The forecast

Sometimes meteorologists can predict the weather exactly right and sometimes they couldn't be more wrong. Deployment is like that, but instead of meteorologists there are moodologists. Moodologists can be friends, family, coworkers, strangers. They try to forecast your emotions based on the facts of deployment. I often become a moodlogist for myself. It helps to see sadness, depression, distraction, or exhaustion approaching on the radar map. Just like a tornado warning, a mood warning gives you time to gather the necessities, change plans, and hunker down until the storm passes.

There are times when the moods and stress levels can be quite accurately predicted. Everyone knows that the first weeks of deployment are hard. You have to be on automatic pilot to get through the days. You might cry a lot or feel pretty numb. Holidays are hard. Watching the news can be scary.

Then there are the sunny spots! Phone calls from your soldier are moments to be celebrated. Packages from Daddy can make an entire week thrilling. Surviving a particularly challenging week, day, or moment can also guarantee a feeling of hope and success- like a rainbow. These moments have emotional reactions that seem scientifically predictable and explainable.

Then, there are those unpredictable surprise moods. The undetected tornado. Sometimes my mood doesn't match the forecast. I've known my husband's approximate homecoming date for about a month. The moodologists predict excitement, relief, happiness, euphoria. When people ask, "So when is he coming home?" and I give the estimated date, the standard answer is, "You must be so excited!"

Yeah, I MUST be excited, but why don't I feel it? I know it's in there somewhere. Ugh. On top of not meeting the excitement expectation I have guilt too. Guilt that I'm not feeling what everyone else tells me I should be feeling. Instead I feel tired and ready to give up. I'm forgetful and distracted. I'm unorganized and I no longer follow my trusty schedule as closely as I should.

There is some comfort in the fact that my daughter is also exhibiting out of whack responses to things. She no longer wants to make videos for Daddy. In some ways she is uninterested in communicating with him. When he calls on the computer, she still enthusiastically says, "Hi Daddy!" but she doesn't excitedly tell him stories or show him things or even sit still for him. She just keeps playing or eating or torturing the dog.

I frequently suggest we make a video for Daddy. She tells me she'll just show him when he gets home. He will be home soon, but not soon enough to see the sticker tattoo, headband and pink glove combination she added to her outfit today. She no longer finds comfort in watching videos of Daddy, or looking at pictures of him. Sometimes she doesn't want Daddy doll around. I know she's not rejecting Daddy. Instead she's rejecting all the substitutes for Daddy. She tells me, "I miss my REAL Daddy." I give her space and don't push too hard. When she's ready I give her a hug and assure her that he's coming home. She's a tough kid and overall she seems pretty well balanced, even if her reactions and behaviors no longer match what we've come to expect.

Maybe I'm well balanced, too. The Wii Fit tells me I'm "unbalanced", but maybe that is yet another incorrect reading of my experience.

I tell people the estimated homecoming date numerous times a day. "Yes that IS soon!" I agree, hoping my voice shows the appropriate amount of excitement. But I don't feel anything when I say the date or think about it. I'm just sharing facts and having no personal reaction.

Until today.

We were driving home in a snowstorm. The roads were icy. My daughter was requesting snacks and music. The dog was sleeping in the passenger seat. Suddenly I felt it. Butterflies of excitement in the pit of my stomach. HE'S COMING HOME. SOON. I let myself start picturing the buses arriving with all the soldiers. The first embrace. The sheer joy on my daughter's face when she runs into Daddy's arms. I let myself start fantasizing about taking my dog's place. Soon enough I can be the one asleep in the passenger seat because my husband will be taking back his job as family driver. I pictured life after deployment and it looks good. Really good.

Then I hit a patch of ice and the butterflies of excitement turned to knots in my stomach as I gripped the steering wheel and focused on getting us home safely. We got home, unpacked, and went through the nightly routine. It may have been automatic, but we were both happy. Excited? Nope, that was gone, but I don't mind. I know it's there and it will be back. Excitement is in the forecast.