Posts
All Comments
Please join me at Wives in Bloom today! I wrote this article just days before H returned home from deployment!
Thank you to everyone for your kind words and prayers for our family's reunion-it has been an amazing four days!
Happy Monday all! Please join me over at Faith Deployed today as I talk about simple ways to create intimacy during separation.
This doesn't just apply to deployments, but for spouses who have careers that take them away from family for any period of time.
Homecoming is approaching but not fast enough for two little ones who miss their daddy. Tonight at bedtime we prayed for the first wave of daddies who are coming home (very) soon and asked God to bless their reunions with their families. When I opened my eyes I was looking at a very sad little boy. Tears streaming down his face as he so bravely tried to get through our prayer without making a sound until he couldn't hold it in anymore. It doesn't seem fair that he has to wait an extra month to hug his daddy while other kids do not and he is angry.
It's not fair. None of it. Not that they have to be without their father. Not that it's for so long and so far away. Not that we live in a world where men have to stand watch with a gun. I can wipe away the tears but there will be more to replace them tomorrow. There is only one person that can take them away and he is not here.
I am praying that the time goes by quickly. That before we know it H will be home and we will be together again. Because watching them cry breaks my heart into a million little pieces.
While H was preparing to deploy January of last year I won't deny that I had a few moments of panic. We had spent the past year and a half assuring Prim that we were, in fact, here to stay. That nighttime was not scary because we were all still together when the lights were out and that we would love her even when she fought us as if her life depended on it.
We were just beginning to see who she was beyond the hurt and fear when H left for Iraq and I was afraid that her smile would fade in the wake of her father's absence. Explaining to a three year old that Daddy is going on a long trip is pretty much the equivalent of telling her he'll be home tomorrow. She had no concept of time, no internal calendar to help mark the days gone by, so after the first week, when she was asking for Daddy to come back and I couldn't explain any better that the deployment was seven months long, we both wept. I felt guilty for causing her unnecessary pain, for putting her through what I had promised so casually would never happen again. I had a moment of thinking "what had we done?". Did we really think her soul could survive the constant separation? Was a military lifestyle okay for a child who had suffered the trauma of abandonment not once but twice?
That first week, when we held each other and wept, I silently pulled out the daddy doll I had been saving for a moment when I knew she would need to see his face. I put the puffy pillow-like doll with Daddy's smiling face in between us and wrapped her arms around it. Reminding her that Daddy still loved her. That even though he was miles away he was still in her heart. That he was coming back. That we would be with her always. That the distance did not mean he was gone for good, just gone for now. I'll never forget the look of surprise on her face when she saw her new doll. How wide her eyes got at the small version of him in front of her. She very quietly said, "Oh daddy. I've missed you so much" as she lovingly stroked his face and cried.
Later that night I cried for her, for us. It was so hard but seeing her sadness gave me hope that some of the anger she had been holding on to was melting away. That her tears could be wiped away and replaced with a smile. Over the next seven months she went through an adjustment process, working out her feelings in many ways. Sleep issues resurfaced with a vengeance, no place was close enough to me and it was exhausting. But she did it! She smiled and laughed and played. She went to preschool and made friends and learned to manage her feelings as she continued to mature. She realized that our family was still a family no matter where we were in the world. She laughed at daddy on the computer when we had an opportunity to Skype and loved babbling about everything on the phone when he called.
When H returned from deployment last August it was such a sweet homecoming for the kids. Prim jumped into his arms with abandon and shouted over and over again "I missed you Daddy!". She was surprisingly content and the adjustment for her was minimal in the following weeks. I was so proud of her, so thankful for her peaceful heart.
We moved twice in nine weeks after H's return. Talk about confusing, especially for our little girl. But we did it with a smile, made our moving a crazy adventure and drove across country to Virginia where we knew another deployment awaited us. Somewhere in the next few months my daughter became confident, assured in her position in the family. She went into a new preschool (again) making friends easily and being an enthusiastic student. She asked often if we were moving again and we would laugh and say "not for a while" at which she would laugh as well.
And then, Daddy deployed again this past April and the goodbyes and I'll be coming backs started all over again. It was incredibly sad but the past seven months had made a big difference in her development and the previous deployment was still fresh in their minds. We settled into a routine, talking often about missing daddy but concentrating on school work, activities, family and friends. This time she talks about what we'll do when Daddy comes home and I smile because she sees herself in the future with us all together. She understands that we are together forever.
I had some moments of fear that being a military family would be too difficult for her. That it wasn't fair to constantly change and uproot and be apart. But what I have learned is that we have the unique opportunity to focus on what permanence means. That God is still God no matter what. That our family can live anywhere and still be OUR family. That Daddy going away is temporary and love can defy distance and time. That we are serving our country when we support Daddy. That we can be bigger and better than our circumstances.
I have had the pleasure of knowing many military families who have adopted and I think they make such amazing parents. Living a military life forces you to be open to the unknown, you are surrounded by a wonderful mixture of nationalities, cultures and lifestyles. We are grounded by a common bond of sacrifice, honor and service that extends to our churches, communities and schools.
I am proud to say that we are a military family who has chosen to expand our family through adoption. What is difficult and challenging is also extremely rewarding. We live a life that depends on the 100% assurance of God and faith in His plan and Prim was a part of that plan. He knew our life and what it would mean for her and I am confident that He does not make mistakes.
I love the replies I received from yesterdays post and hope you enjoy and are challenged by the next next chapter in this series. I just want to quickly clarify that the main question was not should military families be allowed to adopt, but should they, knowing the lifestyle and the impact it may have on a newly adopted child, choose adoption for their family.
Part 2
To be honest, when we decided to adopt I don't think we gave much thought to the impact our constantly moving, relentlessly changing life would have on our daughter. In fact, when we began the process of bringing Prim home, we very specifically believed our military life would be an advantage to our little girl thousands of miles away.
You see, Prim was a waiting child from Holt's waiting child photo listing. I took one look at her and those BIG brown eyes and thought "there she is!". I couldn't get over the similarities in physical features she shared with our son and fell in love with her serious little face.
And so did seven other families.....
I don't know know how to describe the process of being "interviewed" for the right to love and parent a child, but it's not for the faint of heart. We had to convince a board, who had never met us in person and only knew us on paper, that this ten month old baby with possible special needs, that we were the best choice without a shadow of a doubt.
No pressure...
Before the interview H and I talked about what we had to offer that another family may not. I kept thinking, how could I convince the woman who was interviewing us that we would love this beautiful little girl more than any other family? I couldn't. And I wouldn't. I wouldn't make the argument that our love would be better, that we were more "deserving" because those seven other families wanted to parent this little girl just as much as we did and it felt unfair. I didn't want the process to feel like a competition. This was about a child. And we knew there was so much love for her already just from the overwhelming response to one tiny picture on a website. What we did have to offer which may have been different from other families was (ironically) stability. We are a military family. It means job security, medical insurance and no question of pre- existing conditions. It means a roof over our head, a paycheck on the 15th and 30th of the month without question and the exceptional family member program for those with special needs. It meant close-knit communities with bi-racial and trans racial families being the norm and accessibility to outreach programs and federally funded support networks. It means military hospitals, clinics and pharmacies. It meant a smooth financial and medical transition for a little girl with a lot of unknowns.
A few days later we got the call. We were hers. She was ours.
And I had to believe it was because, in part, of us being a military family.
Thanks for reading and check back for Part 3!
If you haven't read Part I please head on over here before going further. It's for your benefit not mine-I tend to babble and it will keep things fluid...
If you're back for more of my ugly, imperfect self say a quick prayer that my words will be completely of the Lord. My purpose in writing about challenges in our marriage is to acknowledge and testify that we stumble when we put ourselves before God. And marriage is not a race but, hopefully, if we are blessed enough to grow wrinkly old together, a marathon of joys and challenges.
Now. Where were we?
I often wonder why I had this attitude of needing things to be perfect. I certainly was not perfect and really didn't expect it of myself. If I did I would be a meticulous housekeeper and that, my friends, is not the case.
Did I expect mediocrity for me? No. Did I hold myself to the same standards as my spouse? I said I did but probably not. Secretly I thought he should be more like me. More sensitive, more understanding, maybe even more passive for the sake of my pride.
I can remember being a child of the 80's. I know, just saying it gives me jelly bracelet, Madonna and side pony tail flash backs. For me, growing up had everything to do with how I envisioned my future. I was one big, romantic mess thrust in front of a television or boom box to be schooled in relationships. Put upon by evocative music lyrics like "I Want Your Sex" and "Like a Virgin" my perceptions of love, maturity and marriage became distorted and out of sync with what I had been taught by my parents. I saw perfection played out in ninety minutes on a movie screen and thought to myself, "I want that".
Am I blaming society or Hollywood for my unrealistic ideals of love and marriage? Absolutely not. But I can honestly say, as a young, impressionable girl, when you begin to romanticise a thin, legs-up-to-here prostitute that is swept off her feet by a rich, seemingly perfect man-there is room for cracks in the foundation. And don't even get me started with Top Gun. That movie was just one big falic symbol rolled up in Tom Cruise goodness (before his couch jumping and weird religion gave me the heebie jeebies).
But I digress.
Let's leave the 80's and move into 1998. Marriage day. White dress, white gloves, white chapel. Vows, not-so-first kiss, bubbles (rice was no longer fashionable or safe for bird consumption). Cake, friends and family, the Ritz Carlton Hotel. Back to work on Monday for new, darling husband. Reality hit on Tuesday.
Forever.
And ever. Oh crap.
I had no idea how to be a wife. I was a amazing girlfriend-rocked the casbah in that department. Loved his friends, loved his job, loved his mess. Our long distance, weekend relationship had been effortless and our four month engagement even better. Fresh, exciting, new. Now there were *gasp* expectations on both sides and not a single one spoken out loud. Just. Expected. Quietly, painfully, brewing beneath the surface expectations.
H had been an amazing boyfriend as well. Thoughtful, generous, PATIENT. Wow did that patience win me over. He thought of me as quirky sometimes but loved the role of "I know better than you, but aren't you adorable". I can't blame him-I put him there. I loved how tough and stormy he could be because it made me feel safe. He was, in some ways, an extension of my father. I made him my solid rock and expected him to never waiver.
I began to change my way of thinking shortly after the birth of our beautiful son. Our miracle. H was deployed and I delivered with the support of friends and family. But there was no husband to welcome our son with a kiss and no looks of adoration for the bride who gave him his first child. It was extremely painful to have that experience without him and soon after, the creeping, nagging thoughts whispered to me in those quiet moments alone with our new baby.
I did this all on my own.
I didn't need you after all.
You left me and I was still fine.
I am a good mother even without you here.
My pride began to grow, filling every void that had been opened with loneliness and insecurity. That pedestal slowly made it's way into the earth's atmosphere and I established myself as martyr extraordinaire. I was blameless and faultless because I had been (in my mind) abandoned. Again and again and again.
How could he compete with that?
I know you might be wondering where God is in all of this but stick with me. We're getting there. Come back tomorrow as I finish Part III of my futile journey in perfection.
I know we are not special. We share the burden of a deployed father and husband with thousands and thousands of families across the world. Yet, very selfishly, I feel like it is particularly unfair for my children. It's not that I feel a sense of entitlement, that we should be spared the pain of separation when others have done it longer and more frequently. I'm not saying we shouldn't have to endure it.
It's that I have to look into the watery eyes of my children and explain each and every day why Daddy is not home and it breaks my heart. Why he can not be here for birthdays, holidays and their Clone Wars weekend cartoon marathon.
Daddy always makes pancakes on Saturday mornings so I can sleep in. It's a ritual I started last deployment and have since passed that early morning baton to my husband who in turn pretends to grumble and groan about being a slave to small children each and every Saturday. He loves it and so do they, secretly triumphant in their power of persuasion over their father.
I hate stepping in and having to replace him. I'm not good at it and it's why he's the Dad and I'm the Mom. I don't do cool tricks on the trampoline and frankly after ten minutes I feel like a chain smoker and my toosh is sore for a week from the *ugh* exertion. Don't judge me, it's really hard (that's what she said) and the kids bully me to keep jumping until I cry Uncle. I have no one to tag in. It's just me and my sore butt.
I can't make paper airplanes that fly like Daddy. I'm not fluid in Star Wars speak and I definitely have no skills in the Lego repair factory that is our playroom. H literally super glued some of G's larger Lego sets for fear they would break and I couldn't repair them during his absence. I don't think ahead like he does.
I can't throw them in the air as high and little miss Prim notices that she can't touch the ceiling when I do it. I also don't have the same stamina. My husband has the energy and endurance of a ten year old in his pinkie finger alone.
I shouldn't have to be their everything. They should have the best of both of us, the balance that we bring to each other. They are learning so early that loss can be messy, even the temporary loss that deployments bring. Sometimes I feel incredible guilt. Especially for Prim. Every time he goes away she regresses. Emotionally she goes back to that place where life is not safe and the earth no longer spins around our home but is extended to a place across the world that is not tangible or understandable. Iraq may as well be a fairy tale land far, far away.
It breaks my heart to hear G say that he wishes there were people in the world who don't need Daddy's help anymore. But then, at night when we kneel to say our prayers, I know that God is working a miracle in our home because he prays:
Dear God
Please help Daddy to do a good job.
Keep him safe and his soldiers safe (still doesn't get that Daddy is a sailor :)
and help him to be a good example
to everyone around him.
Please help everyone in Iraq to see you
so that they can find peace.
Lord, be a light to my Daddy.
Amen
My kids are wiser than me because they see God without tarnished self imposed glasses. While I scream unfair!! for the sake of my children, God sees fit to give them early, precious lessons in humility, mercy and grace. While I pray that they are too young to carry such a burden, God responds firmly that they most certainly are not. He has seen fit to develop them in this way for His divine purposes.
And I may not see why now.
Or ever. But take comfort in the fact that He does.
Let me carry your burden He whispers. Come to me as a child He beckons. Cast your worries on Me.
To all of the men and women serving this nation and the cause of freedom throughout the world-I thank you and pray for your safe homecoming.
For the families who serve just as honorably at home, here and abroad, I thank you for being an inspiration and comfort to me. May God use this time to bless you and grow you in deeper fellowship with Him.
It's only noon and I have already had one of those days. I've already prayed two dozen times. Rambling, incoherent prayers for my family and myself in particular. Half whining, half pleading for some semblance of strength and peace while trying to praise Him in between wiping away tears.
It started okay I guess. I woke up feeling better than I had the two days prior and was relieved to have the energy to get out of bed (thank you Robitussin with Codeine) and get G ready for school. Little Miss likes sleeping in these days-can I get an AMEN-and I was looking forward to our breakfast routine just him and I. I inwardly groaned as I tried to rustle G from sleep. "Get up love, it's time to get ready for school" was met with a fierce Uh Uh and an attempt to slide beneath the blankets again. I could see how this was going to play out, we've been having more of these days the past few months and I tried to put on a happy face and entice him from his warm caccoon.
"Get up and get ready and I'll pour you a big bowl of Cinnamon Toast Crunch". Scowling eyes. "Let's go, buddy, we don't want to be late". The start of tears. "Come on" I coaxed now pulling him from bed. I don't want to go to school he tells me. School is no fun and I'm sick of working!
I manage to get him dressed and down stairs for breakfast but when it came time to put his shoes on the tears started, the feet stomping commenced and a poor Zhu Zhu pet was kicked aside in frustration. I don't like school anymore. Why do I always have to stay so long at school and work? I never get to be with you and I never have time to play!
Oh how the mother in me wanted to wrap him in my arms and not let go. I know that this is partly to do with H's deployment next week. I also know that the seven year old boy in him just wants to play and have fun. I ache for him because I can not make this easier. How do you tell a child that life is not always fair, our responsibilities are not always fun and pain can seem like a constant companion?
I held his hand with Prim in tow, still in pajamas, to the bus stop. He held onto me with such fierceness that even with coaxing from the bus driver he would not let go. I carried him home, put both kids in the car and drove to school while he sobbed and wailed that he did not want to go to school. We walked to class, put away his things and a half an hour later, after holding him and whispering words of prayer and encouragement, started to leave. He began to cry all over again, big, fat, rolling tears and all I could do was tell him I love you and walk away.
I had a rock in my stomach the rest of the morning. I got home with enough time for a quick shower for me, get Prim ready for school and once again head out the door. After dropping her off I headed to the doctor's office for one more ultrasound to confirm this cycle had been a wash.
The ultrasound tech walks in and starts to do her thing. As she's reading off measurements I ask her if she's measuring for size of the follicles to which she responds that they are only checking for ovulation. What? I ask her. I thought I was here to have the follicles measured to see if they had matured over the past week. Her reply was curt and snippy and after a few more back and forth exchanges the tears could not be held back any longer.
When I get frustrated I cry. I am not rude to other people. I am not usually confrontational and I do not reply in anger when I feel like I've been wronged. Are there exceptions to this rule? Yeah. Who doesn't loose it sometimes? But today, after my morning with G, still not feeling well and just being ticked off at being infertile plus arguing with the ultrasound tech about semantics just culminated in frustrated tears. She was quick to finish her scan, try to explain why there was miscommunication and then wrap me in a big, fluffy hug which only made me cry harder.
My doctor must think I am an emotional wreck. It's the second time he has seen me cry and my attempts to tell him I really do have it all together probably fall on deaf ears. How can I explain that this process is very lonely? With all of the people involved the person I need the most can do nothing but offer the token words of encouragement and now will have to do it from several thousands of miles away. How could I say that my tears were really for my son-that my smiles can only last so long before I need to be released from the sadness. That as a mother I must be an emotional trapeze artist, maintaining a delicate balance of stability in the face of so much change and disruption.
I'm sure I was the talk of the office this morning. Maybe my tears were seen as a tantrum for not having a good cycle. Maybe they will pity me my infertility or departing husband. Maybe next time they will offer me a sedative before my ultrasound. It can't matter right now.
The only thing that has to matter is making it through next week. I have to get through saying goodbye which, as always, is the most excruciating part of deployment. I need to smile while watching my husband walk away, praying that God will keep him safe and that one day, when he least expects it, I can say Hey babe. We did it. We're pregnant.
This is what Prim asked me a few days ago. It was night time. The bedtime routines were done, teeth brushed, books read. I was tucking her in after saying our prayers and she asked me "Mommy, are you still my Mommy?". What a big question for such a little girl. I replied that yes, of course, I was her Mommy forever and ever. And then she said "Daddy my Daddy?". Yes, honey. Daddy will always be your Daddy.
This was a poignant moment for me and I realize that her question comes at an emotional time for our family. With H one week away from deploying to Iraq we are all reaffirming our position in the family and Prim is no exception. She can feel the change coming. The past few weeks have been busy and stressful. I admit as only a mother can, that I feel guilty for the amount of time I have had to leave her or ask her to play on her own. Her anxiety, as always, comes out at night. Bedtime becomes a battle ground, we go back to basics and start all over again. She tests, she pushes, she demands and yet some how in all of this she matures, she learns and our love for her grows stronger.
I am convinced my little girl is an old soul. She has wisdom beyond her years and the changes that we often take in stride leave her wandering and aimless. We know now to grab hold of her and keep her tight. That to get her over these hurdles we stand firm and do not let the circumstances of the beginning of her life sway our choices in raising her.
I know that this question will be the first of many to come and it makes me smile. My daughter is not one to take life lightly and I know that she will want to know it all. It is indicative of her spirit and I love that about her.
I hope one day, when she is an adult and begins a family of her own, that she has never doubted that I was a mother to her in every way. That there are moments when I feel suddenly jarred by the realization that she did not come from me.
These next six months will be difficult for her and G. She will wonder why Daddy isn't home yet and will ask every day where he is. G will be sad and when the weeks start to tick by I think it is then that he will finally understand the length of his absence. Someone told me once that every trial and challenge is an opportunity for growth. I hold that close to my heart and know that although this is difficult for us all, we will grow in faith and love. To my husband I say I am proud of you. We sacrifice together but in very different ways-all for the sake of a country we love. It may not be easy but what ever is? Like I always tell G, just because it's difficult doesn't mean it's not worth fighting for.
To all of my girlfriends whose husbands are deployed, may God bless you and keep you and may they come home safe. We are all still Mommies and Daddies are still Daddies, no matter where we are in the world...
Dearest Prim,
How do I explain to you that daddy is leaving soon? What do I say to help you understand that it won't be forever but at times it may seem like it. In just a few weeks daddy will leave for Iraq. After only saying our first hello seventeen months ago we will have to say goodbye. You've had so many goodbyes-too many for such a little girl. How will you handle another disruption....someone else who leaves your life unexpectedly. My heart aches for you and your brother. It took such a long time to finally give your heart to this man who replaced one that you had already loved as your own. Now he leaves and every morning when you ask me where daddy is-just like you always do-I will have to explain all over again that daddy is at work and won't be coming home for a while.
My precious babies I hope you will understand that our sacrifice allows daddy to serve our country. That we are all a part of something bigger than ourselves and that our strength will come from God and our love for each other. We love you so very much. We know that this will be difficult but we also know that God will not give us what we can't handle. One day I hope you see that distance can never separate love and that joy can be found in sadness. We are a family forever.
Romans 8:38-9 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[m] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Using Elements By:
