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.
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.
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