Something I never encountered before hubby deployed was just how awful Saturday nights are. I can breeze right through the week no problem and then I hit the brakes. I guess it's the one time where you could have counted on hubby to be home. To be together. During the week, you can pretend that he's just at work for the day. Not so with Saturday nights. Saturdays were family time. Even if we were lazy bums and hung out on the couch all day, we were together. Now I dread Saturdays. They're like a big blazing sign reminding you that he's gone.
I was talking to another wife today. She said, "I get along fine. Yeah, there are those times when I see a happy couple holding hands and I want to chuck something at them. But, most of the time I'm fine." Boy, have I been there.
Sometimes when I get really mopey, I stop and wonder how many other wives are sitting at home on Saturday nights praying for Sunday morning to come. Who else is sitting there staring at the sky wondering where her hubby is. Hoping he's safe. Wishing for him to be home. It's a depressing thought, but it also is comforting. We're not alone on the journey.
People told me it would get easier. They lied. Yes, I get accustomed to my new routines and habits. But it is not easier. I'm guessing it's similar to going deaf or losing a limb. After a few weeks, you get faster and more proficient. You become use to it. But it is not easier. You're still not whole. It's still not right. There are still those moments - the happy couples in public, the Saturday nights - that can knock you down. I may getting faster at scrambling back to my feet afterwards. But it's not any easier. I've just had more practice.