Radio Silence

J called.

“I’m jumping on a plane here in a few minutes. “

“Thank God. I’m tired of saying goodbye to you. Leave already, would ya?” (I use humor…I use poor humor to deflect and bring levity. If I’m not laughing I’ll just cry.) J chuckled, which was what I was going for.

Something you should know. J and I don’t live in the same place. As is the case with more Army families than I ever would have thought, there are two residences. Two towns. One spouse at the stable, predictable job, raising the kids and keeping the homestead, while the Army half of the couple gets deployed, and moved, and shuffled around to all manner of different places. J and I are not unique in this set up, which was a surprise to me.

All of this is by way of saying that we physically said goodbye to one another, face to face, 5 days ago. We cried (let’s be honest, I cried. J, ever stoic, just held me as I blubbered like a teen-aged girl at a Miley Cyrus movie). He told me everything would be just fine (he has to say that). And then I got in my car and made the five-and-a-half-hour drive home in complete silence. I don’t remember the drive. Or thinking. Or talking to anyone. No music. Just complete silence .

I’ve known he was going Over There for 9 months now. And what knowing means is waiting. Oh, the waiting. You have a deployment date. And it changes. And it changes again. They switch weeks. They switch months. It gets moved up. It gets moved back. They ballpark a week, they move it, and then suddenly after waiting and waiting and not really taking any of the dates seriously, you realize that it’s RIGHT NOW and you literally unplug your refrigerator and show up on post with a trunk, a duffel, and a teary spouse in tow. But not me. I left five days previous to that.

To be honest, I’ve been ready for RIGHT NOW for some time now. The sooner J got gone, the sooner he’d come back (logic in an illogical world. Love it.) This mental exhaustion of the waiting game to GET GONE is said by many to be the worst part of all this business.

I’m gonna disagree with that. For me it’s the radio silence.

As anyone who has ever been in a long distance relationship can attest to, honest, regular, predictable communication is the key to making it all work. It’s the only thing that can. Now first, let me dispel what I’m certain will be misconceptions you might have about a love sick Army spouse writing a blog about her solider at war. I am not a needy girl. Not by a long shot. I’m actually a painfully independent girl. When things with J actually started to get serious, he remarked that the reason I would make a good Army spouse someday was because I was possessed of self-- I had a really good life and career and friends and I didn’t NEED to hang on my husband for all manner of little things. (I remember being giddy and giggly, like a teenaged-girl… “he thinks I’ll make a good wife…heeeee! HE likes me!!”)

Ah, the splendor of middle-aged love.

But here’s the thing. When you’ve grown accustomed to three hours each night of Skype or phone... chatting and texting and emailing numerous times daily-- changing even those little habits is really jarring. You come to rely upon these daily communication tidbits. It’s how time passes and you are able to forget momentarily that you’re in a long distance relationship.

“This will be it for a bit. As soon as I can figure out a phone…maybe find a computer. I’ll let you know I got over there and settled in safe. It could be…awhile.”

Deep breath. “Any chance you can ballpark ‘awhile’?”

“As soon as Earthly possible baybay…I love you.”

I love you too.

And then silence.

And still, radio silence.