Communication is difficult. My husband has been in country for just over a week now. I realize there are many stresses to learning a new job, especially in a country where American security is high. He began traveling this week to the other cities he is responsible for. He has been to Peshawar and I think Karachi. We have tried to keep in contact through email and Skype. It is so difficult to hear, the Internet shuts down (more so on my end of things), the video freezes. It is awkward. The time difference makes it difficult as well. 9 hrs. His night is my morning. We set up a time to talk on Skype this morning. I know he is coming in from another city at some point today. He missed our Skype appointment. I sat by the computer for 5 hours hoping he would call. Do I worry? Do I assume all is ok? My stomach is in knots. My hands are shaking. There is a point where I have to make myself keep moving, keep functioning or I will find myself a worried mess.
Later: Gratitude flows out of me at my husband's thoughtfulness. Although he was beat by the time he got in, he made it a priority to call me and let me know all was ok. A monsoon kept their plane grounded and there was no cell phone reception. Monsoons - another new thing for me to get used to!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Tears
The tears came tonight
For several weeks I have lived in a state of numbness. I've not been able to identify my feelings or rather face my feelings. I haven't wanted to fall into a state of weakness and yet I've been so very weak in life lately anyways.
Skype rang. I could see my husband's face. He was calling to say “goodbye”. Just once more before he left American soil. The final closure to one life before we began another. A much more separate life, yet connected by love and support. I could see the struggle he was having. I could feel his agony. His last few days here were a bit of a disconnect. There was so much we each wanted to say but couldn't find the words or the energy. Those things began coming out: “I love you”, “We're going to make it”, “This is the right thing for us”....
I could see him, I could sense his emotion, but I couldn't touch him. Separated by a piece of cold, hard glass.
Just before saying “goodbye” he said he had sent me an email. I got ready for bed, climbed under the covers – alone, and reached for my phone to check my mail. The note was already there. I opened it and began reading. The tears began slipping down my cheeks. Softly I began sobbing. I let go of the phone, cradled my face in my hands, letting all guards down. I allowed myself to cry. To feel the emotion that had been looking for a way out. The tears began to wash my spirit clean. Sorrow was mixed with hope and excitement for the journey my husband is beginning. A strength began to fill my soul. We have now stepped out into the unknown. A crisp new page is before us. I don't know what the journey will bring and although separated by half the globe we will embrace this new future together.
For several weeks I have lived in a state of numbness. I've not been able to identify my feelings or rather face my feelings. I haven't wanted to fall into a state of weakness and yet I've been so very weak in life lately anyways.
Skype rang. I could see my husband's face. He was calling to say “goodbye”. Just once more before he left American soil. The final closure to one life before we began another. A much more separate life, yet connected by love and support. I could see the struggle he was having. I could feel his agony. His last few days here were a bit of a disconnect. There was so much we each wanted to say but couldn't find the words or the energy. Those things began coming out: “I love you”, “We're going to make it”, “This is the right thing for us”....
I could see him, I could sense his emotion, but I couldn't touch him. Separated by a piece of cold, hard glass.
Just before saying “goodbye” he said he had sent me an email. I got ready for bed, climbed under the covers – alone, and reached for my phone to check my mail. The note was already there. I opened it and began reading. The tears began slipping down my cheeks. Softly I began sobbing. I let go of the phone, cradled my face in my hands, letting all guards down. I allowed myself to cry. To feel the emotion that had been looking for a way out. The tears began to wash my spirit clean. Sorrow was mixed with hope and excitement for the journey my husband is beginning. A strength began to fill my soul. We have now stepped out into the unknown. A crisp new page is before us. I don't know what the journey will bring and although separated by half the globe we will embrace this new future together.
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Goodbye
How does one say “goodbye” to their soulmate for a whole year? We've already been living apart for 5 months in preparation for this job. He's had training, education, work. I've stayed back with the kids to give them a year and a half of “stability”. But is it “stable” when the family is torn apart?
We've had countless “goodbyes” in the past 5 months, seeing each other for a few days here and there. Playing family, acting as if life hasn't changed. And yet today we drove to the airport in silence. The kids were in the back seat singing and joking with each other. We sat in the front, holding hands an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air. Occasionally we would break the silence with a few words about the kids' plans for the summer, then we would each sink back into our own separate thoughts of what the next few hours, days, and months would bring. I couldn't express what was going on inside of me. I couldn't even identify the emotions and feelings. There is no adequate way to say how much “I love you”. Just deep, aching silence. We pulled into the airport and he let go of my hand to get a parking ticket. My hand ached just like my heart. I didn't realize how tightly we were clinging to one another. Our youngest daughter stood in the check-in line with him hovering close, not wanting to be separated a moment. We walked over to the terminal, we could go no further together. We each hugged and kissed him, our faces red with tears held in check. Another round of hugs. Then he turned and walked away, not looking back for fear of turning around and taking the easy way out. We stood there silently, my arm around our youngest, with tears streaming down our cheeks. A woman approach and asked if my husband was in the service. I replied “No, the State Department's Foreign Service. He's just leaving for Pakistan, he'll be gone a year.” She clasped my hand and said “Thank you, thank you for your sacrifice.”
No, it isn't the armed forces, but peace keeping in a country like Pakistan where the family isn't allowed to be together is a sacrifice that allows those on the soil in America to continue enjoying the freedoms they have. “Thank you to the woman who recognized the sacrifice.”
We've had countless “goodbyes” in the past 5 months, seeing each other for a few days here and there. Playing family, acting as if life hasn't changed. And yet today we drove to the airport in silence. The kids were in the back seat singing and joking with each other. We sat in the front, holding hands an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air. Occasionally we would break the silence with a few words about the kids' plans for the summer, then we would each sink back into our own separate thoughts of what the next few hours, days, and months would bring. I couldn't express what was going on inside of me. I couldn't even identify the emotions and feelings. There is no adequate way to say how much “I love you”. Just deep, aching silence. We pulled into the airport and he let go of my hand to get a parking ticket. My hand ached just like my heart. I didn't realize how tightly we were clinging to one another. Our youngest daughter stood in the check-in line with him hovering close, not wanting to be separated a moment. We walked over to the terminal, we could go no further together. We each hugged and kissed him, our faces red with tears held in check. Another round of hugs. Then he turned and walked away, not looking back for fear of turning around and taking the easy way out. We stood there silently, my arm around our youngest, with tears streaming down our cheeks. A woman approach and asked if my husband was in the service. I replied “No, the State Department's Foreign Service. He's just leaving for Pakistan, he'll be gone a year.” She clasped my hand and said “Thank you, thank you for your sacrifice.”
No, it isn't the armed forces, but peace keeping in a country like Pakistan where the family isn't allowed to be together is a sacrifice that allows those on the soil in America to continue enjoying the freedoms they have. “Thank you to the woman who recognized the sacrifice.”
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