The Difference Between Wanting and Ready

It's coming really close now, and we're wrapping up the last-minute things that occur before a long "away".  He has things he does around the house to make sure we're OK, and we have certain discussions that we always have before he goes.  It's not easy, but this is where "we've done this before" really helps.

I am not freaking out.

Ok, I am, but only inside and only a little bit.

One thing My G said last night really stuck with me, though, and it was something that my younger self needed to hear when we first got married, if I'd only known to ask. It's something that I think all "new" Army wives need to hear.

What he said: "Just because I am ready to go, doesn't mean I want to."

Sweet new Army wife, whether you're 20 or 40, these words are for you.
There is a huge difference between your Soldier (or Airman, or Seaman, or Marine) being ready to go on deployment, to school, to TDY, on an unaccompanied tour of any type - and wanting to leave you.

They are ready because they have trained, they have prepared, they are set to do what the country has asked of them or to fulfill the plan they've made for their career.

They are ready because they've done what they need to do in order to leave. They have orders in hand or their bags are packed or they've checked the handy checkboxes that their units have provided.

This does not mean they want to leave you.

Many servicemembers cry just as hard as their kids or their spouses when it is time to leave, but there are just as many who remain stoic. My G was one of the latter and he still is. This is his job, this is his career, and this is what he does. But it doesn't mean he wants to leave us.

Because we've been down this road so many times, we are able to joke a bit and make comments about "Good thing I won't be here" or "Whew, whole bed to myself!"  But that doesn't mean that we are eager for this separation. It doesn't mean that, if plans changed and he could turn right around and come back to us early, we wouldn't rejoice.

All it means is that he's ready.

In the grand scheme of things, "ready" is a good thing. I want him to have all the things he'll need while he's gone. I want for me to be ready, too, and have some plans and ideas for how to get through this time. "Ready" means that I have a Power of Attorney. "Ready" means that he has the training and the gear he needs to get the job done, whatever the job may be. "Ready" means that our girls know what is coming and we've spent some special time with them while we can. "Ready," in our case, means that we've had talks about budgets and house stuff and he's shown me how to program the sprinklers.

But I always remember that he'd really rather be here.

Vignettes

It's that time again, and the bags are packed. His dress uniform hangs from our bedroom door, startling me anew each time I see it, because it looks like a soldier is standing guard. Other bags are already loaded into his car, ready for the long drive to school. Laundry's been done, his side of the sink is cleared, and he's ready.

We're watching one last football game together before he goes, and Little G comes out to say good night. She climbs into his lap for a snuggle, and they are so sweet together I cannot watch. They talk a bit, but I cannot hear them...it's okay. This is their time and it is not for me to hear what is said. This builds them both up for the absence that is to come.

It's dawn, and his side of the bed is empty a full hour before he had set the alarm. I know this dance well; he cannot sleep. I get up, and find he is cutting strawberries for us to share. One last breakfast of the type we've been enjoying these last few weeks between deployment and school. It is precious.The berries are delicious, but my throat is too dry to really enjoy them.

It is still dawn, and I tell him I will go back to sleep. One last kiss, one last view of him as he walks out the door. I don't sleep. Instead, I lay on his pillows and I type, praying for his safety and for time to fly. Then I stop, ashamed. I hate to wish for time to pass more quickly than it already does. There are too few hours in our lives as it is, and to wish them away is sacrilege. Still...I look forward to the moment he comes back in that door. And the bags are unpacked. And I hope Little G is not suddenly too big for a snuggle.

Is it too much to hope that these will still be around
when he's back?