents, who brought me up to believe that love is everlasting and marriage is forever, told my sister and I about their separation a few months back. This will be the last Christmas as a “family”.

This will be my first Christmas without my best friend Lissa. And that hurts more than I could ever express. It hurts so much that at night I don’t sleep, I don’t even cry. I just stare at the ceiling until my mind gives up and sleep pulls me away.
Lissa and I had so many plans. We were meant to go to Italy, Paris, Germany, Greece …. Europe these holidays starting the day after Christmas. It was going to be a three month holiday, just us. We had been organizing it for the whole year, and having our boyfriends meet us at our last destination Greece (if it was possible). She was my rock. She understood the Military life. Her long term boyfriend was an Airman, just as mine was. I miss her everyday. Its is just a month and  half off a full year of her murder. And the day that I saw my world crumble. I would give anything to have her back.

To add to my stress … Is Him. He alone hasn’t done anything. That I know of. Apart from being radio silent today. Yesterday we had a talk about his mother. He wants to have another talk to her, as she disapproves of “us”. And for “us” to actually have a future he needs her to be happy about it. And I get that, man, I do. But he also doesn’t know the full story. He doesn’t know the history between her and me and how she absolutely terrifies me. She has so much power, and she has hurt me so much in the past. When he gets back home he wants to get everything out in the open. Which means that I have to talk to him about what she’s done and said to me. Just writing it down is making me shake.
Telling him can go two ways. He can run or he can work through this with me … Just like he said. I just want him home.

On a happier note though, he comes home this weekend for a month. Which is simply amazing. Right after he leaves I’ll be moving out.
Yes! Leaving home … Packing up and making the next step to adulthood. We haven’t got a place yet, but we do have a place to go to if we don’t find a house soon. It will be a good start to 2014. I am very excited to start this new chapter! And really its the only thing thats keeping me afloat right now. I have so many things going on in my life, a lot of things ending while others just beginning. It feels like my head is going to explode!

But … I am looking forward to the end of 2013. This year was an absolute nightmare and I will be glad when it is behind me.
Its the Beginning of the End. 2014 WILL be my year!

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.
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.