I feel awkward posting on this blog today. It has been eight months since I tossed confessions freely out into the blogosphere. Writing is such a piece of me, that I miss it and my thoughts are fairly demanding that I type them out. They need some room to breathe.
I decided to resurrect my yearly photo album habit and started 2012's album last week . I pasted pictures on the first two pages, labeled them "January" and then couldn't bring myself to conjure up enough desire to press on to February. Three days later when the tab still glared at me every time I opened my laptop, I realized, I don't want to remember this year. I don't want to commemorate it forever. This year hurt. It was hard. I am not ready to put pictures of us in a glossy photo album, permanently smiling through the pain.
The deployment is over, but its' residue still sticks to our hearts. Jason's absence cut each of us differently. The girls and the little boys appear to have bounced back and happily accept Daddy's return. Isaiah is another matter entirely. He told me yesterday he felt like his heart was "smashed". He asked me why he didn't feel OK now that Daddy was home. My answers are sincere, but are they helpful? I just don't know.
My heart does not feel broken anymore; the physical ache in my chest has blissfully disappeared. I am happy to my core that my love has returned to my side, but the hurt and pain of deployment hang like a skeleton in the closet, knocking around at odd moments. Songs from the radio trigger memories of sitting on the kitchen floor, sobbing, feeling hopeless and lost. Tallying my response to the deployment brings both pride and embarrassment. Situations where I definitely could have done better (the whole crying on the kitchen floor thing) and situations where I totally rocked deployment (roadtrips with five kids and two dogs) equal a mediocre score, at best.
In the middle of re-integration dust, I remain incredibly relieved and thankful the deployment is over and Jason is home. Routine and rhythm are slowly beating their way back to normal. As far as my oldest, God knows Isaiah's heart and I trust Him to heal my son's heart completely. We continue to take one day at at time, thankful for undeserved mercy and precious, precious grace.