I see you

Originally published March 9, 2018

You know it’s coming. You prepare your heart, your mind, your home, and your children. The preparation isn’t in vain. You’re building those stepping stones to acceptance and transition. No matter how much preparing you do, the emptiness hits when you drop him off. You know it’s coming, and you know there’s no preparing for that feeling. So, you sit. You accept it. You live it.

I see you, mama.

I see you helping your children understand that it’s going to be months, not days or weeks until daddy comes home.

I see you counting the M&Ms or chocolate kisses. One for each day that he’s gone. Something for the kids to look forward to in his absence, to conceptualize time.

I see you reading them books, showing them pictures, talking about daddy, scheduling video chats. Praying and hoping that the littlest of them doesn’t forget.

I see you making sure each of the kids gets dropped off and picked up from school on time, every day of the week.

I see you working to get each kid to their practices, meetings, and games. You’re a master scheduler, as you try to keep the routine and normalize his absence.

I see you when the baby is teething for the sixth time this deployment. When the nights turn into days and you feel as if you haven’t rested, truly rested, for weeks.

I see you when your preschooler comes into your room in the twilight hours with a nightmare. You fret and wonder if it’s something you did or didn’t do that day. Did you not mention daddy enough? Did you not spend enough time together? Did you not provide enough space for emotions?

I see you as you nurse your sick kiddo back to health. You’re waiting for the next child to get it, and praying that you’re spared.

I see you as you kiss every booboo, calm every fear, and comfort their questions about daddy.

I see you when your teen would rather give you the cold shoulder than sit and delve into her emotions about another separation, more time apart.

I see you working endlessly on laundry, dishes, cooking, planning, shopping. You are a one-woman show, and sometimes, it feels like too much.

I see you ending your evenings, the kids finally asleep, asking yourself if you were what they needed today. Were you intentional? Were you present? Why did your temper get the best of you? Why didn’t you have patience when the mess was made for the fourth time today? Did you read enough books, sing enough songs, pray enough prayers?

I see you needing a moment. A moment in the bathroom, alone. Craving an hour of discussion with someone older than five. Then, immediately feeling guilty for ever thinking you needed a break.

I see you, wife.

I see you supporting the man you married, the one chosen for you. Supporting him when it feels so hard, so exhausting.

I see you looking through pictures. Reminiscing of simpler times, remembering that strength and fortitude take time and devotion.

I see you keeping your vows. Staying steadfast and true. Remembering that you’re still on a team, even though your teammate is thousands of miles away.

I see you as the mother of his children. Working hard to raise them together, without actually being together. Trying your hardest to be the best mom and dad without taking his place.

I see you as you maintain the household budget, pay the bills, deal with the management of the entire home and the people in it. You’ve become quite the handy woman through it all.

I see you in those two quiet hours after the kids are in bed sitting lonely and aching for connection.

I see you making it through the day, then lying down in a half-empty bed. You place his pillow next to your back so you don’t wake up in the middle of the night wondering where he is.

I see you knowing that your love can withstand the hard stuff. Seeking reassurance in your foundation and the promise.

I see you.

I see you. I thank you. Your sacrifice is real. It’s authentic. It’s genuine. It’s quiet. It’s strong. It’s a daily giving of self. You are part of a wonderful sisterhood.

I see you, and I want you to consider that, perhaps, A.A. Milne was talking about you when he said: “You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, smarter than you think, and loved more than you know.”

I see you.