by C. M. Erickson

Created on: February 25, 2008   Last Updated: December 17, 2011

A three am wake-up call of thunder, lightening, and hail. For someone who can sleep through a marching band, the storm's ability to wake me up did not bode well for the general structural integrity of the house. The rain reminded me that I had drunk a full glass of water before going to bed. The lightning flashed so brightly I did not need the hall or bathroom light. I crawled back in bed trying not to notice the empty place where my husband used to sleep. I pulled the covers over my head, hugged the stuffed bear my husband gave me before he got on the plane for Iraq, and wished the pinging of hail would let up. Sleep came fitfully, the pinging hail becoming mortar rounds exploding on my husband in my dreams.

The alarm went off at seven am, and I stared at it hatefully. That evil alarm forced me to face another day alone, writing my husband a letter, trying to not sound pathetically needy or lonely in my wavering handwriting. I had tried to get involved in church and volunteering, but my husband was on a transition team on the front lines, and no matter how much I tried to help others, I could not shake the cloud of fear in the back of my mind. I popped another Tums to calm my churning stomach, yet another part of my new daily ritual now that John was gone. I brushed my teeth alone in our tiny bathroom, now sad to have it to myself. When Tom was home, we would bump into each other and accidentally spit on each other while brushing teeth, and battle for toilet rights. With him gone for three months, those conflicts somehow took on a romantic glow. I tried not to look in the mirror, hoping that not seeing myself standing there alone would help hold back the welling tears.

Everything breaks when your husband deploys, and here I was at home, waiting for the washing machine repair man to come by and tell me why it sometimes leaked water or never seemed to clear up the laundry detergent in the delicate cycle. At least the machine was still under warranty, which did little to assuage my frustration of being under house arrest. I needed to get out and interact with others, because sitting at home gave me time to miss Tom, wonder how he was doing, and fret over his safety. At least I was not going to have to pay to be chained to my house, waiting for the repair man to swing by on a schedule that the industry never allows the consumer to see. No one ever gets told their appointment is around two pm. They get told that the repairman will come by on next Tuesday, and to

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