The Sea Captains Wife

It’s 6 a.m. local time and I am up early before the sun and the kids. It’s 2 p.m. and the other side of the world for him.   George is in the middle of a hot Afghanistan day, likely on a flight or deep in organizing for the next day’s mission.  Three days have gone by since I have seen an email.  No biggie, I think to myself. I am sure he is ok and just very busy.  He’s a pilot so they have constant scheduled missions and always a few unexpected ones.

Later in the day I find myself scanning the proverbial horizon of email, always looking first for the familiar name in the FROM column.  I am like a sea captain’s wife.  Climbing the creaking wooden stairs to the widow’s perch atop the house. A biting sea breeze is whipping my hair around as I strain to search the horizon in hopes of spotting his returning ship.  Wrapped in a wool coat, I stand strong against  the battering wind. My determined stance and search echoing my inner resolve to keep calm, to keep faith, and to keep scanning. 

Still nothing. I shake off my feelings of doubt and impending doom. I remember our first deployment during Desert Storm.  We had no internet, no emails, no Skype, and  certainly, no phone calls.  We relied on the US Postal Service to keep us connected. We learned patience.  We strengthened our faith.  We developed both hope and trust in the quiet days and weeks in between letters. 

Later that night, after a full day at work, I find myself at the computer again. I scan for the elusive email and my only connection to George.  Once again, nothing. 

More days go by.  I continue searching. I hope. I wait. I pretend all is well. 

On the surface, we spouses are good at pretending. I am the sea captain’s wife again: making meals, caring for the children, helping an elderly neighbor.  I keep my hands and mind busy while my heart aches and worries. 

I remember signing a government form before he left and giving the name of a good friend to be on hand in the event of an emergency or crisis. Do they still have my form?  Will they be able to reach my friend?  Did I make the best choice of who to stand by me? These are the myriad of thoughts as I lay awake in bed. 

I find myself imagining the unimaginable. I wonder… if something goes wrong, how long will the notification take?  Will the Chaplain come?  Will I be able to stand?  Will I fall to my knees? Will I cry or scream?  Will I be so numb the tears won’t come?  

Day 9 and it is finally there… two or three quick sentences. “I had to go up North for a while.  Busy week and I am exhausted.”     

I exhale, letting go of the deep tension and stress I didn’t realize I had been holding for so many days.   I am exhausted, too.  I have been on constant vigil.  Just like the Sea Captain’s wife.