I am terrible at road trips. I wiggle and sigh, hmph as I calculate miles into minutes. While the entirety of the trip is a thorn in my side (and in the side of whoever I'm riding with), the last portion is absolutely, positively the worst. If the trip is 3 hours, you can bet that I'm completely miserable that last hour. If it's 12 hours, then hour 9 and on is going to be excruciating. When Daniel and I would live far from family and travel home for holidays, I would beg to just keep going those last few hours. I would cross my legs, ignore my thirsty lips, and beg the gas to hold out if it meant that we wouldn't have to stop within that last awful stint. Because stopping just seemed to make it worse. We would stand at the rest stop, stretching, and all the while I knew I had to climb back in that darned car and continue on. And Daniel would say, "We only have ___ more to go; we're almost there!" And that made it even worse.
Right now, in this deployment, I feel like I'm at the last rest stop. That part where I'm thirsty, I need to pee, I want to stretch, I'm running out of gas, but if I stop I might not be able to get back into that car and onto that road.
I have to say that I can't imagine the feelings of those who have lost loved ones (not just in the military, but in general). Because after some time, people go back to their normal lives and forget that your world still hurts and is dark and can be overwhelmingly sucky. Please, please, please don't think I'm comparing this deployment as a whole to losing a loved one - I truly do know how blessed I am and that isn't what I mean by that statement. I have, however, watched as everyone assumes that time has passed and you're good as gold with your new reality. Somewhere along the line people stopped saying, "I don't know how you're doing it" to "I don't know how you did it." Did it? I didn't realize I "did" it already. Last time I checked I was still DOING it. I still have some 7 weeks to go, and while that is a VERY small in comparison to the 46-ish weeks I have already done, I am still not at the end. And here, at this last rest stop, where it feels like people have forgotten to ask if I need help, if I'm doing ok, if I just need some company or a break from my little blessings who are driving me bat-poo crazy, here it feels like the hardest part of the trip.
If I can get past the mental part of all of this, though, we really are in an amazing place, and every once in a while, after a rare night of good sleep, I can see that shimmer of awesomeness. Daniel isn't likely to be on any more missions before he comes home, and although our communication has been taken away at this time, it's so reassuring to know that he is, for the most part, in a safe place. While we have no idea of the future months upon his return, they can be fun to consider when I don't let them overwhelm me. Currently I am hunting for an English teaching job and I am trying not to let the encouragement and discouragement of others on where I should and should not be hunting tear me down. Everyone has an opinion, few have a plan.
Aside from the daily stress of getting through each day and the unspecific worry of our future, I had a job interview on Monday. I interviewed two hours from home at a residential facility for delinquent teen girls. I'm awaiting hearing back from the facility, but I have a lot of reservations both ways, and the unknown has never been easy for me. The other night, though, while reading my book about praying for my hubs
I came across this verse: "The Lord will fight for you; you need only
be still." I still have panicked and pitied myself and worried since
then, but when I allow myself to be reasonable enough to bring it to
mind, it's a huge comfort.
I suppose it's time to leave the figurative rest stop and climb back into the car. I'm going to try hard to leave my self-pity, bitterness and worry behind, and maybe along the way I can pick up a dose of gratitude and trust on the side of the road.
