March On

Who knew?  Who knew that in Afghanistan IEDs are placed in trees and remotely detonated from cell phones in order to kill handfuls of Americans at a time?  I certainly did not.  I thought that I had seen it all over the last 13 years as an Army wife.  Just when you think you have heard of everything...
So, now there are another 7 dead American boys and more injured.
It is hard to be on the receiving end of information about such an incident and be able to do nothing.  It is a panic that sears through logic, and you find yourself wishing that your loved one's injuries had been more severe so that they could have just come home. Instead, they will patch them up and send them back into the fight.  That is the way it should be.  That is the way it has always been.  If you still have a fight in you, then fight.  So, we wives continue to fight.

 "What do I do now?"Asked an Army wife who nearly lost her husband in this horrible, cowardice attack.  He is not severely injured, perhaps bumps and bruises, and he will head back out into the bullets as soon as he has his wits about him and some new soldiers to replace the dead and injured ones.  That is a hard reality to face.  It is hard enough to keep calm most days when your loved one is in harms way, but to know they are going right back into it after such a close call, is an excruciating feeling.

"You just be okay," was my response. "You just find a way to be okay. I don't have a magic elixir for it.  I don't have any advice.  You just have to be okay."

That is a tall order to ask of anyone, an insurmountable one it seems at times.  But the Army isn't special because we can do this.  Everyone hikes this mountain at some point in their lives.
A woman braving breast cancer as her children watch, a soldier carrying his wounded and scared comrades, a fireman witnessing a building falling in on his men, a child sitting with her pet in its final moments...these are all moments just like this Army wife's.  Tragedy has hit or is about to.  There is no escape from it.  There is nothing left but to brave the winds, no matter how they batter us.  We stand tall, and refuse to let panic and uncertainty pull us into despair.  Then, we find that invisible strength we need to just be okay.  We push on.  We run towards the fight.  We embrace the strength that we will gain for having survived the storm.  We find the wherewithal to swallow hard and keep moving one boot in front of the other, march on.

Busy with Busy

I am busy being busy.  Life is throwing obligations at me from every direction.  A deadline here, a volunteer responsibility there, an essay over here…Wow.  I am maxed out.  I have no idea how any one can manage to do more than I already do and also do it well.  It just isn’t possible.  It is like a restaurant that advertises that they make the world’s best lobster, ice cream and tacos.  It cannot be done.  I would rather do one thing, and do it well, than over-commit myself to too many things and do each of them half-assed.  So, for me, I am maxed out.  I wish I cared more about what others thought of me.  If I did, I might have gotten fewer tattoos, or finished my bachelor degree years ago.  Although, I do like my tattoos.  And school is just one of things that many of us do in order to check the box and move on.

 I can feel it sometimes.  The judgment of others is an itchy heat that you can’t quite wash off.  That look, you know the one, that critic-y people shoot when they ask you to take on a project, and because you just don’t want to, they somehow pity you for your lack of motivation.  I love that look.  Why is “no” so hard for some people to hear?  Is it because “no” is hard for them to say, therefore being told “no” is somehow painful?

Well, in this far too busy life many Americans have fabricated for their children, running from one activity to another without actually spending a single, solitary moment actually interacting one-on-one with their kids, we lose perspective of the importance of doing nothing.  What is wrong with just being alone with our thoughts?  Are we so afraid that we won’t like what we find, that we literally race from one distraction to another in an effort to never see that we are indeed flawed people who need improving?

I know that I am not perfect.  However, I am okay with being me.  My hips are too wide, my smile is a little crooked, I talk too much, but that is who I am.  I could use a little reflection in my life and I am never going to find that from the front seat of my mini van, while I dart from soccer game to Scouts meeting to birthday party. 

Come on guys.  Chill out.   Sit down.  Read a book.  Play an instrument.  Meditate.  Do nothing, for just long enough, that you can see, without all the haze of busy-ness mucking it up, what your life lacks, what your life has to offer, and where you are headed. 

Let your kids play outside until dark.  Let them do it more than once a week.  Let them explore without constant adult interference. Let them just be children. 

Our kids are the most stressed out, over-scheduled, ridiculously out of shape group of kids around.  Let us just unplug, hide the car keys and sit in a lawn chair and watch our kids grow (without checking Facebook the entire time, or texting about something that is not as important as the game our toddler just invented).  

"Well, you signed up for it"

I was asked to write a piece about military life for an literary journal recently, and I thought, "No big deal.  I do this all of the time".  What would I write about?  There is an enormous amount of our military lives that cannot be summed up in words, and trying to does not come close to painting an accurate picture of what it really means to be an "Army" family.  I write this all of the time, I know.  It is true though.  This one percent of the population, our active duty, influence every person, every day in ways that are not calculate-able.  Often times we don't even recognize the weight carried by our military and their families.  I sometimes hear ignorant people claim, "You signed up for that".  It is their way of telling us to stop complaining about the burdens of our lives.  That is 100% correct.  We DID indeed sign up for this.  That is so very completely, and unarguably true.  He put his signature on the dotted line not just once, but four times.  He knew what he was doing each time.  He did not do it for the money (I laugh at the idea that there is any money in this life).  He did not do it for the glory of being a hero.  He did not even do it for the love of his country.  At first, this was just a job.  The economy collapsed after 9/11, the jobs went with it, and we had kids that required feeding.  So, it is our fault, I suppose.

My husband is no hero.  Most Americans aren't.  It doesn't matter if they wear a uniform.  Heroes are rare.  It isn't that a person has to be exceptional to he a hero, it is only when the chips are down and the outlook isn't so great that heroes are made.  Heroes are no one special.  Heroes are everyday Joe's who are dealing with extraordinary circumstances, and choosing to do it with grace.  I do, however, pause to think that many of the foolish voices that scream so loudly that our American soldiers are nothing more than paid mercenaries, would be of much help when help is needed.  I am more inclined to think that it those who choose time and again to sign on the dotted line, who will come to our aid when we need it.  The fact that anyone willingly signs that enlistment or commissioning paperwork, allows others to choose not to.  You don't have to think of our men and women in harms way as your heroes, but you should at the very least, see them for what they are.  They are a buffer between you and those bullets you are afraid of catching.  At least give them some respect for that.