Dear Jake,
I find myself missing you deeply, and it’s just the first night of your deployment. On my way home from work today, I almost forgot you wouldn’t be there waiting for us. As I walked our daughter, Lily, home from school, she was bubbling over with excitement to show you her latest masterpiece from art class. It was a bittersweet moment, reminding me of the void your absence creates.
These initial days are always the toughest. We’re still adjusting to new routines, and the weight of our farewell lingers heavily. The uncertainty of when we will hear from you, see your face, or speak to you adds a layer of anxiety that is hard to shake. Yes, the first day is particularly challenging, especially now that we have Lily, who is old enough to sense your absence but too young to fully grasp the situation.
Tonight is undeniably the hardest.
Tomorrow, I’ll kick off my deployment plans, the ones I always put together when you leave. Regardless of the length or timing of your deployment, there’s always a list: clean this, organize that, complete this task, learn that skill. Tomorrow, those tasks will begin. But tonight, as I sit with a glass of red wine—much less enjoyable without you—I am enveloped by the stillness of our home.
Earlier, I tucked Lily into bed—yes, our bed (co-sleeping is now a reality)—and ended up reading her three extra stories to help her process the fact that you wouldn’t be home tonight or for the foreseeable future. I struggled to explain it to her, in case you were wondering.
From the rocking chair, I watched her drift off, clutching your pillow and her daddy doll tightly. She kept peeking at me, not ready to let me leave her side.
Tomorrow, I’ll streamline our bedtime routine and use that extra time to tackle laundry, empty the dishwasher, catch up on emails, and maybe even binge-watch a few episodes of a show I’ve missed. But tonight, on this first night of your deployment, the house feels eerily quiet without you. I wish I could watch Lily sleep where you normally are.
Tomorrow, I’ll stress over the toys left scattered about before bedtime. I will dive into writing my next piece. I’ll reach out to our command families and support groups to find out about family meetings, hoping to connect with other spouses who understand our situation and to help Lily bond with other kids missing their parents.
Tomorrow, I’ll plan our shopping trips to Target, the commissary, and the regular grocery store, fitting them between Lily’s Hula classes, soccer practices, and playdates. I’ll assemble your first care package, organize the office, and figure out meal plans that cater to one adult and a picky toddler.
I’ll establish a new fitness regimen—twice a day, because that’s just how I operate (you know me). I’ll remember to mow the lawn and water the plants (fingers crossed). I plan to catch up on some shows I’ve missed while we spent quality time together, and perhaps even start a few new ones to get lost in.
Tomorrow, I’ll clean out our bedroom closet and outline weekly and monthly milestones to help time fly by (a 5k here, a wine and painting class there). I’ll jot down reminders for things like license tag renewals, recycling days, and account numbers I can’t afford to forget.
I’ll brainstorm ways to keep Lily connected to you throughout these months. I’ll draft a cleaning schedule to keep myself accountable and work on finding the words to explain to her the sadness we both share from not having you home for dinner or our evening walks.
Tomorrow, I’ll begin reorganizing the spaces in our home where I’ll spend the most time, knowing they might drive you a bit crazy when you return (don’t worry, we can revert to “our way”). I’ll re-learn what solo-parenting looks like for me. Tomorrow, I’ll still miss you but hopefully feel less sorrowful about it. I’ll start adapting to this new normal of managing life without you.
But tonight, I sit here longing for your presence and already dreaming of the day I will see you again—months from now. On this first night of your deployment, my love, I am missing you deeply, yet I’m also immensely grateful for the sacrifices you make for our safety. I’m proud to be your wife and partner, and that will never change.
Wishing you fair winds and following seas, my love. Or as we say here in our current home: Makani ʻOlu a Holo Mālie.
With all my love,
Laura