During the "at home times", we all accept there's a chance our lives are going to be turned upside down. But in the six weeks leading up to the departure of a military operation, we go through a process that is inconceivable for anyone who's never walked in our shoes.
We will spontaneously burst into tears when we anticipate the temporary - but conceivably permanent - loss of our partners and best friends. We will fight with them incessantly, usually about little things, and mostly because we're trying to control the situation as best we can, and it's just not working. We'll also fight, especially when D-Day is close, because we think being angry at them makes it easier to separate (just so you know, it doesn't).
The goodbye itself is awful. The countdown hours beforehand are irritable, and conflicting: on one hand we want as much time with our spouses as possible, on the other, we just want them to leave so we can begin our process of being alone.
The first few weeks are then overwhelming. Sometimes numb, other times oversensitive to everything - especially news coverage (which you're supposed to avoid but are inescapably drawn to). We'll become resentful because they have left us, and minutes later inexplicably proud of them. We'll have many, many, terrible nights without sleep.
Then, we'll get into a routine. We'll begin to understand how often contact will be made. We'll Skype with our spouses, but will almost always be left disappointed. Nothing makes you feel further apart like a bad internet connection. So we'll write letters and send care packages and that fills the void, even for just a few moments each week. Soon, we'll actually start to enjoy our independence.
Eventually, though, something will go wrong. A family matter we can't deal with alone. An injury. Even something as simple as a broken vase after a bad day at work. It is in these moments our world will seemingly crash down upon us. We'll be alone on the kitchen floor, surrounded (either metaphorically or literally) by glass, and we'll have no idea how to pick up the pieces.
But we'll pick them up, because army spouses are strong. Just as strong as our partners. We have to be. As the adage goes, "those who wait, also serve".
Months will go by, and homecoming will near. We'll fill ourselves with expectations, but we'll worry our relationships will have changed. We won't have had a real, unfiltered conversation with our spouses for over six months, after all.
Our spouses will finally return, and expectations won't be met. We'll loose the independence and freedom we've been forced to gain. We'll struggle re-negotiating a routine. We'll be with our spouses physically, but not emotionally - especially if and when post-traumatic stress comes into play. We'll be disappointed our sex lives haven't resumed as usual, if they have even resumed at all. Coming home can be, it must be said, even harder than going away.
Weeks will go by, however, and things will re-stabilise. Warmth and closeness will be regained. Old expectations will be forgotten, because a new normal will come into place.
In a year or two, the process will start again with another deployment. We'll think it'll be easier than the last, but it never is. Deployments will always be difficult - sometimes impossible - for those left at home.
And that's okay. We understand what we signed up for. While we'd never choose a life like this, we did choose them. This is part of the deal, and it's our duty to support it.
