My Longest Year

he made it.

I wish I had a quarter for every time I thought that.

The day he surprised me after his first tour in Iraq - he drove all night from DC to get to me in NY (even got pulled over by a cop, but was let go when the cop, apparently worried about his disheveled appearance, asked where he was coming from - "Baghdad.").  I'll never forget that feeling in the early morning when he crawled into bed and hugged me tightly.  I can't describe what that meant to my mental health - I had started grieving his possible death as soon as he left on Valentines Day; I was bombarded with images of war and uncertainty all day at the television station where I worked; and I went to bed in tears every night as I drifted off to the general's debriefing on CNN, and woke to the same every morning.  Then, there he was, holding me, and I breathed all that anxiety out.  He made it.

He had come home for an unexpected family emergency so there was no hero's welcome.  But he was home.

***

The day he called me from his second tour.  Since he was on a small ten-man team and fairly busy with the job at hand, we didn't get to speak often, but when we did it was at length.  At the end of one conversation he mentioned it - almost as an afterthought - "Oh yeah.  I got a bronze star."  Not a small prize, but I was proud of him.  What an accomplishment.  He made it!

Usually an honor of that caliber comes with a somewhat elaborate ceremony.  It was sent to us in a padded envelope in the mail.  James didn't seem bothered.  But I was.  He had braved a pretty dangerous mission for that star.

***

And I cannot describe the wave of relief when he called to say he was in Germany, on his way home.  Evyn and I arrived at the airport, excited to finally welcome him home.  It would be a fairly plain scene - no Army band, no large group of soldiers and families.  His team had left as detachments and came home equally singular and almost unnoticed.  I wish there had been the pomp and circumstance to match the amount of hell he and his team had been through.  But I was just so grateful he was home.  This was a tour he himself was most unsure about.  But he made it.  The whole team made it. Uninjured.  Alive.

***

He's in the Guard on weekends now.  Our life is a lot more calm and predictable.  But I know it bothered him that he left as a Captain.  Before he dropped his papers, there were talks about his track to Major.  He never said it, but I know he was thinking it would have been nice.

And here we are.  Tonight he came home from drill with this:

There's a shinier one on his beret.  But after everything else, this seems fitting. ;)

Congratulations, J.  You made it. 

we.

You would think exiting the Army would boost a marriage instantly.  In some ways, it has.  But our relationship has also suffered in all kinds of ways we couldn't have imagined.  We have a beautiful life, some really great friends, and three marvelous children.  But getting out of the Army exposed all kinds of holes we didn't know were there - that we had missed or overlooked while enduring the stress and chaos that war, deployments, and moves brought on.  Those years in the Army were a constant rush - hails, farewells, new friends, goodbyes, deployments, missions, ftxs, some new exciting or awful place around the corner...there was an almost predictable ebb and flow of activity that kept us constantly distracted. 

And now here we are.  Sometimes feeling less connected than ever, even though we are always within inches, feet, or just a few miles of each other.  Weird, right?  We get very little real time together.  So we hired a babysitter for Saturday.  And have spent all week looking forward to it.  And last night I finally picked up a piece of paper that had been floating around the girls' room for several days. 

Evyn has this incredible visual memory, and these days they take shape on paper.  I asked her about this one.  "It's you and Daddy holding hands outside," she smiled.  I looked at her quizzically.  I couldn't remember the last time we'd held hands anywhere.  But she insisted - "You and Daddy were outside, and you were holding hands.  I remember.  I don't remember what day, though." 

What a serendipitous, sweetly packaged little gift from God this week.  

And Evyn requested I hang it on our door, so we can look at it and enjoy it. 

he was a soldier once

Did I ever tell you James joined the Guard after he got out of the Army?  Well, he did.  The details would bore you but he will not deploy overseas within the first two years of his commitment, and he won't likely stay in the Guard longer than a year or two.

Last week he went out of town on an MI training.  He was to wear his ACUs every day again and needed to finally put on all his badges, while at the same time updating the badges for his dress blues.  Those badges are a bit shiny - doesn't this one look like a McDonald's toy?

I'd never seen this badge before.  It's a combat badge.  Turns out James was shot at by snipers who weren't that good at sniping.  I was a little surprised, and I guess in the grand scheme of things over there I shouldn't have been.  James wasn't infantry, but his team was kind of left to fend for themselves out there quite a bit.  I knew there had been lots of "incidents" - involving bombs and snipers and fire support (or whatever its called when bradleys suddenly show up to level a building for you).  But James was so exhausted from it all by the end that he never got around to telling me everything.  And I guess none of it seemed extraordinary or newsworthy at the time; after all, this is just how it was over there.

But watching him pack up his ACUs for the trip, reflecting on the seven years we spent as a military family in the Bush administration, and reading through the archives here, it dawns on me how extraordinary our life really was.  And we miss it sometimes.   

Evyn barely remembers.  And Ashlyn will never really appreciate it.  That their father was a soldier once.

When James returned I asked him what it was like to wear his ACUs everyday again.  It was just a week of training in the Guard, but he said he felt important--a sense of pride--because the uniform stood for something.  I understood.  He's still finding his way, his sense of purpose, as a civilian.  We both are, a little.  Our life is exactly what we wanted for our kids - ordinary and calm.  With room to breathe.   No more last-minute orders and upheavals and good-byes. 

It was difficult, and we wouldn't go back to it, but we can't help but look back sometimes.  It was, after all, an honor.

And for those still serving - take a moment to pray for their peace and strength and safety.

Some military blogs: Christine (whose hubby just returned home after 15 months - go congratulate them!!!); Lucy (whose husband is Nat'l Guard and deployed again); Mary (OIF widow)

almost goodbye

J. cleared CIF.  I mean, he turned in all of his equipment and managed to not get charged $3 million and four dollars. It's funny: I'll kinda miss using acronyms as a second language.  LES, OER, DTY, BAH, CONUS, COLA, FOB (well, okay, don't miss that one).  I have to keep reminding myself we've made the best decision for our family at this point in our lives.  The other day we were sifting through J.'s papers and reminiscing about all our adventures.  He found an identification record he was assigned before going to Iraq this last time.  Talk about creepy.  A piece of paper with personal identifying information about him that was the only thing Delta Force or Special Ops would have to confirm his identity should they be called in to rescue him from a kidnapping (apparently MITT teams are more susceptible than larger units).  There were spaces for them to  fingerprint him should he be found dead.  That brought me back to reality a little.

The movers come in a little while. People sifting and sorting through all my things.  It's so uncomfortable for me.  Anyone else get like that?  I walk around like an anxious twit just wishing everyone would put the stuff down. 

When I get crabby like this I remind myself of all my blessings (this is a grounding exercise for me), so here goes: My husband is alive and well.  We have a beautiful, really cool kid.  I'm preggo with another cool kid (I'm assuming the baby will be pretty cool, since he or she is ours).  J. found a great job.  We're moving to warm weather.  I have very supportive friends and neighbors who I love and will miss, but feel grateful for having known.  God has always taken care of me, and I don't think he's going to quit now.  And my husband is alive and well (it's worth repeating).

And you have all been kind and supportive, which is very cool.  I wish I had more time right now to email everyone that stops in.  Just know I read your comments and love them.         

we. are. fa.mily.

verklempt: [Yiddish]  overcome with emotion

This is how I felt last week as I read all of your comments for me.  Thank you so very much.  I was so crunched for time preparing for my trip to North Carolina that I wasn't able to respond to all of you with a personal email.  But each and every comment was a comfort.  In fact I read them over and over, and I thank you for taking the time to write.

It seemed to be a theme for me last week.  At the airport on Wednesday morning, I was sprite and ready for my trip to North Carolina.  Ready to start house-hunting, thinking about life after the Army.  And some feet away, in their own little world, I saw them.  A familiar scene:  a wife with her head buried in her soldier's chest - a final few moments together waiting for him to return to Iraq after R&R.  I watched her hold him tightly, him kiss her head reassuringly.  Of course, I started to cry a little.  When it was time to board, they said their goodbyes and he quickly put on his sunglasses to cover up his own tears. She sat in the waiting area even after he got on the plane, crying intermittently while she waited dutifully for the plane to leave.  I wanted so badly to reach out to her and tell her I'd be praying for her, but I didn't want to invade her space. 

Eventually, it was time for me to board.  But I couldn't leave her without telling her I cared.  So I walked over to her.  I was still five feet away when I started bawling.  "I just couldn't board the plane without telling you I know how very difficult this is for you and I'll be praying for you," I managed between fumbled sobs.  "I've done three deployments myself - two of them Iraq." She instantly jumped up and hugged me for a long while, telling me between her own sobs that this was their third deployment to Iraq.  At this point I wasn't sure who was consoling whom.  But it felt like a family hug.  The kind where you feel understood and supported.  That is the sisterhood I will truly miss - a bond so strong that two complete strangers aren't strangers at all, and something as simple as a long hug in an airport is just the dose of strength needed to get through the day's worry.

Thank you again for your doses of strength last week.  I really needed them, and I'll be paying it forward in the form of prayers for my "sister" from the airport.  

our next "duty station"

Last Monday, J. accepted a job as an industrial engineer with a pharmaceutical company.  The industry is strong, the position itself will get continued education with plans for promotion in a couple of years, and we will be moving back to the South (North Carolina).  The other two positions he had to choose from were as an engineer for an oil services company in Texas, and as an operations manager for a wind farm.  The wind farm was an excellent opportunity, but would likely always be in the boonies.  And as much as I love Little House on the Prairie, I didn't want to live like Laura (a girl needs her TJ Maxx and Target). J. loved the oil services company, but not the industry so much.  And we didn't want to live in Texas forever (sorry, Texas-lovers).

We are all at once excited about our future and sad about leaving the Army.  It really is a loss for us.  Some very well-meaning friends and family have called to say they are "relieved" that we are getting out.  The thing is, for us it's been a privilege, an honor, to be in the Army for over 6 years - especially during this time-frame.  Not everyone - particularly civilians - can appreciate that.  But then again, they haven't lived the news for the last six years.  Which is another reason it's so difficult to leave this life.  I feel like we are about to enter The Land of People Who Just Don't Understand.  My Army friends smile knowingly when I say that.  In fact, sometimes I avoid discussing my feelings about our experience on this blog because without the context of being an Army wife during a war, I wonder how readers interpret my thoughts.  I'm going to put some of it out there anyway.

It's not just a career, or a thing we do, it's who we are, and have become.  We've been part of the Army during a pretty tumultuous and trying time.  We're not walking away easily. 

With all the debate and opinions, there have been times that I have wondered what we're doing this for.  Yes, I understand the right to dissent and disagree, protest and argue, are what we are fighting to keep - or gain for others.  And I appreciate that.  But there are our rights, and then there's common decency.  Take, for instance, the protest I had to drive through at the opening of our gate on post - essentially the front steps of where soldiers live and work (I was grateful my daughter wasn't old enough to understand).  The signs told us to abandon our mission, to just "refuse to deploy!"  Besides thinking that the protest was in the wrong place to begin with, I wondered what sense this made?  Did they know what would happen to this country if our soldiers were to suddenly pick and choose which orders they followed?  I cried for an hour after that as I shopped the commissary on post.  Yes, I took it personally.  And how else could I have taken it, really?  Soldiers do not take their duty lightly. We've made a very personal investment in defending this country and others.   

Last summer J.'s Humvee was hit by a bomb (he survived unscathed).  It was bound to happen at some point.  He and his driving partner were almost always in the lead vehicle in a convoy.  Which means if there was a bomb to hit, they would probably be the ones to hit it.  A group of corrupt Iraqi police had told them the road was clear, then hit the ground for cover after J's team passed - a sure sign they knew what was coming.  Do you know what happened when J. went to arrest and question the Iraqis who were responsible for knowingly letting them drive over a bomb?  He had to let them go.  Their new story was that they'd "tried to warn the soldiers about a bomb ahead."  A flat lie. But in Iraq, evidence isn't enough to hold a known terrorist.  And even a conviction means only a short 3-4 month stint in jail before they are free to terrorize again.  That's what our soldiers are up against over there. 

Our husbands have a million stories like this.  And it's why it hurts so much to be a military wife among American politics these days.  And despite all the conflicting emotions, I truly feel blessed to have been a part of this history.  I am proud - PROUD - of J., of Clay and Karen, Christine and Dave, of Ben, of Phil, of everyone willing to wake up every day and follow orders. (This pic is from the day J. was commissioned)

This isn't a political blog, but this is a blog about my life, which has been affected by politics for over five years now.  Regardless of your politics, you've always been supportive.  And somehow I feel okay sharing my thoughts with you today.  You won't find too many military spouses willing to discuss such matters outside the military community, much less blog about it.  It's a bit of a no-no for many.  We've learned to be gracious, to keep our opinion to ourselves, and for heaven's sake to not bite people's heads off when they compare their husband's weekend business trip to our 12 (now 15)-month deployments. ;)

For all of you military wives, I am sad to be leaving your community in a few short weeks.  I will always appreciate your family's sacrifice.  If your husband or wife is deployed, please know my family is praying for you.  Stay strong.

Today is Military Spouse Appreciation Day.  Please take a moment to pray for our military spouses.

good bombs

It's been quiet around here at times, hasn't it?  A few of you have noticed.  When J. was deployed I had to be careful about that because some of you would think the worst. 

I won't bore you with everything.  It's been stressful here.  Very. Very. Stressful.  I pride myself on being in control of things.  But, who am I kidding?  I'm not in control of anything.  And I have been reminded of that over and over and over again these last couple of months, as J. has been preparing for our exit from the Army.

The key to getting out of the Army is preparation and job prospects - lots and lots of job prospects.  The thing is, the civilian world has such misconceptions about what military members can offer in terms of skills.  The bottom line is, they are capable of far more than being a security guard at your mall.  But often that is difficult to prove because there's so much explaining involved.  Anyway, the anxiety of the job hunt came to a head last week for us, as J. went through 11 interviews in two days. 

He came home that Wednesday, drained.  That night there was a story about some Marines on Oprah. I think J. got a little teary-eyed.  The Marines talked about their experiences in Iraq, how they would do it all over again, even with the heartache they endured.  They talked about how their fellow Marines were their family.  I asked J. if he was going to miss the Army.  He said, "Yes, very much."  He's a quiet guy.  But I know he's going to miss this family. 

I'm going to miss it.  I get a little choked up when I go shopping on post and watch helicopters land across the street.

I got a little choked up a few weeks ago when I got caught in a small convoy of Strykers on post.  Talk about awkward.  And feeling small. This is a Stryker:

I get choked up when I trip over J.'s boots.  And that uniform.  I'm going to miss J. in uniform.  It's such an iconic part of our lives.  But I won't miss the good-bye's (this was one of the last pics taken before J.'s last deployment; he was pretty devastated about leaving E.).

As I wrote this post, some kind of bombs were going off - a necessary evil, as its obviously part of training.  They're pretty loud. And a daily occurrance around here (we live close to post).  Our neighborhood complains about it in the summer when our windows are open because inevitably they go off during the kids' Precious Nap Time.  E. gets a little jittery every time she hears them.  "Big bomb, Mommy!"  I keep reminding her they're "good bombs."  Yeah, those make me teary-eyed these days, too.

But, just because change is painful doesn't mean it isn't necessary.