I was going to hold off writing about the deployment again until my husband is home because that’s how painstakingly close we are. I have known an estimated date of arrival since the end of December/beginning of January and have been avoiding any thoughts about it until recently to help prevent the inevitable time warp-like slow down that happens when you are anticipating something exciting.
Before I met Eric, I didn’t know what it meant to truly miss someone. The first weekend he was gone was so hard and I cried so many tears over the unimaginable nine months I had to endure without him. With his homecoming “date” quickly approaching I finally let myself start to get excited, to begin the things around the house that needed to be done, and to look at what I had to “get through” until he was home.
This morning I found out I need to add on about eight days to my countdown. Eight days might not seem like a long time but right here, right now it feels like an eternity. Twelve hours later and I still can’t begin to proces those eight extra days. They hurt to talk to about, they hurt to think about.
I just want him home.