I am going home this weekend.
Not a long trip, but I'm getting rid of my kids for a week, so it's worth the drive. They are going to Disney World, which is good for them to get out of Bumfuck, NY for awhile, and out of the cloud that is perpetually hanging over us.
I am no longer working. I decided to take some much deserved me time, and get off my ass to start writing my book. I'm just going to self publish and if a book house decides to pick me up, then great. If not, it's one more thing I can check off my list of what I want to do on Earth.
My husband is going away for a month for PTSD treatment. After two deployments, it's hard for the strongest man to still admit that he needs help climbing out of a dark hole of depression, so I am proud of his decision to get help. They leave one person, and every other time they go, they lose a part of themselves, transforming in to the army's war machines, much like The Terminator. I know I will never see the man who left me to go to his first deployment in Iraq again, but there is still much of him left to save.
A strong man is not defined by physical strength or determination. A strong man knows when to admit he can't do it on his own. The army takes so much from us, and gives little in return. It's a hard life, to try to weather these storms individually and then try to come home and just go back to normal. I find myself grow cold and numb when he is gone, and it's just as hard for me to admit that the constant separation changes me too.