You don't need to be strong all the time

This past Memorial Day weekend was a great one. One filled with family, friends and yep, a wedding. The first I've attended since Hubby and I tied the knot almost a year ago (!!!). The previously mentioned Blaze and Biscuit married on Sunday the 25th of May and it was a fabulous day. I wasn't sure how I would handle the day, weddings = happiness = Hubby = Hubby not here. Being a full Catholic mass, about 30 minutes in, the priest got to the part where we pray for specific people in need. Being Memorial Day weekend and the fact that Blaze is a Marine, we prayed for the servicemen and women, those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice in the name of our freedom and for the safety of those currently in Afghanistan and Iraq. Well, in a moment of weakness, the tears started flowing. Hubby was not standing beside me to watch two of my greatest friends get married, he would not be there to dance with me at the reception or to share the happiness of the day. We were praying for him, for his safety and it all hit me at once. Very rarely have I cried since the day Hubby left, especially not in front of people. My mom grabbed my hand as the salty tears streamed down my face. My head hung as I attempted to regain composure, I felt a cool hand against my warm back, my best friend, Lainey, wanting me to know that she is always there for me. 

A stark moment of weakness. For about five minutes, all I could think about was that. Weakness. I'm supposed to be strong and the moment I fall, had to be in front of 200 people on the happiest day of Biscuit and Blaze's lives? I was disappointed in myself. I had let myself down. Three days later and this is still bothering me. Why? Simple really. I have been strong for so long, and not even half of the way through, weakness is trying to rear it's ugly head. It's been easy to push it back in, but with all of that emotion, I couldn't. 

We arrived at the reception and shortly thereafter, my phone rings. Hubby. Excited, I excuse myself from a conversation with a friend and her boyfriend. We chatted for a while and he asks how the wedding was and the reception and if I was having a fun time. "Yeah of course," I told him. "It'd be better if you were there though." He laughs and says, "I know honey, everything's more fun when we're together." I confessed to the incident in the church and tell him how I had really let myself down. "I just felt so weak. I should be strong and instead there was weakness." Hubby paused, offered sympathy, apologized for not being there and said, "you know, you don't need to be strong all the time." I smiled. He was right, completely right. Although I wish my moment of weakness wasn't in the church of 200 people, I realized that it's ok to cry. It's ok to be weak every once in a while. 

I don't need to be strong all the time. 

Unusual suspects

I recently received an email from Hubby's troop FRG (family readiness group) about a hate group that was coming to protest at our home base in Hawaii. Being ignorant of the evils in the world, I figured it was on the same level of the free-loving-tree-hugging hippies that protested the Marines up in San Francisco earlier this year. As I continued reading the email, my eyes were opened to a world I had previously been quite unfamiliar with, a group of hate, deception, brainwashing, more of an evil cult than anything else. What surprised me the most was the name these demonic people worship under, Westboro Baptist Church. What saddens me is that they use the name of Christianity to preach hatred and intolerance. 

A little background on WBC as explained in an Army brief...

"Westboro Baptist Church of Topeka, Kansas is an independent congregation of 80 members, mostly blood or marriage relatives of 76-year-old Fred Phelps, who founded WBC in 1955. The group routinely travels the country preaching "the Bible's hatred," advocating the death pentalty for homosexuals and picketing the funerals of people who die from AIDS. Recently the group has concentrated on the funerals of soldiers felled in Iraq, "thanking God" for the deaths it attributes to America's "fag-enabling" ways. These pickets have led to state and federal legislation aimed at restraining the 76-year-old Fred Phelps Sr., who has 14 children, most of whom remain loyal to their father."

The article continues explaining that, "[Fred Phelps] is a disbarred lawyer and founder of the Phelps Chartered law firm. WBC is listed as a hate group by the South Poverty Law Center and Anti Defamation League. He is known for preaching with slogans and banners denoting phrases such as "Thank God for 9/11," "America is doomed," "God hates fags," "AIDS cures fags."  

More recently, the WBC has been concentrating on soldiers, picketing their funerals and protesting at military bases. They hold heartless, demeaning signs saying, "Thank God for IEDs" "Pray for more dead soldiers," "They are not heroes," "God hates America" so on and so forth. The majority of the members are lawyers and therefore, they videotape each protest and use these signs to get the opposing crowed all riled up, if physical contact occurs, WBC sues. This is how they make their money. These are truly sick people. They have their children, infants, toddlers, youth and adolescents in t-shirts that have this hateful paraphernalia on it. The sad part is that these kids have no say, they don't know it's wrong to think this. They don't know that God loves everyone or that the soldiers they protest against, gave them the right to preach such horrid messages. 

Their messages have not stopped at homosexuals and military personnel, they also carry signs reading, "Pray for more dead kids," "Thank God for Katrina." They attended the funerals of the victims of the Virginia Tech shootings, thanking God for dead children. Where do these sick people come from? I pity them because they have obviously been brainwashed for so long, they do not understand the difference between right and wrong. 

One of their more public demonstrations was a picket at the funeral of LCpl. Matthew Snyder, screaming to his mourning family that their son was "in hell" and that he "deserved to die" and held their signs reading, "thank God for dead soldiers." Fortunately, the Synder family sued WBC for damages and were granted $12 million. 

We as a country, should not tolerate this behavior. Whether we are liberal or conservative, something needs to be done. Their voices need to be silenced. How do we begin to complete such a task? Unfortunately, their protesting is protected by the first amendment. However, there are angels among us. A group of biker men also showed up at LCpl. Snyder's funeral after hearing the the WBC would be there as well. They lined their bikes up in front of WBC stood there shoulder to shoulder with American flags in their hands so the family could not see the offensive signs. Over time this group has taken official form and is called Patriot Guard Riders, their motto, "Standing for those who stood for US." 

The Patriot Guard Riders website explains who they are. "The Patriot Guard Riders is a diverse amalgamation of riders from across the nation. We have one thing in common besides motorcycles. We have an unwavering respect for those who risk their very lives for America's freedom and security. If you share this respect, please join us. We don't care what you ride, what your political views are, or whether you're a 'hawk' or a 'dove.' It is not a requirement that you be a veteran. It doesn't matter where you're from or what your income is. You don't even have to ride. The only prerequisite: Respect. Our main mission is to attend the funeral service of fallen American heroes as invited guests of the family. Each mission we undertake has two basic objectives: 1. Show our sincere respect for our fallen heroes, their families and their communities. *2. Shield the mourning family and friends from interruptions created by any protestor or group of protestors.   *We accomplish the latter through strictly legal and non violent means."Please pay their website (at the bottom of the post) a visit to see just how much they have done to give back and to protect those fallen heroes.  

In this situation the usual suspects have switched roles, the members of this church are comparable to the devil. The bikers whose stereotype is usually comparable to an outlaw are the angels in this situation of hatred. How long will America tolerate hate groups like this? WBC does not discriminate, they hate everyone except for themselves, they hate America, homosexuals, soldiers, children, everyone. It is 2008, tolerance should be routine. 

http://www.patriotguard.org/Home/tabid/53/Default.aspx

The countdown

Ever since Hubby and I started dating, our lives have been nothing but a countdown; counting to the day we see each other again. 

When we first started dating, he was at Ft. Knox in Kentucky and I was at school in South Carolina, we'd chat on the phone and send emails, but were counting until sometime in October when we could see each other. Finally, the weekend came and seemed to last about 10 minutes, but it wasn't too bad because we knew I'd be heading out to San Diego to visit him while he was at his parent's place. That came, and again, the weekend seemed to last about 10 minutes. When he dropped me off at the airport so I could head back to South Carolina, it was a little harder, we were going to see each other in Hawaii after Christmas. And thus began the next countdown. 

Mid-October to late December seemed to drag on and on. Every morning when I woke, I'd tear off another post-it revealing a number one less than the day before. Hubby did surprise me by coming to Massachusetts on December 24th to spend Christmas with my family and I, which was very exciting for me, not only because I got to see Hubby (then boyfriend) but it knocked a solid seven days off the countdown. He left, and a couple days later I was on a plane around the world to visit Hubby. 

We spent about ten days together in Hawaii before Hubby dropped me off at the airport. This time was notably harder than times past and I learned that each successive goodbye is always harder than the last. This goodbye would have to last three months before I could come back to Hawaii over spring break. After spring break it was another three months before I would be back to Hawaii to spend the summer before the wedding with Hubby. Countdowns galore. But what were we counting to? A few days, weeks, months together before we'd have to part ways to our own lives until we would see each other again for a visit?

A solid two weeks after the wedding, we drove to Charlotte, NC where Hubby would be taking the 6am flight back to Hawaii for more training, I would stay in South Carolina to complete more coursework. This was the hardest goodbye to date. I cried at the airport, I cried the whole hour and a half back to Columbia, I cried the rest of the day, and the worst part of it all was the fact that my roommate had gone away for the weekend. I had no one there. I was lonely and sad and three months away from seeing my new husband. 

I tried not to start my countdown until at least a few weeks in, but, it just didn't work out that way. I made it as soon as I composed myself the night I dropped Hubby off. 95 days. Every morning I'd rip off a post-it and throw it away, my trash filled only with pink post-it notes was symbolic of the time passing. This time was harder than the rest. I'm not sure if it was because we were newly married or if because all of my friends who had previously been around the Columbia area had graduated and moved out of the world's worst city. I stayed busy with work and exercise and classes, but it still didn't help. I'd wake up, rip off a pink post-it, toss it in the trash, flip on the news in hope that President Bush decided to end the war so Hubby wouldn't have to go, and disappointed, I'd pull on my workout clothes and head to the gym for at least two hours. I can say that boredom has kept me in quite great shape. I'd come home, go to work, come home, do schoolwork, go to bed, and do it all in the morning. Rip off a pink post-it, flip on the news.... 

Time was at a standstill. Every morning that I woke up, I realized everything I was doing seemed to be without heart or passion, I was just going through the motions. Everyday that passed was not another day of my life but just another day closer to Hubby. Each time I pulled a number off the countdown, I'd remind myself, "one day down, one day closer." Time, I thought, would never pass. Why is it that when you want time to fly by, it drags and when you want it to slow down, it flies? An interesting paradox. 

Well, finally, it was the day I was heading back to Hawaii to spend two months with Hubby before he left for Iraq. What relief I felt when I finally saw Hubby and we were able to go on date nights and swim at the beach together, even grocery shopping was fun if it were together. Oh, how I wanted time to be put on pause. Faster than you read the last sentence, it was December 10 and Hubby was leaving for Iraq. Another countdown, only this time it couldn't be counted in days. Well, it could but 454 days is a pretty overwhelming countdown. 

I tried to hold off as long as possible on the countdown but with little success. I couldn't help myself, about two weeks into the deployment I created a bi-monthly countdown. I rip a purple post-it off every two weeks. It's now on 10 months, May 22 will indicate 9.5 months and so on. I look forward to each time I get to rip off another post-it, but what I really am looking forward to is the time when I don't need to keep a countdown. 

When Hubby comes home, I will never again countdown days, weeks or months. Why would I? I will have nothing better to face than the present. 

Just to see you smile

As Hubby's deployment drew nearer, the more anxious I became. Feelings of uncertainty, angst and dread overcame my person. "How am I going to do this?" I'd think to myself. 15 months is a long time, there's no debating that; the question was: what do I do with myself? Deployment homefront veterans tell you what to do, what not to do, but until you've walked the walk, you never know what's going to work best. 

All my life I have struggled with boredom. It may sound like a petty battle but if my day is not filled completely, I go insane. There has not been a day since Hubby left where my day wasn't packed from 8am through 6pm. Taking six courses (20 credit hours) and five days of two hour workouts each week have kept me occupied for about ten hours each day. Weekends filled with family, friends and fun. However, as the semester has wound down, with two courses completed, I am having a hard time figuring out what to do with myself. I will be starting two new courses over the summer, but what do I do in the meantime?

I have always heard that deployments are a time of personal growth, a time of self-discovery and to be honest, I thought it was a load of BS (excuse the language) before this began. Only five months in, I have already discovered how I cope, not just with the deployment, but with bad situations in general. When I fill my days beyond capacity, I don't have time to think about Hubby. I don't have time to wonder why he hasn't called, to think about the danger he is in, or the 10 months ahead of us. I don't have time to wrap my head around the possibility of him not coming home. But, with all this free time, I do. 

Five months in and I've already come to this realization, in addition, I have realized just how important family and friends are. In times like this, it becomes apparent that your family will always be there for you and you discover who your true friends are (lucky for me, I have a lot of amazing friends). 

After this is all over, and we have endured 15 months of separation, I know that Hubby and I will never take one day together for granted, we will live in the moment and enjoy each other's company. Never again will I keep another countdown (my hatred for which will be articulated in its own post) nor will I ever cross each day off the calendar. 

The only thing that keeps me positive is quite intangible: promise of the future. I daydream, quite often, of Hubby getting off the plane for R and R (mid-tour leave) and running, once again, into the safety and security of his arms. I imagine touching his face and feeling his hand around mine, sensations I can barely remember, memories I try to hold onto. I try to remember all of his little quirks, but they are five months lost. When I close my eyes, I can't picture his handsome face. When I came to this troubling realization, I was quite saddened. I can't picture his mannerisms, the way he walks or laughs. What hurts the most though, is that I can't remember how he looks at me. 

The day that Hubby comes home for R and R cannot come soon enough, but the thought of it is what keeps me going. Until that day comes, all I can do is wait and hope that I have a task to do each day in order to pass the time, but more importantly, to keep my mind from wandering.