Sandwiches and tears

Here I am, sitting across the table from my husband in a New York-style deli, blinking back tears. I have just have the sudden realization that my husband is leaving for out-of-state training in one month. I am not supposed to go with him. It isn't that I forgot this calendar date (or impending doom - as it seems more natural to call it), it's that I wanted to forget it entirely. I wanted to return to being the couple that has glorious, unscheduled weekends to binge on Netflix and each other. But the military creates this terrible egg timer in the corner of your mind: 12 weeks, 6 weeks, 4 weeks, 5 days... always counting down the days you have left together, or the days until you can be together.

The military egg timer also means having trouble saying goodbye, for completely irrational reasons. Going to the grocery store alone, when I return I attached to him like lint on Velcro. When he falls asleep early, I dare not fall asleep because our moments are so few. I would rather lay next to him and listen to him snore than give away our time.

The deli-worker comes with the sandwiches and I force myself to realize that saying goodbye is a part of life now. I pout quietly and try to accept the new role life has handed me: MILITARY WIFE.