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.