Day 256: Combat related

We received notice late this week that a soldier in 3d ACR had died from combat related injuries. He was in a different Squadron than my husband, but stationed here at Fort Hood and deployed to Iraq. He was a PFC. For those of you unfamiliar with the military acronyms, he was a private first class. Generally, a PFC has been in for about two years or so, which also, in general, means he wasn't very old. Most new enlisted are 18-22 so he would have probably been under 25.

I took a second to look up this particular soldier, he was 24 and married, on his first overseas tour. The last time he talked with his wife, he told her he had a "special" mission the next day. The day after that, soldiers in dress uniforms stood on her porch, ringing the bell with heavy hearts. She said she knew immediately what had happened. Of course, operational security often requires the families have limited information about the exact details of the incidents, but she knew he wasn't coming home. She said, "It is not OK right now, but I know he died fighting for our country. . . He died a hero."

Like so many men, her husband felt called to join the army. He was in college, studying to be a civil engineer and felt he needed to take some time to serve his country. He planned to return to school and finish his degree. I'm sure he planned to raise a family, celebrate many Christmases with his wife and someday children, maybe coach little league, teach his son how to throw a spiral, turn 30. He certainly planned to come home.

I can only imagine the horror she felt opening the door. And honestly, I can't let myself even really imagine it before I start to cry. My husband is gone and we're doing just fine, but the thought of losing him forever is so painful that when it even runs across my mind, my stomach twists and my head aches. I want to scream and throw myself on the ground sobbing. I think I would refuse to open the door, wishing it away.

Last night I talked with an old friend whose husband had just left for Afghanistan after his two week leave.   Her girls cried the whole way home from the airport. "I . . . want . . . my . . . daddy!" I told her I couldn't even imagine how to explain his leaving. I can't imagine how hard that will be to be dealing with a child's innocent, selfless grief while trying to cope with the myriad of emotions I have every time he leaves. While I hope and pray not, the likelihood is that I will someday, most likely sooner rather than later, have to explain to her where her daddy is going. It is hard talking to Chad's sons about his leaving, but they are older and have a step-father who is a loving, male figure in their lives. Even so the deployments have been hard for them, and going through it over and over has to take a toll on children.

Chad on a mission with friend

Right now, my biggest fear is that Lil Bit won't know him when he comes home. We have pictures, the recordable book, but those things don't convey who her dad really is. No words can capture the heart and spirit of my husband. He is all at once the most contradictory of people I have ever known. He is the consummate great white hunter. If you can kill eat and eat it, he does. He is also uber concerned with his appearance and fashion, so metro-sexual. He is a fantastic cook, a selfless husband,  and a one of a kind father who expects respect and discipline, but also will curl up on the bed and spend an afternoon playing video games with his boys or tickling them into hysteria. He is a staunch, serious, dedicated soldier - all business. He can be moved to tears by the sound of my voice or to peals of laughter at the sound of her babbling. He cries when his boys miss him and brags on all of our accomplishments. No one tells stories like he can. He acts them out while he talks and has most everyone rolling with laughter.

I don't know what I would do if I had to tell Lil Bit about her father because he isn't coming home. But women have to do it everyday. Every time I hear of a soldier's death, it breaks my heart. Somehow, in my head, I think we're immune. Chad is invincible. He certainly sometimes has acted like it ; p - but we, military wives, know it is all a farce. The next mortar or IED and the soldiers could be at my door. I just pray everyday that he comes home safe, always home safe.

I want his obituary to be free from those dreaded words, "combat-related" and instead "died peacefully in his sleep at 104". Now, my mother-in-law will read this and laugh, because she knows how crotchety his father and grandmother became as they aged and will tell me, "Jennifer, be careful what you wish for! You may have to put up with him that long." But I would take 104 any day!!! I can always send him hunting or fishing.