Day 26: Nightmares

I dream every night, but I don't always remember my dreams. I tend to remember the really good or emotional or scary dreams. Like most people, I remember dreams from which I am awoken in the middle. My dreams tend to show me what emotions I'm suppressing or fears I'm avoiding.

Last week my dreams were all about relationships. I knew how much I am missing the close, romantic and intimate relationship with my husband, even though I am trying not to think about it too much. After so long without him, I started feeling very isolated. I have friends and talk to my mom and mother-in-law several times a week, but Chad and I have a closeness that nothing can replace.

I miss the feeling of being in his arms, kissing him, feeling his heart beat. To survive the deployment, I put all those feelings away in a little box. I feel like I have them pretty much under control, but after six months apart, they start surfacing in my sleep. Then he comes home for R&R and I get a little fix. But two weeks or so of rushing around and stressful contact, is almost just enough to make the cravings worse.

Based on my experiences, this is the part that gets a lot of the spouses in trouble. The emotional and/or physical cravings start and they are so strong that they start spending time with people of the opposite gender. The problem is even the most innocent of friendships can be polluted when your emotions are so fragile. I know when I start having these dreams, I am really vulnerable. I make a point not to spend time with anyone male, just because it is too easy to put yourself in a bad position to make a bad decision.

I've seen too many of my friends' marriages struggle with issues of infidelity, physical or emotional, to want to even take the risk. The dreams are always subtle about trying to get close to friends or trying to find my husband. But my dream last night was more obvious. I dreamed a crazy convoluted nightmare that my husband was returning home by ship, escorting the equipment and vehicles home from Iraq. They were attacked and in the confusion, Chad somehow ended up in freezing water with killer whales. The army called me to tell me he was lost at sea, but they hadn't recovered his body, so I refused to believe it. I knew somehow he would find a way home to me. After a day or two, I had to accept that he wasn't coming home because no one could survive in that cold water for longer than a few hours at best.

In the dream, once I'd accepted his death and started grieving, then he turned up alive. I think I'm just so afraid that something is going to happen to him as the days are ticking down so slowly until his return. He will have nearly a week after leaving Iraq before he actually lands in America, which means his time on missions should be winding down in the next couple of weeks. But it can't come soon enough for either of us.

He is just so tired. He is spending 18 hours a day in gear that weighs almost 100 lbs. in 130 degree heat on constant alert. He is just tired. I'm more emotionally tired. I spend a lot of time trying not to think about how much I worry or miss him. I spend a lot of time trying to appease a cranky baby without relief. I get a maximum of two hours a day to myself and then I have to triage what gets done. I know the dream was just a dream, in fact, I think I knew it was a dream at some point in the dream. But the queasy heart twisting fear is real and won't go away until I hold him, wake up next to him, and do it enough that I almost get used to it. Maybe then I'll get a good night's sleep.

Day 54: Fox hole

I don't know if you remember a TV show called Quantum Leap, but it was one of my favorites. The main character Sam time travels within his lifetime but into different bodies. He travels to each time to right something that went wrong in history. One of the episodes has been niggling at the back of my mind for a few days. It is called "The Leap Home."

In this episode, Sam travels back into his sixteen year-old self. He finally has a chance to right some wrongs in his own life. He wants to save his father from dying from smoking and his sister from eventually running off and eloping with an alcoholic, abusive man, but the serious wrong that he truly wants to correct is that his older brother was killed in Vietnam.

Near the end of the episode, he realizes that he can't change his own fate, but talks his brother into making a bet that if he wins the basketball game, on a certain date, he will crawl into the deepest, darkest fox hole in Vietnam and stay there until the day is over. Sam does make the shot and makes his brother swear.

The next part of the episode is Sam jumping into one of his brother's soldier's bodies in Vietnam. His brother is talking about the deal he made with his kid brother back home, but when they get called to go on a mission, his brother's sense of duty refuses to allow him to beg off the mission in which he will be killed.

While on the TV show, Sam is eventually able to save his brother, the reason this show has been haunting me is the promise. Just this last week, Chad's regiment has lost four soldiers. It is getting worse and worse. As they get to be short timers, sometimes, it feels like we're tempting fate. I get more nervous that fate will play an awful, cruel trick and take him weeks before he is supposed to come home.

He says the days are long and longer. He is tired and struggling. He goes to bed (when he gets to go to bed) each night praying tomorrow will be easier, and it never is. He is counting the days more than I am.

I keep wanting to tell him to find the deepest, darkest fox hole and climb in. Don't come out until it is time to come home. Even as I write it, I know he wouldn't. Oh, I am sure he has moments in which he is scared, but his sense of duty and loyalty to his troops would keep him going on the mission, especially if he knew the safety of his men was in question.

I love his sense of duty and honor. I love his bravery, but there are times I wish that I could persuade him to just hide! I can't imagine losing him. Night after night these past few weeks, I've dreamt about losing him to death or divorce, etc. My mind is playing into my fears and every morning, I wait until I hear from him.

I know he has a job. The most important job. He hates the things that take him away and some of the things he has to do, but he loves serving his country. I asked him before we married if he could do anything else and be fulfilled. I asked him if he could serve his time and get out. I would wait, provide him a home while he went to school and found a new job, but he couldn't do it. I knew that he didn't choose the army before me, but that he couldn't be happy if I asked him to be anyone other than himself.

I knew, but didn't know the life I had chosen would have such hard moments. I didn't know how much seeing his face in a picture would mean to me eleven months into a deployment. I didn't know how much, as I hear more and more women are getting the news that their soldiers aren't coming home, how it would break my heart for them and terrify me. So, Dear, if you are reading this, if the time comes where you are in danger and can do so without taking another soldier away from his family, please DUCK and crawl into the deepest, darkest hole until you can come home and my heart will be whole again. 

Day 178: Mort

Thursday night I went to bed after getting an email from my husband that he finally had leave dates. He was going to get home just in time for my spring break and probably surgery. It was exactly what we had been hoping for. Friday morning, I got a phone call from my sister-in-law that Chad's father had passed away. We spent most of the day trying to get ahold of Chad and figure out how to get him home for the memorial service. Luckily, the army is going to work something out so that he can take his emergency leave and R&R together, but it may be a bit of a juggling act to make sure he can stay long enough to be here for my thyroid surgery.

Chad's dad has suffered from renal problems for the past several years. He took a significant turn for the worse just after Christmas and has been hospitalized for the past couple of months. We were planning on taking a trip to see him over Chad's leave. It was heartbreaking for Chad to not have this last chance to say good-bye.

The last few years have been pretty tough on his relationship with his father. His dad had a traumatic brain injury when Chad was 13 or so which had some personality effects, then his genetic predisposition to some mental issues kicked in and the kidney issues exacerbated his mental state issues. It was the trifecta of confusion. His dad remembered things incorrectly, changed stories in his head, started saying and doing things that were not socially acceptable.

It was really hard to separate the person his dad was and the person he had become. We all struggled with being around him. Somehow even the simplest conversations seemed to get twisted and confused. But it wasn't something he could help. Perhaps he might have been able to get medication for some of his symptoms of depression, but the mental illness would have only gotten worse eventually anyway.

Chad's sister made the ultimate sacrifice and moved from home in central Illinois to south Texas to be with her father, to at first just help him stay organized and eventually was helping him walk from room to room, get to dialysis three times a week, pay bills, doing his shopping and errands. She took time to run to each different grocery store to get her father's preferred brands and tolerated his confusion day after day with little help from the rest of her dad's family. She was graciously able to love him even when his actions didn't seem like love.

In any case, I am filled with regret that I didn't push Chad more to visit his dad, offer him more freedom to do so or something. Mort wasn't the easiest father-in-law to love. He was sometimes very unPC and sometimes mean. He was always the most opinionated person in the room, which is tough in this family. But he was Chad's father and was gut-busting proud of the man his son had become. The last conversation I had with him he told me how proud he was of the mother I try to be to his grandsons when they are in my home and the mother I am to Lil Bit. He told me how happy he was that I was in his son's life. I sent him a photo album for his birthday of family photos from the past few years with captions next to each picture so that as his memory faded, he would be able to read where, when and who was in the picture and know that he was loved even when we couldn't be there. He loved that gift. It was such a small thing. He was so grateful for it. I am glad I did that for him, but wish I had been less selfish and done more. I could have called him more often, sent him letters and pictures.

I got caught up in surviving this deployment and now it is too late. I hope he knows that we did love him, that his son and grandsons and his devoted daughter are going to miss him, that I am sad Lil Bit won't remember him and will only know him from the stories we tell. At least he got to hold her once and was able to know how happy we were with our new addition.

Dad, we will miss you. I will pray this week to have the strength and patience I need to be there for my husband while he mourns the loss of his father. I know how hard it must be for him to feel like he wasn't there enough, even though he knows the army life didn't allow him to take the kind of role in his father's care he would have liked. I can't know how this feels, but I can make sure that my husband feels free to feel whatever he needs to and doesn't have to worry about anyone else. If that is all I can do to honor my father-in-law, then I will make sure I honor him by loving his son the best I can. 

Day 233: 101st

This week one of my Military.com emails had an article with my husband's former unit in the title:

Deadly Year in Afghanistan Takes Toll on 101st Airborne.

When we met, he was stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky and part of the 101st Airborne division. It is a unit with a proud history and he was proud to be part of it. So I opened this article and read it, feeling both sad and blessed at the same time. They had 104 deaths in 2010 at the time of printing, the deadliest year in the unit's history since Vietnam. It was about 1 in 5 of the deaths in that conflict.

I can't believe how many soldiers have died there in 2010. I did a little research and found several soldiers died earlier this month in an IED attack. Several more from foreign service branches have died in just the past few days. As a military wife, I feel more connected to any soldier's death than the general population might. Yet, with the 101st, I can picture the base, the majestic deer, the rolling fog and hills. None of the names of the soldiers were familiar, but somehow I feel more connected to them because they were stationed at the post I considered my first army home.

I feel blessed because Chad could have been stationed there still. If his ex-wife hadn't moved to Oklahoma, and Chad hadn't requested a transfer to Texas to be closer to them, he might still be in the 101st. So many of the recent deaths were from Chad's former division and a few were from the 4th Infantry Division, his next division. While his time in the 3rd Armored Cavalry Division has had its ups and downs, it may be what has saved his life so far.

We know, as just proved this week, he is in danger where he is. However, it seems like the danger is greater in Afghanistan where his two former units are. It feels selfish to be happy that my husband isn't one of the casualties, but it has to be normal to feel that way, too.

My heart aches for the families of all the soldiers killed anywhere anytime. The 101st soldiers just bring home the war and deaths to me. We are not quite five months into this deployment, and I worry about his coming home every day. Military wives live with death hanging over our heads in a very real way every day. We don't really get to take our spouses for granted, which is both a blessing and a curse. We know to treasure them, but also live with a big countdown clock ticking overhead all the time.

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.

Day 316: Because I could not stop

for Death, he kindly stopped for me. Somehow this Emily Dickinson poem always makes me think of dapper Death casually passing by in his carriage. Rarely is death so gentlemanly. When my husband's Aunt Jeana passed away, death was an end to long suffering and while not joyous in itself, was an end to her pain and a lengthy semi-comatose period. If we could have added healthy years to her life, we all would have gladly enjoyed her for many years, but more years of pain and drugs and confusion were all she had and death was a release from that half existence that wasn't the crazy, fun woman Jeana had always been. When death came for Grandma Nick, it was sudden but at the end of a very long and full life. We grieve for ourselves for missing these women, but celebrate their joyous reunion with God in heaven.

How are we supposed to feel when death comes more like a freight train barreling at a life barely begun.
This morning we heard the terrible news that a student from our high school had died. While official statements are still being withheld, it appears she was murdered by someone close to her. What kills me is that I walked past her last Friday, I thought to myself, "I'm too tired to stop to chat today." I wanted to talk to her, find out how things were going, but I didn't. I smiled and said hello, but a random thought crossed my mind to ask her about the young man today rumored to be the perpetrator. I didn't ask her, I didn't stop. I didn't tell her how much I liked her new hair cut or how I still worried about her.

I feel so responsible for not taking the time to spend with her. I don't know if stopping to talk to her would have meant anything, but she is one student that even though two years have passed since she was in my room daily, we still talked occasionally and I kind of paid special attention to her. She is one of those girls, and I see them every year, struggling with self-esteem and respect on a dangerous precipice. Sometimes they end up drinking or doing drugs, or dating the wrong boy or allowing themselves to be degraded by friends and boyfriends who don't value them and can't see the ruination of poor decisions. I see these borderline girls every year and try desperately to stretch out a life preserver, but my arms can't always reach into the abyss of their own creation or reach children who don't want, or know they need, saving.

Unfortunately, she is one of several students I have had die or be brutalized. Last year, I had a student kidnapped and raped, another attempted suicide. She is one I wrote about the other day. I have had students killed in car accidents, self-inflicted gun-shot wounds, drug overdoses, in alcohol related incidents, from disease. It always hurts. Sometimes the pain is the shock and sadness and overall unfairness. Sometimes the pain is from wondering what I didn't do, what I could have done. Today, I am again bombarded with this pain. 99% sure I could not have done anything, despite frequent conversations about choosing more carefully her friendships, this person remained in her life. But I could have at least stopped to talk to her.

Death sometimes sneaks up on us from behind, snatching at us unaware. Take the moments to care for and love the people in your life today, not having another chance feels pretty awful.