My husband and I have had to  make  some important decisions in the last few weeks. After many months ofdeployments, it seems that he has to go for one year of training for the new aircraft he will be flying. The training is split in two locations, and once he is done, he will most likely deploy again.

Unfortunately, he only has a couple of weeks when he gets back from Iraq and then he is off again. Hubby has insisted that we go with him at least to one location because we have a chance to be all together.

I admit, I resisted the idea. Getting all six children settled in new schools, or maybe even home-schooling for the few months — only to move again — seemed impossible.

The hardest part of this ordeal has been trying to communicate on a regular basis.

I started to resent my husband’s request that we move with him and felt that he couldn’t possibly understand where I was coming from or how hard it would be for me to move six children — all seven-years-old and under — including one of them, Matteo, with special needs and health issues.

Perhaps the last few weeks of my pregnancy, coupled with my husband’s long absence, made me a bit more edgy, to say the least.

I felt stuck. 

Nothing could have helped me to make my decision and adopt a more cheery attitude than my oldest daughter coming into my room at 6 o’clock in the morning yelling that there were some Air Force guys outside our door.

Not good. Definitely not good.

I jumped out of bed and my first thought was that something happened to my husband, that he was probably dead. It was bizarre how I felt completely detached from any emotion but proceeded to put my clothes on and go to the door to greet my visitors.

It turned out that these two airmen dressed in their blues had come to tell me that a bear had knocked down our garbage and that food and diapers were flying all over the place, including around our cars. We have had problems with a black bear visiting our neighborhood with some frequency and even though it was very early, I was glad for their promptness in offering to help and in cleaning up the whole mess.

After they left, I suddenly seemed to have no problems making my decision. If something had happened to my husband, my life and ourchildren’s lives would have changed in ways that I don’t even want to imagine. If I have a chance for our family to be together, I have to go for it, even if it means facing a logistical nightmare.

Because truthfully, one day I may get the knock on the door, or the phone call from the hospital, or the visit by the sheriff at my door, and I may regret that I didn’t seize every moment I had with the people I love.

Anita Doberman is a
freelance writer, mother of five and wife of an Air Force pilot stationed at Hurlburt AFB in Florida. Contact her at:
anita@anitadoberman.com