Army Strong.

The US Army's slogan, 'Army Strong.' Is quite catchy, masculine, rugged, rough. Everything a man should be, Army Strong. Well, little did I know that not only are the soldiers expected to be Army strong, so are their wives. 

I heard someone say a while ago that if the Army wanted their men to have wives, they would have been issued. Army life is not for everyone, that is quite apparent. The women are expected to hold their head up high as they watch their husbands leave for months on end and uphold a certain amount of control. We can't fall apart. We are Army Strong. 

There's a certain amount of strength that comes with the position, strength that comes seemingly from nowhere. Strength to go on with our lives, strength to get through another day, strength to ignore the media and tune out the goings on in Iraq.

People will say, "I don't know how you do that," or "I'm not strong enough to handle a deployment." In response I say that it's not something to want to do or choose to do, it's something you have to do. I would wait a lifetime for Hubby. If you feel that way, the strength comes as soon as they leave. 

Behind closed doors, locked away in the minds of the Army wives, there is a certain vulnerability, defensiveness. Panic when the house phone rings at an odd time, fear when someone knocks at the door, disgust for those who talk down to you, dread when explaining the situation to yet another person, eagerness for homecoming, pride at the mention of soldiers or the red, white and blue. 

Behind the strength of each Army wife, sadness is always in her eyes. A void in her heart. She may emit strength and pride, but behind the facade, there will always be a darker side, a pit in her stomach, worry and anxiety until he comes home. She makes it through each day with her Army strength, newly found on the day her husband left her behind. 

In the end, the wives left at home are also heroes, heroes in a different sense than their husbands. They are the warriors of the homefront. 

I love to hate you.

My cell phone and I have always had a strong, healthy relationship. I admired it, I took it places with me, I was excited when it rang but never disappointed when it didn't. Our relationship was never obsessive or stalker-esque, not until recently. 

Since Hubby left, my phone and my relationship has become quite analogous with that of an unhealthy human relationship where the girl cares too much and the guy is less than apathetic. The kind where the girl sits by the phone for him to call and when he doesn't, is crushed. The kind where the guy says 'jump' and the girl say 'how high?' 

A little extreme? Maybe. Unrealistic? No. Let me explain. Since December 10, 2007, my phone has never been turned off and has not been out of hearing range ever. Why? The potential phone call. 

See, I would do anything for my phone, much the same as pseudo girlfriend in my example would do for her boyfriend. I keep my phone with me at all costs, I bring it everywhere, I take it shopping, out to dinner even to bars! Pseudo girlfriend could only wish for this treatment.

So why, cell phone, do you haunt me with solicitors and wrong numbers and people who aren't in my phone book for a reason? Do you know that now that Hubby's in Iraq, I pick up every number I don't recognize because it may be him? And why do you torture me with wrong numbers in the middle of the night? You know I keep the ring at the highest level possible so I can't possibly sleep through it. You know that you lay beside my head, so why do you ring a 3am with a wrong number? All I do is treat you right, I just want some respect. 

Not only does my cell pester me with unwanted phone calls, it somehow conveniently does not ring when Hubby calls. I'm pretty sure it doesn't happen when anyone else wants to chat. The only times I have ever missed a call from Hubby is when my cell phone decided it was too lazy or worthless to ring and just passed the call straight to dependable voicemail. I can't even explain how heartbreaking it is to listen to a voicemail that Hubby left two minutes before I check it, knowing that I had nothing better to do than talk to him. I hold my cell phone in my hand, thinking that the harder I stare at it, the more likely Hubby will call back. I should know better by now, there is no correlation between call frequency and strength of stare. 

I can't say, however, that this is all my cell phone's fault. Sometimes I think that Hubby works together with my cell. I wonder if sometimes Hubby, before he calls, thinks, 'what would be the most inconvenient time for me to call Wifey?' He knows that I will answer no matter what, does he try to make it awkward? He has called during church (two separate occasions), while I was buying my new computer and dealing with the sales rep, while I was substitute teaching 8th grade science (yes, I answered the phone), while out to dinner with family, while explaining to a lady how I wanted Hubby's Citadel diploma matted, while in class, the list continues. Now, I am not complaining about this, he knows that no matter what I am doing, it is not as important as talking to him, so I always answer (unless it goes straight to voicemail, thanks cell phone), maybe this is his way of spicing things up. 

Cell phone, I can't wait for the day when I can get in my car without you and not run back in the house to make sure you haven't rang. I can't wait when I can turn you off for weekends at a time. It will be bliss to workout at the gym without carting you around too. To shower without you standing there in the bathroom with me. I can't wait for independence from you. I can't wait for the day when I don't need you. What sweet revenge that will be. 

Flip n Switch

Anyone who knows anything about the Army knows that nothing is written in stone. Ever. You can't believe that something will happen until it actually does. This, obviously, makes planning future events near impossible. 

I experienced my first Army flip n switch last March. I headed out to visit Hubby, who was my then fiance, over my spring break. I ran into his arms at the airport, euphoria. We were finally together again. He lugged my overpacked suitcase to the car and I trotted alongside him to keep up as we headed into the sun, heat and humidity. The warm air felt good on my face. I closed my eyes, turned my face up toward the sun, feeling the Hawaiian rays on my skin. "Does it get any better than this," I thought to myself. We hopped in the car and headed into the constant traffic.

   

"We just have to stop by work for this thing," said Hubby.

"What thing?"

"I don't know, some promotion ceremony, we won't be there long."

I was exhausted from my 10 hour round trip flight and even more exhausted from listening to the woman next to me tell her life story full with the juicy details I really didn't need to hear. 'Whatever,' I thought. 'How bad could it be?' Little did I know that I would experience for the first time, the infamous Army flip n switch. 

We parked the car and strolled into the building. Hubby introduced me to about ten co-workers, who, all dressed in BDUs, looked exactly the same to me. We made our rounds chatting with several groups of guys, finally settling down next to some older, obviously higher-ranking men. 

"Cpt. Bird," said Hubby. "This is my fiancee."

"Nice to meet you," I said, extending my hand.

"You too," he muttered. 

"So, LT.," Cpt Bird said to Hubby. "We've been looking at the NTC schedule and looks like you two lovebirds aren't gonna be having that wedding of your dreams. They moved it on up."

"Sir, that's messed up, I hope you're joking," said Hubby.

I just stared blankly at Cpt. Bird and his fellow Cpt. laughing at the little Lt. and his fiancee, basking in our misery.

"Look for yourself LT," Cpt Bird laughed. 

"Ready to go," I asked, blatantly ignoring the arrogant Cpts. 

I turned to acknowledge Hubby's superior's, nodded my head, "nice to meet you," I managed to spit out.

I grabbed my purse and Hubby's hand, and quicker than you just read that sentence, we were back out in the sun. I was horrified. Our wedding was planned for August 18, we already had the photographer, church, DJ and reception site booked and here we were five months away from the big day with nothing. I had to start from scratch. We were silent for the walk to the car, keeping the verbal and emotional vomit from escaping me. As soon as we were in the car, it all came out. 

"What a jerk!" I exclaimed. "Can you believe how rude he was?! Ughhh, I hate the Army. Do you know that now we're gonna have to change everything? How is this going to work?" What am I supposed to do?"

"Calm down baby," Hubby said, his voice rational and calm. "Everything will work out, it always does."

I shot him a doubtful glare.

"Trust me?"

"Yeah..."

And in less than 20 minutes I had not only experiences my first Army flip n switch, a whole new plate of stress had landed on my lap. 

I never really understood how the Army can be so unpredictable. If the Army were a private organization, it would be long out of business. 

Thank you United States Army, for making me plan my wedding twice.

Getting by with a little help from my friends

I was looking through my late grandparents things last weekend and I stumbled upon several photo albums from my grandfather's 3 year stint in New Caledonia during World War II. He left after he and my grandmother, kissing her goodbye in Massachusetts for three long years. Three years with no phone calls, no visits home for R and R, and definitely no email. Three years of letter writing and photograph sending. 

My grandmother would send pictures of her and her sisters and friends to him, he would write on them and send them back. In the albums were not only pictures, but the letters and cards he sent home every holiday. Three years of Christmas cards, Valentine's Day cards and birthday cards.

As I browsed through the albums, I felt a sense of comfort. She did it. She did it for three years. Things were so different back then, but in most ways, things were exactly the same. While I never was able to speak to my grandparents about their experiences during the deployment, I imagine they were quite similar to mine and Hubby's. 

I imagine that my grandmother made it through with the help of her friends and family. I imagine she had the bad days, the good days, the ups and downs, the what ifs, and the feeling that there is no end in sight. I imagine she had ignorant people criticize her as well and that she sometimes felt that it was too hard to go on. I know, however, that she was strong. She made it through three years of separation, uncertainty and angst. 

Like my grandmother, I know that I can make it through the deployment. After realizing how much longer my grandfather was gone than Hubby will be does make me appreciate our times now, but it does not make it any easier. I, like she, am getting by with a little help from my friends. 

Over the past four months my friends have really helped me. Luckily, one of my best friends, Lainey, from high school still lives nearby and pretty much our whole circle still lives in the Boston area. I haven't really been going out to bars a lot, but when I do, I can count on them to look out after me. 

Two friends in particular come to mind when I think about going out. Johnny Blaze, a Marine, and his fiancee, Biscuit, are the most understanding. Not because they care more, but because they have been through it. Johnny Blaze enlisted in the Marines before we got out of high school and left for Boot Camp in Camp LeJeune, NC about two weeks after graduation. He deployed to Afghanistan for seven months. Upon his return, he came to visit Lainey, Stac and I at UMASS. It was on this night that he met Biscuit and well, the rest is history. Biscuit endured two more deployments and none of us really understood. 

This past Saturday night, I packed up my things and headed into Boston to see Lainey's new apartment and go out for Bacon's birthday celebration. We headed to a bar in Fanueil Hall and met up with more friends. A few hours and vodka-cranberry's later, I found myself being hit on by your typical Boston guido. 

"Hey, wanna dance?"

No response needed, I just held up my left hand, "Married," I said.

"Aw shit. Is he heeya?"

"No, he's in Iraq."

"Aw man, whateva. How bout you just gimme yer numba?"

Blank stare

"Com'on"

In steps Blaze. "Hey dude back the f*** off. She's f***ing married. She doesn't want to be talking to you. Leave her the f*** alone."

I looked at Blaze a little astonished. Not sure if all he could see was Biscuit in the situation in the past few years or if guido really pissed him off. Either way I was taken aback by his defensiveness and his genuine care for me. 

He didn't leave my side the rest of the night.

I can't help but look back on the situation and smile, "what great friends I have," I think to myself. I know Hubby appreciates them too, knowing he doesn't have to worry about me while he is so far away. 

Looking back on the past four months, I can feel pretty good about my accomplishments and my progress. Four months in and I am already 26.6% done with the deployment. For my grandmother, four months in was only 11.1% complete. I wonder what she did to pass the time and I wonder if she had a Blaze to look out for her. Not everyone can be as lucky as I. I know I couldn't do this without a little help from my friends. 

Yeah, that's true!

"Anyone can give up, it's the easiest thing in the world to do. But to hold it together when everyone else would understand if you fell apart, that's true strength."

No Atheists in Foxholes

Growing up, my parents took my sister and I to church every Sunday and enrolled us in religious education classes or CCD as it was called. At the time we thought it was torture, sitting there reading the Bible, so we passed notes to pass the time and let the words in one ear and out the other. In second grade I received my First Communion and was confirmed in tenth grade. After that, I stopped going to CCD and saw going to church on Sundays as more of an annoyance than anything else... I'd have to get up early!

When I went off to college at UMASS in 2003, church and religion were the last things on my mind. I was more concerned with making friends and going out on the weekends. I transferred to the University of South Carolina in 2005 and lived with my now best friend, MegBo, a devout Christian. Living with her definitely changed my view on religion and made me feel bad about not going to church, but I still didn't go. I did realize that people down south are much more religious than my native northerners. I really respected that.

It wasn't until last year that I started to go back to church and even then it was very occasionally. Being a Catholic in South Carolina is like being Jewish anywhere else, a definite rarity so I went to church alone, but I almost liked it better that way.

When Hubby left for training after we got married, I started attending with more regularity, because well, it was a good thing to do and a good habit to form. I have every intention of raising my children with faith; it gives them morals and the opportunity down the road to decide to continue on.

It wasn't, however, until Hubby left for Iraq that I really took a deep understanding to or appreciation for my faith. When everything is so out of your control, you have to believe that someone or something greater than you, will give you the strength to keep going and to be the shield that protects Hubby and his fellow comrades. In a book I read about Army deployments, the author said that it is the people who have faith that have an easier time making it through than those who have none. This makes complete sense. Those of us with faith depend on the fact that God will protect our loved one and bring them home to safety all the while He is giving us the strength and courage it takes to get through each day.

As the saying goes, "there are no atheists in foxholes." LT G, Hubby's fellow platoon leader, adapted the saying adding, "...or on combat outposts." Could anyone without faith really make it through a deployment? Whether they are on the front lines or the homefront, faith is what gets us through.

There are no atheists on combat outposts or deployment homefronts.



Take a look at LT G's blog at: www.kaboomwarjournal.blogspot.com

Forgotten Prayers, Empty Well-Wishes

I'd be lying if I said that the people I see at the gym every morning had no impact on my life. When you see the same 5 - 10 people day after day, they become a pseudo-family of sorts. Being the miniscule gym I have worked out at since 1999, everyone knows everyone and their life story.

My best friend and I decided in the summer after ninth grade that it was time to start working out, because frankly, field hockey kept us in shape for 3 of the 12 months in the year, but not a day beyond that. We started out shy little girls keeping to ourselves and several years down the road we both started working at NVFC and thought we owned the place. We worked there all through high school and into college. Occassionally coming back for a random workout over Christmas break too.

After I came home from Hawaii, I wanted to branch out and find a "nice" gym. I looked around at several, but felt unfaithful, like I was cheating on poor NVFC and all its members who I had gotten to know so well over the last 9 years. I reluctantly began a workout routine there and recognized pretty much everyone. I was a little apprehensive about coming back and not being able to actually workout because most people find it to be social hour as opposed to workout hour. Surprisingly, pretty much everyone would say hello, be friendly and let me be.

Over the last four months, I have seen the same people every weekday morning. I love it. It keeps me motivated to go because if I don't show up, there better be an explanation the next day. These are the peope who understand my situation, occassionally ask how Hubby is and if I have gotten to talk to him recently, and add in their well wishes, but pretty much let me be me and not "the girl whose husband is deployed." Then there are the "unregulars" who know me and always ask how Hubby is, a great gesture, yes. Sometimes, however, they just ask out of habit, not really thinking about what they are saying.

A couple days ago, a middle-aged woman came in and followed her normal conversation with me. "Oh, Hiii. How arrrre you? How's your husband? You know, I'm really praying for him. I just hope he comes home." I just hope he comes home period. End of sentence. Not, 'I hope he comes home soon' or 'I hope he comes home safely,' just 'I hope he comes home.' She says this everytime I see her, but for some reason, it made me mad that day. I was not in a bad mood, the weather was great, I spoke to Hubby the night before, it just blindsided me. She had no idea. I couldn't even begin to say how many times people have said things like that. I know their words are well intended but sometimes, I wonder if these people make these comments because they really care or if they ask out of habit. I wonder if they really try to know what my life is like. I wonder if they even try to understand what my life is like right now or if they even remember. I wonder if they ask how I am just because the sparkle of my diamond catches their eye and they remember that there's supposed to be a husband attached. Aside from people who have actually been there, does anyone really understand? No, I didn't before this. I wonder if people look at me and my marriage and thank God that their relationship isn't like mine. I wonder how many minds it hasn't even crossed or how many ears it has gone in and out of. I wonder how many promised prayers have gone forgotten, how many well wishes were empty. I wonder if, until you actually experience this situation, you could possibly even try to understand. Maybe that is the root of disconnect. People trying to empathize who can only muster up pity and when walking away can only think, "Thank God that's not me."