Happy Sad

One of my guilty pleasures is watching military homecomings. Whether it’s with their never-before-seen newborns, pets or family, I could watch homecomings for hours on end.  Could be a surprise could just be at the airport, docks, base, whatever.

One of the reasons I love these so much is because I’ve been there. My first husband was a U.S. Marine. He is a great man. I remember waiting for him at K-Bay (Kane’ohe Marine Corps Base). My stomach in knots. Nervous. I don’t know why you’re so nervous about seeing them again. It’s like you’re worried they won’t recognize you or be happy to see you. The biggest fear is they won’t be there. I scanned faces, frowning, you always get so depressed when you don’t see them immediately that fear they missed the plane/boat/bus or something much worse becomes palpable. I had my leis, my gifts in the car. There’s this monumental build. At any moment you feel like you’re just going to crumble to dust. Somehow, he got behind me. Tricky bastard. He wrapped his arms around my waist and whispered softly in my ear.  I spun around on my heels so quick I was dizzy and I fell into him and there was such a release in me. I clung to him like if I let go I was going to lose myself.  My body quivered and heaved and shook. I cried and shrieked and wailed and clawed at him.  I crushed the leis in my hand and couldn’t find words. There are no words for the relief, for the joy of a safe return. I was scared to let him go. We stood there for a long time while the tears slipped out and my voice was foreign to me. Even when he was putting his bags in the car I clung to him. His friend, who we called “Fez” had no one waiting for him, so I brought him a lei and a gift too and hugged him but kept one hand on my husband.

We spent nine months apart from each other. I wrote him letters every day and he told me some weeks when the mail got backed up he’d get a literal garbage bag full of mail from me. He was in Okinawa, Tinian, Philippines, Guam. When he was in Okinawa we could talk on the phone.  Sometimes I’d drive to the base to be able to have video chats (this was 2002 after all). I’d leave parties or friend’s houses early just to race home and be able to talk to him on the phone before he’d be out in the field for weeks.

It takes a special breed to wait and stay dedicated. The only reason I could do it that time was I had my family and friends as a support system. I lived in Hawaii (where I grew up) and my routine wasn’t demolished by his absence. When his next big deployment to Iraq rolled around in 2007, we had moved to North Carolina. I had no support system I had a few friends, no family and was looking for work after graduating college. I couldn’t do an indefinite deployment. I just couldn’t do it. 

I’ll never forget what that marriage taught me. I watch those videos because I can relate to what I see in their eyes. The mixture of love, relief, joy. I cry when I see these reunions because I know how scared they were. When they’re gone you’re terrified all the time. At least I was. I interacted socially. I kept myself busy but I was truly afraid every minute of the day. I slept with one of his dirty PT shirts on a pillow so I wouldn’t forget his scent. I kept pictures of him everywhere so I wouldn’t forget his face. I was recording TV shows on VHS tapes to mail him so he knew he was in my thoughts.

When you have a loved one in the military and they are deployed it’s life consuming. It’s in your thoughts minute-to-minute. You have nightmares, you have intimate dreams, you talk and talk  and talk about them until people stop coming around. Then you act like you’re fine, give the semblance of normalcy, but you cry at night and when they call, you breakdown.  Hearing their voice creates a physical response. My body would shake.

Their return to your life is like a gift you never thought possible. I tricked myself into thinking him being away was normal; this was how it was going to be forever. When he was standing, in front of me, grinning, I never thought I could be so happy.

My husband now, was a submariner in the Navy when we met. We dated long distance and through his underways and when I’d see him at the airport it was that same euphoric happiness. It was the I-never-believed-this-was-going-to-happen relief. 

The military has a way of putting that finality in your thoughts. The depressing, consuming thought that This.Could.Be.The.Last.Time. It’s heart-wrenching. It’s nerve-wracking. It’s life-altering. When they return. When you see their face. When you can hug them, kiss them, smell them again. There is no greater bliss.

The Reality of the Situation

My mind played a dirty trick on me. A few nights ago, I had a very vivid dream where Tim and I found out we were pregnant and we were trying to decide how to tell our loved ones. We were happy. When I woke up it was evident this was not the situation. The next day was followed by granny panties and a strong need for chocolate, reaffirming the no-baby situation.

I understand a lot of couples don’t want babies or are grateful for that monthly reminder that they are in fact baby free. I used to be excited about that too. Until I was diagnosed with Poly Cystic Ovary Syndrome. Until I was told odds of me conceiving are silm. Until that option of having kids was taken from me.

My husband and I have been attempting this whole “let’s start a family” thing for well over a year. We’ve faced a lot of hardships in that year. To the people who get knocked up on the first try or within the first month, fuck you. Fuck you in your happy fucking faces. I know I’m not the only woman who faces this. Who weeps when she gets her period or feels a pain in her chest when she sees people with strollers. I know. I know it’s not just me. To all my friends pregnant or with newborns, trust me I don’t hate you, I just wish I was you. It’s just tough for me to see the pictures of your babies. To hear the antidotes. To know all the ins and outs of your pregnancy. It’s hard. It’s really, really hard.  To be honest it’s like a slap in the face. But at the same time I can’t stop looking at your pregnant bellies and your baby pictures. It’s a very painful addiction. I know I comment on all your photos and like all your statuses  and seem really interactive and I am genuinely happy for you. It’s a punch in the guts. Your children are all so beautiful. I will never stop admiring your children and commenting on your statuses.

There are couples who have tried for a lot longer than Tim and I. There are couples who have tried everything. We’re new to this. We’re new to the feeling and the understanding that pregnancy is not an easy, automatic gift.  That the equation isn’t always first comes love then comes marriage then comes a baby in a baby carriage. Sometimes it’s  love and marriage and an empty carriage.  Or love only. Or dogs. Or cats. Or nothing at all. And that’s okay. That’s life. It’s no one’s fault. It’s no one’s responsibilities. It’s no one’s defect. It’s just life.

To those with children, I don’t think you’re lucky or blessed or favored. I think you’re a family, same as mine. I think you’re happy, same as mine and I think you’re grateful for them.