Running the last few miles...

It is hard to believe that a year has passed since I wrote this post: After Goodbye. When I wrote it, my family lived in New York and my husband had made his last visit back from Fort Campbell before he left for a year long deployment.

So, what happened "after goodbye?"

3 kids threw up. A lot. I broke my toe. I got strep throat. They got strep throat. More throw up. I wrote a lot of articles. And sold them. I wrote a blog. I ran a half marathon. My car broke. It broke again. Then it broke again. We read books together, went to parks together, traveled to relatives, hosted friends and family. I sat in martial arts, basketball, soccer, piano recitals, school concerts: Entertaining a 2 year old. I bought a new car. Played on our street. Said goodbye to friends and hello to new ones. My best friend listened to me cry. Came over. Listened some more. We sent care packages. Waited for phone calls. Skype. Darn bad connections with Skype. An email from dad! There was my birthday and three kids birthdays. And Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Years, Easter. And then my birthday again. Hurt feelings. Hard days. Good days. And winter days. The kids went to school. Stayed with sitters. Threw up some more. I wrote about it. We cried. We hugged. We laughed. And cried some more. Sometimes together. Sometimes alone. Our families came. Helped. And left. Came again. Helped some more. Skype. The kids and I talked a lot. We didn't talk at all. We went to the beach. Packed up a house. And then we picked up and moved. Unpacked. Set up house. And waited. For daddy to finally come home.

The last few weeks of a deployment are very similar to the first few weeks. My stomach is in knots. I can't sleep. I'm shaky because of the wait. And I try not to think. It's hard to believe we are so close to the end. 14 months apart. 2 where he traveled back and forth between TN and NY. And then off to Afghanistan.We've never been apart this long. 10 months. 10 months. And numerous training separations but never 14 months.

Last fall, I ran my first half marathon. A little over 13 miles. The longest I had run in my training was 10 miles. And when I hit the 10 mile mark in the race, I felt as if I was going to collapse. Each mile after that was painful. I had to yell at my feet to move. I thought that when I saw the finish line my mind would keep me going. Well, when I saw that finish line I actually stopped. Racer after racer passed me. I wanted to move. I wanted to get to the end. But I just couldn't. I was shaking and thinking about all of those miles I had just run. And, truth be told, I was just plain scared that I would fall over and die by the time I got to that finish line (heck, I'm a 5K kind of person).

The end of this deployment is very similar to that half marathon. I'm shaky. I'm tired. And I'm kind of scared. You're so close to the finish. But, until those boots

hit ground, you can't relax. And that's not all.

As military families, we pin a lot of hope to that homecoming. In essence the thought is: perfect is coming. Yet, that "perfect," well, after that first pancake breakfast "perfect" is hard. And, quite honestly, is a lot of pressure.

I'm running that last few miles of a deployment. Dare I say, it is almost as hard as those first few miles. But there is that finish line in the distance. And it is a sweet sight. So, just like I did at that half marathon, I will run that last few miles toward the decorations, clapping hands and cheers. The feeling of putting that foot across the line (carrying three other little people across with me) will be one that I will never forget. But this time, instead of a medal, there will be the sweet reward of breathing for the first time in 12 months. Holding my husband and knowing he is safe. (Okay, and I admit, having someone else say, "I'll do baths tonight!")