Army Gifts

Our life as an Army family definitely has a way of cutting our knees out from under us, but it also gives back from time to time.  My children have strong personalities.  They are not easily swayed to abandon their convictions.  They know how to enjoy the tiny pieces of happiness life throws in their direction.  To the Army I give the credit for those gifts. I think that life can be summed up by accepting that we are all just existing from one great moment to the next.  There are deployments, casualties, PCS’s and melt downs in between the memorable moments, sure.  If there weren’t hardships, how could we ever appreciate the good stuff?

 I know that a homecoming is in our near future.  We have more days in this deployment behind us than in front of us.  I know what seeing Chris step onto that tarmac feels like.  I remember holding my Thomas as he spotted that plane in the air and then swoop around to land.  I can still taste the tears that dripped from his eyes onto my face as he cried.  He had never been so overjoyed.  It was cold the day that Chris returned from Iraq.  It was bitterly cold to be completely honest.  We were a little irritated and a lot tired.  For two weeks, the day of Chris’ return continued to change, hurling our emotions back and forth like the Scrambler at the State Fair.  As we heard the tires scream to a halt on the runway, the cold didn’t matter.  The lack of sleep disappeared.  We concentrated on one task.  We had to find Chris amongst that sea of soldiers.  We had to lay our eyes on him and reassure ourselves that he had ten fingers and ten toes and both ears.  We needed to touch him to make sure he was really home.  I know what a homecoming feels like.  I also know that day is worth more than most of all my moments compiled.  I cannot wait.  To hell with not counting the days!  I think I will pull out that calendar and start drawing enormous red X’s across each day until next spring. 

More and Less

Again we read the words sent to us, informing us that there has been more.  More of what?  Is that what you were asking yourself?  Me too.  More loss, I assume.  What kind of loss?  I imagine it is the most precious kind, life. 
Never get too comfortable.  That is the lesson I keep getting hammered into my skull.  I almost believed we wouldn't have anymore loss.  How childish and idealistic of me.  Even though we know nothing more than the fact that we have lost, we Wolfhounds are holding our breath, fighting back tears, and bulking up for the details that will come.  Was it an IED again?  When you say, "heroes" does that mean two or ten?  Have the snipers returned?
 This Afghanistan war thingy is starting to wear on my nerves.  It's been a decade now.  They let us build them schools and hospitals, vaccinate their children, clean the drinking water, and then they turn over caches of weapons to the "Freedom Fighters." Those same weapons are later used against us. Caesar built up Brutus as well.  Even after Brutus betrayed him and fought against him, Caesar forgave him. Caesar gave him position and authority, fame and wealth.  For all of Caesar's efforts and good will towards Brutus, all it accomplished was getting Caesar stabbed in the back by a friend.  History has told this tale and ones starkly similar a thousand times and then again.  Hell, America has done this before.  I just can't see the point in losing another soldier, marine, airman or sailor for this spot on the map. 
Is it fear that drives us?  Fear of Pakistan?  Fear of nuclear weapons?  Fear of religious madmen?  Do we really believe that if we strong arm Afghanistan into democracy, or a paper doll version of it anyway, that it will somehow help us keep some control over Pakistan?  I am a firm believer that crazy men will do crazy things in spite of good men with good intentions trying to prevent it. 
More loss.  Less control.  My head hurts and I feel the need to vomit.  Another body bag or two or three are coming.  Taps will play again very soon.  Widows will be crushed again.  Mothers will buckle once more.  So goes the heavy wheel of war and sorrow.

The Fallen, the Families and the Rest of Us

Today we honored our dead.  We paid tribute to our fallen Wolfhounds as the families grieved and command dropped coins at the boots and helmets of the four who gave their lives in May.  I was sure yesterday that I was not going to cry today.  I was positive that I had done my grieving privately in the weeks before.  Contrary to my thoughts, seeing the families enter with the heaviness of their grief was unbearable.  I think that it is impossible to not put yourself in their places.  I had to ask myself, if in the event this happened to my family, would we be okay?  I didn't have that answer (I still don't). That was the the jagged truth today brought.  Chris and I have always been honest with our children that it is never a certainty that Daddy will return from his time overseas.  Then we always follow that up with the undoubted fact that even if Daddy doesn’t come home, we WILL be okay.  Today, I realized that I didn’t actually know that fact without question.

We have four children because we wanted to raise a family together.  It wasn’t because I have some great affinity for children because I don’t (dissimilar to what people think of couples with large families).  We have a picture of what growing old together is going to look like, and it has always been our assertion that it will look that way.  Today, that picture started to curl at the edges.  How would I go on without him?  How would I describe such an unbelievably wonderful father to our two youngest in the years after that loss?  Would I be able to explain his love for them in words rather than him expressing him through actions?  I’m not sure that I could.  I am positive that I would never remarry.  I can’t even imagine bringing another man into my life or into our children’s lives.  It would be selfish to marry again.  I would never love another man the way or at the depths that I love Chris.  The new husband would always be second best.  I would always want Chris, and be settling for this other person.  That wouldn’t be honorable to put another person in that position. 

The questions we thought we would never have to ask ourselves were dauntingly apparent this afternoon.  My daughter asked me as we drove to pick up the boys from childcare, “If Daddy dies will they have a big service for him too”?  I couldn’t answer that question for her.  I just kept my eyes on the road ahead.  I’d never conceived that Chris’ face could end up in one of those frames.  I never envisioned being the widow until three months ago.  

As I listened to the sobbing of the widow in the chapel,  I pictured the fallen soldier's fatherless children, I begged silently for the opportunity to take our kids bowling just one more time together as a complete family. 

With a few hours behind me (and a long nap), I can see more clearly that the widow in the chapel today probably didn’t have an answer to those questions beforehand either.  Being an Army wife means excepting that there are some hurdles in life we cannot and should not try to prepare ourselves for.  We all hope to not find ourselves sitting on the pew, front and center, being watched as we grieve.  If it happens, no amount of worrying about it will make it easier in the event.  It only prolongs the horror ahead of time.  With that somber reality, I will take a deep breath and put those worst cases away for a while. They’ll creep back from time to time.  I am sure of it.  I’ll be ready for them next time. 

To the families and friends of our fallen, my heart bleeds for you. Nec Aspera Terent.

Nana and the communist bastards

Typically on a Saturday, well no, not typically at all because Chris is always absent.  Let me begin again.

I like to make pancakes or waffles with eggs for my family on Saturday mornings.  The kids love it and Chris thinks it's amazing.  I find it very difficult to make such a mess just to cook three waffles when he is gone.  The kids have been playing Wii all morning and I have yet to brush my hair.  Yep, that's what a Saturday, during a deployment, at our house looks like.  I am trying to convince myself that taking a shower and going grocery shopping is worth the effort.  We could scrape by another week by eating canned corn and tuna.  The kids believe that eating cereal for dinner is a special treat.  So who am I to take that away from them by cooking chicken and dumplings or spaetzle with goulash?  That is so much work when the little ones would rather not eat my efforts in the kitchen.  The fact that I have so few friends on this island adds to the lack of desire to exert any energy in any direction. 

We decided to live off post this time around and it has its ups but also has an enormous amount of downs.  Living on post with Nana could have been a disaster.  We weren't able to get command sponsorship for her at Campbell, so she wasn't cleared to live on post with us here.  I can only imagine what kind of drama ONE nosey neighbor would have kicked up if Nana had gone wandering around the block in her Alzheimer's induced delirium.  Instead of quietly bringing her home, family advocacy would have been involved and adult protective services.  No thanks.  I'd rather live way out here all by myself than deal with that.  The truth is that many people care for the ageing members of their family at home.  However, on post, the average age of women is 25.  How many 25 year olds do you know caring for a grandmother?  Exactly, none.  How many 25 year olds do you know who are mature enough to handle a situation such as mine?   So, the understanding and patience I would need from others to live in my military community is non existent.  That means we live out here cut off from our Army family.  It's lonely sometimes.  Nana is turning 91 this year and is in poor health.  I can't imagine having to move her once more.  I can't fathom trying to help her make sense of it again.  I haven't been able to convince her that Hawaii is a state, or that the Japanese aren't commy bastards yet.

I guess, I'll get up and attempt to put together a list of needed groceries.  I guess, I'll brush my hair and put on a bra.  I guess, I'll feed the kids something other than tuna mac with corn tonight.  I'm not going to do these things because I am a great Mom, but because I don't want to be this lump too much longer.  I'll only get out of this rut if I start climbing.  Here it goes.

FRG, house cleaning, bullet holes, and other varients

Two and a half months gone and still it feels no closer to the end.  What a wild ride the last two months have been.  In particular, the last two weeks have been the most challenging I can remember.  I'm sure that I have uttered the words, "this is the worst week ever" before, but I am serious when I say that the last two weeks have had gargantuan mountains I have had to hike.
Where do I begin?  Something happens in the way neighbors and friends and family view you when your husband is deployed.  Suddenly, all the competence they once thought you had is gone.  It is replaced with either the "poor woman she can barely cope" insults, or the "Oh my! Shes Superwoman" statements.  Both are completely wrong in fact.  It is often the one who looks like her life is falling apart who is actually dealing better with the separation than the one with the clean house and polished kids.  I'm a clean house and polished kids kind of Army wife.  It looks from the outside as if my life is sailing through the waters of Afghanistan drama beautifully.  However, what I am really feeling is lonely and abandoned (that's why I have so much time to clean).  I can't speak for the "falling apart at the seams" Army wives, but I am going to climb out on an imaginary limb and say that they are feeling the exact same way I am.  So neighbors, friends and family, I am and this deployment life is, more complicated than what appears on the surface.  Crying isn't a sign of an impending emotional collapse anymore than changing my oil makes me a superhero.
Bullet holes, RPG's, snipers and long hours are what our guys have been living with the last two weeks.  It would be an enormous understatement to say that I worry.  I'm not sure that fret is an adequate description for how I feel today.  Imagine feeling every minute of everyday that there was something heavy, let's say a baby grand, suspended above your head, and that at any moment the rope that holds that crushing object is going to start to splinter.  That is what I feel.  The impending blow that a KIA would have, is that baby grand.
There is something to be said for being in a room full of Army wives who have the same piano above their heads everyday.  We don't need to exchange stories or cry together.  Just the act of being together is a liberating experience. I will never have to describe the piano to her and she will never make the mistake of minimizing my fears (as so many non-Army folks do). 
I just need to make it through June with my piano and then family and friends will start the ever increasing flow of distractions that will take me through November (R&R).  I am thankful for the  distractions.  The noise of visitors and busy-ness will muffle the sounds of that rope snapping.

What an RPG does to a person.

I realize that I am a different person from the one that many of you recognize. I speak less now.  I'm not as interesting.  My opinions don't seem as important anymore.  I am finding it more liberating to listen than to run off at the mouth.  I could give the credit to the life skills I've learned over years of counseling.  It's possible that getting older is mellowing me out.  Even being an Army wife has changed my outlook on life tremendously.  I believe it's the combination of those things that have changed me.
This deployment has altered me the greatest.  Knowing that my husband has been within range of RPG's and small arms fire definitely gives me perspective.  The last two weeks has made one thing perfectly clear.  I am not afraid to be alone with myself anymore.  I don't need constant interaction or conversation to get away from my thoughts.  I am learning to enjoy being with myself.  I live with the reality that in the next ten months my risk of becoming a widow is a great possibility in comparison to other's (no Army wives included).  I am growing less tolerant of people who can't appreciate that type of fear.  I don't have patience for the everyday stresses that most people believe are real troubles.

In the next week, the ladies of The Wolfhounds will welcome home two more wounded warriors (there have been 10 so far), grieve the loss of the four from last week, and steel up for the ones to come.  My thought processes are different now.  Perhaps, it's because for the first time since I was a child I can clearly process how I really feel about things.  I plan on cleaning house because it’s way overdue.  I imagine when it's all over I will have less friends.  I imagine that the people who will surround me will largely be Army friends.  There is an unspoken understanding of what it feels like to hear that an IED or an RPG almost blew your spouse to bits.  There is no question as to what emotions are riled with that news.
I know that no matter what, even the most stressed relationships within my Army circle will mend themselves instantly if there is a need.  As hard has this year is going to be, and the ones before have been, this is my family and my home for better or worse. 
There is an odd feeling that comes when your loved one is shot at.  It strengthens my resolve.  I dig in my heels, and I the find strength to support Chris as he fights back.  That is why we are an Army family.  Say what you want about trashy, rough, loud Army families. Turn up your noses and pass judgment.  How many times have we heard that the Army scrapes the bottom of the barrel for recruits?  I'll tell you this...you will NEVER meet a stronger group of people.  We train, live, fight, celebrate, cry, support and die together. We do all those things with almost no support from the outside world and with an ever growing lack of respect.  We have earned the right to be a little rough around the edges.  So, yes.  I am a different person from the one I once was.  I continue to evolve as a person.  Tomorrow I hope to be a little different from the woman I am today.  Take me or leave me.  I am who I am.  I'd rather be alone than to settle for friends and family who would like me to stay the same, or can't find the strength to understand me.  For all my Army friends, you know what you mean to me.  You understand.  You can appreciate my current state of mind.  Hooah?  Hooah.

For Those of Us...

For all of us who know what it feels like to get up every morning and dress just in case the Chaplain stops by, for all of us who have experienced what it does to you to know someone is dead but have no idea if it is our own, for all of us who take our phones to the toilets in hopes that we will hear that person's voice, for all of  us who have buried our dead killed in action, for all of us who fell to our knees on 9/11 and watched those towers crumble, for all of us who have sent away our most precious gifts on the prayer that they will return, for all our firemen, police officers and first responders killed in 2001 by terrorists, for all the passengers on those planes, for the families that remember everyday why we fight in Afghanistan...today is for us.  Bless our military, their families, and our first responders!

Two weeks down-My not so spooky life

We are two weeks closer to Chris' return.  I am not a woman who scratches the days of the calendar, but it is difficult to avoid the mundane and usually painful daily reminders that it has ONLY been two weeks.  I would like to say that everything went wrong the moment he walked out the door but that would be woefully misguiding.  Actually, aside from a few, short lived personality lapses, we have been alright.  Thomas is, of course, doing everything he can to get attention without saying a solitary word.  That is nothing I find out of the ordinary.  He always has unresolved maternal issues, and I am always three steps away from "fixing" it.  As for the other children, there is nothing to report.

The hardest reality to shoulder about this beast called a deployment, is the quiet.  At ten in the evening, the entire house is silent except for the lull of the washing machine (that runs non-stop).  My mind plays tricks on me.  I hear things that do not speak.  I see things that do not move.  I feel things that are not there.  This no ghost story, sorry to disappoint, but I feel that my emotions and senses are in hyper mode while he is away.  I wake at night and walk, stealthily through the dark, to lay eyes on our children.  I just need to see them, to see that they are alright.  It is not unlike the need to lay a hand on your sleeping newborn to feel her breathing.

My life is not for the easily bored or lonely.  I know women like that.  They are always looking for a way to explain away bad behavior and poor choices.
 "I drink to unwind.  For God's sake!  Can't a woman have a vice?", is said to justify a bad habit used to numb and hide boredom.
"I'm emailing Soldier-Whats-His name because I need help around the house", is always handy when a lonely woman needs male attention.  I think that I have heard them all.  I stay to myself and fend off the crazies by not making appearances.  If they can't see you they can't bother you.
So goes the first two weeks...50 more ahead.

Day Five-Angry today

Today I am angry.  I am angry that Chris fights overseas with so very little concern from the very people who put him there.  It makes me shake when I think that politicians control the very existence of my family.  Those same cod fish, most of them anyway, have NEVER served in the military, and almost none have kids overseas toting M-4s.
Tell me, Mrs. Politician, what do you really know of war?  How many tourniquets have you tied?  How many bad guys have you hunted down?  How many days have you gone without speaking to your kids?  I REALLY want to know!  Tell me, Mr. Politician, if you choose to continue to fight on Capitol Hill, how will that help my country?  How will Americans pay the bills?  Will you still have a roof over your head as I pack mine up?  Where is your heart, backbone and soul, Mr. Politician?  Did you forget you ever had those?  Where did you leave them?  Answer me!

Day One-Our Anniversary

Eleven years ago I married a long haired hippie who worked at a health food store.  He had been a vegetarian for six years and spent hours in meditation every day trying to "find himself".  We promised to never spend a single night away from one another.  How time and children and life change ideals.  Today he is a clean cut, hard working, military intelligence officer who enjoys a medium rare burger and spends hours everyday changing diapers and teaching music theory to his four kids.  We have spent more anniversaries apart than together, and as I type this his plane is sailing towards the bad guys.

He isn't perfect.  He is demanding at times and whiny.  He works too much, way too much.  He is high strung and not at all spontaneous (this is difficult with four kids and an old lady living in your home).  He is sometimes completely thoughtless about the attention I need or the time it takes to wash, feed, dress and corral a family of seven.  However, I have never met a man more dedicated to his children.  He is by far, the best daddy a child could ask for.  He is patient.  He is focused.  He will expend days on projects that I wouldn't even consider doing  with the kids.  He cherishes every little drawing, every tiny effort.  When I feel tired of him as a spouse, I remember that he is a wonderful father.  That is all I really ever wanted.  I wanted a man who would always choose his kids, no matter what the alternative.  I want a man who puts his children before me, because I do the same. 

They will never truly understand how much that man loves them.  It is possible that they will even blame him for working so much or being gone so often.  They will fail to remember the hours at the skate park or the moments correcting their timing on a music piece.  I will remember it though. 
Happy Anniversary to the most incredible man I know.  I am a lucky girl.  

Bad Dreams

We have less than four weeks until deployment, and par for the course, the nightmares have started.  They are always so vague.  He is too far away to reach.  I am desperately trying to reach his fingers, but no matter how much I strain, he is always a fingertip from my grasp.  I guess, that is what a deployment feels like.  I write letters.  He sends emails. We Skype.  He is still out of reach.  Lucky for me, I know the nightmares will subside once he leaves.  I will stop sleeping at that time as well.  Perhaps, there is a connection.

Pre-deployment Jitters

This morning I rose early, in hopes of doing a little exercise while my house slept.  As I fumbled through the dark hallway, I tripped.

“Damn it!”  I whispered as I reached down to retrieve the obstacle in my path.  

My heart sank as I realized it was my husband’s very worn, very dirty combat boots. In six short weeks on a very early morning, we will man handle my husband’s military gear into the back of his pick up. We will sit silently as we drive the short distance to an overflowing parking lot full of crying children, jittery wives, and more guns than can be counted.  My nervous kids will complain that they are cold, and hungry, and tired.  I will remind them that Daddy is leaving in a few hours.  They need to make it count.  What a silly thing to say.  I will say it anyway.  

This isn’t my first dance with a deployment.  I won’t cry.  The new wives will sob hysterically and cling to their husband’s necks, but not me.  I learned a long time ago that being emotionally raw on this day in front of my husband hurts him.  He needs me to be strong so he can leave without the mountain of guilt that will eventually hit him like a tidal wave.  I know that the other wives will wonder why Green’s wife never cries.  Some will even say that I am icy and unloving.  Contrary to this assumption, I am using the finely polished skills I have perfected over the last ten years of being a military wife.  

Here is what I have learned about myself and my husband’s love:  I know that love is not selfish.  Love is not wild abandon.  Love is finding courage when one feels they have none.  Love is strong.  Love is enduring until the end.  Love is sometimes foregoing what you may want for what is best for your partner.  

So, I won’t cry in that sad, dark parking lot.  I will hold my head high.  I will laugh.  I will fight back the grief that will try and choke me.  I will hold him, and then I will let him go.  I will turn and walk away.  I will not look back.  If I looked back he would see the flood of agony pouring down my face.  

See, I am crying this morning, alone in the dark, as I cling to a pair of nasty boots.  I hope he never knows how much I miss those damned things when he’s gone.