Deployment Grief, II: Experiencing a Spouse's Military Deployment

Having survived the weeks and days before my military husband's first deployment, the next step was his actual leaving. My books on being a military spouse told me to expect depression and anger, eventually working into acceptance and a new sense of independence. So I expected great sadness and despondence when he left, and weeks of working to adjust. But, just like in pre-deployment, my experience was quite different than the books predicted.

We left the morning of his deployment with an air of excitement and anticipation, with a quiet sense of foreboding peeking out from behind. Whatever the day would eventually bring, at that moment if felt like an adventure. I drove him and his couch-crashing shipmate to the dock. I got out and kissed my husband good-bye, and pulled our daughter out of her carseat so he could say good-bye to her. Then I watched them walk down to get on the ship. I sat with a sad numbness, which did not surprise me. Then my daughter and I went to McDonald's. Not being a very god place to grieve, my attentions were instead on making sure my daughter ate something, and watching all the people in uniform come and go.

Our trip to McDonald's was just to waste time until the ship pulled out, so after a while we went back to the dock. More and more people arrived-other moms with young children, some young girlfriends and newly-weds, and a few parents of sailors. We watched as the ropes were untied and pulled up, and as the sailors lined the deck at attention as the ship pulled away. I was moved, but more so for the other families. Whether I was just so far into denial, or actually accepting of it all, I cannot tell you. But as the ship rounded the dock and headed into the bay, I allowed the tears to come. My husband was really leaving. But, I had to drive home, so I stopped the tears and left.

So, think I went home and sat despondently for the next few days? Oddly, no. I took the blinds and curtains that my husband had not gotten a chance to put up, and hung them all by myself. I arranged and put away all the extra stuff we were holding for his shipmate. I hung up my printer's drawer that was still sitting in the corner after six months of living here. Those first few days, I got an amazing amount of things done. I felt proud and independent. I was accomplishing things.

Then it all changed. After those first few days I started slowing down, getting less and less excited. I blamed it on a cold that was catching up to me, but really I think the depression had finally set in. For the next couple days, I did the despondent thing the best one can with an active toddler.

It was an odd occurrence that pulled me out of that low: a mouse. I walked into my kitchen and saw a mouse run across and disappear into the wall. This simple event made me realize my duty and independence. I was the only one who could take care of getting that mouse out of my kitchen, and with much disgust, I did. When my daughter figured out how to open the cabinet of my microwave cart, I installed the child safety latches, using the drill and everything. When the knob of a closet door stopped working, I picked out a new one and replaced it myself. I am proud of all these things I have done on my own, that I probably would have assigned to my husband if he were here.

That does not mean I am happy and carefree. The ending of "13 Going on 30" caused me to break down and sob, and going to bed alone every night, in the cold of winter, is a sad thing indeed. The lack of intimacy, emotional and physical, is difficult, though daily emails keep us updated and involved in each other's lives, as well as give us a constant reminder of our love for each other. Now I am at a place of going on, day by day. Sometimes I am sad, sometimes I enjoy my independence, but mostly I just try not to dwell on it, and that mostly helps me survive. And I try not to count the days-weeks-MONTHS until he returns.

If you would like to read about my experiences after deployment, please check back to my Content Producer page.