still

I'm finding myself to still be pretty bitter about all this. Thursday, I went to this wonderful family orientation meeting that I was supposed to go to a long time ago. It wasn't that informative. I stayed a little after and grilled this guy about all the questions I'd been pondering for weeks now. He was no help. Of course, I teared up. I got over it, and he said he'd get back to me with answers. But, during this meeting, he did say that the two people we should be seeing often are his squad leader and his nurse case manager. His squad leader I've seen once. Only in passing, because we were in the hall. And I've only seen his nurse case manager once because the social worker took me to him to answer my questions. I found this interesting. The two people they say we're supposed to stay in the most contact with, are the two I've hardly seen. Ugh. Figures.

So, I ask him to call his squad leader, and he does. Oh, he's in Michigan. Helpful.

I talk to my friend from high school who says they're supposed to leave you a point of contact if they're going to be gone, that there should always be someone we can get in contact with if we need to. He tells me to call his platoon sgt. So I do. (Jason is asleep during all this, by the way, I'm just being impatient) His platoon sgt is a woman, and latino I believe, so not the most empathetic. My main question is obviously, "When can we get our stuff moved out here, or at least put in storage?" - for some reason this has been my main question since the get go. I'm not sure why. It really feels like I'm the only wife who is this concerned about her belongings. And it makes me feel selfish. Anyway, she proceeds to tell me that "No, you will absolutely not get your stuff shipped out there. No partial do it yourself move, no moving to storage (unless we do it ourselves, and by we, I mean I), and no PCSing. As long as he's getting BAH (housing allowance) the Army will NOT ship your stuff." Tears are welling up now, lump in throat, AGAIN. Literally, every day this week, I think I've cried. My voice starts getting all high pitched, like it does when you're trying to sound normal but are trying not to cry at the same time. I tell her I just don't understand, I can't wrap my head around being okay with leaving everything we own in an empty house in Colorado that we're paying for but not living in, how is that fair? "Because you're getting the housing allowance, ma'am." Great. So, while I'm harping on this, she continues to say "Well, ma'am how much stuff do you need?!" I felt so materialistic.

She says "It's like if I went TDY. The Army wouldn't pay for my husband and kids to come out with me for a few months while I was there." Uh. No, it's not like that at all. At least your husband and kids are still living in and using the home that your BAH is going towards. "Well ma'am if you need to go back, we can help you arrange that, you don't have to be his NMA (non medical attendant) his family members can do that too. If you need to go back for work or whatever it is, you can, and he can come out when he's done with rehab." What. Did she really just say that. First of all, who does that? Oh, it's ok, my husband is in rehab, but I have to go back to work. See ya.

Is she nuts!? Do people really do that? I am his family now. That thought never even crossed my mind, and I refuse to leave him here to rehab on his own for who knows how long.

And I guess that puts it in perspective for me. But it sucks. So, so bad. I admit it. I want my stuff. I like my stuff. But the reality is, I don't need it right now. This is only temporary. But how temporary is the question. Who knows. All I know is, I'll have to go back at some point and winterize the house, and get all our winter clothes. Probably clean out my locker at work too. And hopefully get NRP recertification while I'm at it. But, they won't pay for us to ship those things back - I can tell you right now I can't get it all in to suitcases. I mean, I want my own sheets and towels, thank you. "Anything you need can be donated, ma'am, you're getting the per diem, if finances are an issue, we have people to help with that, anything you need, just tell me." I NEED MY STUFF! I don't want to get stuff donated - I have it all already! I don't need double EVERYTHING!

Luckily, my mom is proactive (almost to a fault), and is willing to drive out (and by that I mean, willing to volunteer my dad to drive her out) to Colorado to bring stuff home for me. I'm lucky to have the support I do. We are.

New challenges. Now, slowly coping with the thought of everything we've so carefully put in that house, and decorated, just sitting there for God knows how long, and hoping no one realizes it's an empty house and decides to break in. More things to bring back, the all important xbox (for physical therapy of course), and all of our important papers - birth certificates, marriage certificate, social security cards - if anyone broke in right now, we'd be SOL.

Almost a month later, though, I am seriously still mind boggled by this process. It is absolutely nauseating. I don't know how to say this without sounding utterly morbid, or politically incorrect, or just plain wrong; but injured soldiers and their families are the only ones put in this situation. God forbid, if the seriously life altering alternative happened - still, the family would be given their time to grieve and the Army would move them one last time to wherever they chose. Yes, this is not the same. In no way am I saying that it is. And I probably shouldn't have even said that. Because I am so, so grateful I am not in that situation. But, even then, while a family is literally torn apart, they are not ripped from everything they know and expected to form a new life of uncertainties at the mercy of the military and the governmental red tape. It feels like we're living every day on edge just waiting to find out what other hoops we have to jump through in order to be a family.

Anyway, I feel crazy. I feel selfish and on the verge of having a mental break down every single day. Jason just prods through, like nothing bothers him. I'm sure it does. (Oh, by the way, he woke up from his iPod induced nap when I started with the high pitched almost yelling on the phone to his platoon sgt) He comforts me, or tries. But, nothing will make me feel better. I wish I could just be at peace with this. Some people are so good at taking things as they come, at just going with the flow, or rolling with the punches. I, am not. I thought I was, and I'm trying so hard to be, but it is a serious struggle. It seems like the other wives or significant others are just in their normal life, and I feel like I'm constantly unraveling on the inside. I think it can't get any worse, but then it does.

How do people do this? How do families cope with this? Those wives with young children? I'll never know. Here I am complaining, and it's just me. Maybe I have too much time on my hands and that's why I'm thinking about all these things. I'm complaining because I want to nest. I want to decorate a nursery for our first baby, and I can't. I don't know where we'll be, and I don't know how long we'll be there, so I don't want to buy any furniture. I'm worried that this baby will have some psychological problems because his first months or years are going to be entirely too stressful because of his mother who is a freaking nut job, because she can't cope with all the changes appropriately.

Why am I so worried about our stuff? About having a house with a nursery? Or sleeping in our own bed? After 25 years in Virginia, I finally felt at 'home' in Colorado - and I never thought I would say that about anywhere but Virginia, but I did. And I miss it. And now I'm in Virginia, and I don't feel at home anymore. We don't have a home anymore. Hindsight is always 20/20. You always miss what you had when you can't have it anymore. All those proverbs or whatever they are, are so true.

We took a trip to the Red Cross to get more velcro clothes and movies, and three old ladies started doting on Jason. It was cute. There was one, her name was Mary, and she is 86. She told us the story of how she met her husband. She was volunteering at Walter Reed during WWII and he was an amputee. They met there, and he would get on the street car and go meet her for lunch or dinner in DC. She said she could never remember which leg was amputated because it didn't matter to her. He was gorgeous, she said, and that's all that mattered. ha :) That story puts it in perspective too, though. I mean, really this is what it's about. Jason and I, and this baby on the way. Making our way in this new life. It's just unfortunate that right now we're so dependent on everything and everyone else, and we can't go out and do the things we used to do all the time.

I still think to myself, at least daily, about the fact that we're in this situation, and no one else is. (of our friends and families) Our lives are absolutely changed, and 100% different now, and no one else's is. I still get angry that everyone else can go about their normal day. I still feel like someone is playing a sick joke on us. I still wish I could go back to work and make money like I'm supposed to be. I even wish he was still in Afghanistan and I was living alone in Colorado taking care of that whole entire house and the dog. (is this the bargaining phase of grieving?!) I would take Skype dates every two or three days and the potential of delivering our baby without him, in place of this. As long as he came home - to Colorado home - next May, like he was supposed to, of course.

It's amazing the people that come through for you in a time like this. People you would never expect, usually people you haven't talked to in months or years, or weren't even that close to. It's sad that the people you would expect to come through for you, don't.

I'll try to fall asleep to the Golden Girls tonight, with Sadie in my room again (I'm at my parents house for the weekend), and pretend like I'm still in Colorado, in our big comfortable bed, and things are still run of the mill normal...even though they are still far, far from it.