We are all struggling. The Stennis wives, fiances and girlfriends. Maybe even other family members.
They’re leaving again. Here today, gone… some time soon, very soon. It’s easy to point out the stages of grief while scanning the various support groups for the women of the ship. Most are in denial. A few are angry and even less than those have no idea what is about to hit them.
Eight months is a long time. Half way parties are being planned for December, but I’ll be having a different sort of celebration. Welcoming a son to the world with the help of my mom, while his daddy is half a world away, literally. I’m not nervous about that, but the fear idea of holding “down the fort” up until that point has started to sink in. It started when my husband began the final project he would complete here this year; fixing up our laundry room by stacking the washer and dryer. Seems like such a simple thing, but when you realize after that all projects fall on you, it’s overwhelming.
What if something breaks? What if something goes wrong? I don’t even want to think about it now. I know what’s coming on the grand scheme of things but no one can prepare you for the day to day ins and outs of deployed life as the one left at home.
Next week when the ship pulls out for the final time this year a different sort of story will begin. Another one to tell our baby boy before he falls asleep, once he is no longer kicking my bladder, that is.