Doesn't Feel Right

Over the weekend and on Memorial Day I saw status after status talking about our troops. There was a comment posted that may or may not have been directed at my post for that weekend which read: 

Every Memorial Day, people take the time to thank C and I for his service to this nation. The sentiment is beyond kind but that is not what this day is. This day - this weekend - is a time to remember the fallen, to remember their families.It is a day to mourn. A day to remember. A day to be grateful for the men and women who GAVE THEIR LIVES for your freedom, for your comfort. We celebrate them and mourn them. We are humbled by their incomparable selflessness - their complete sacrifice.

This weekend is a time to remember the dead. To name the fallen. To remember those they left behind - because there isn't a moment that they forget.

HONOR Them.

Below it I posted the photo that belongs to my friend of her husband's grave. When I asked Tiffany if I could use her photo, I told her I wanted to share it to show what Memorial Day is truly all about. In her gracious, gracious manner, she told me absolutely. 

The comment that I read talked about how of course Service-members should be thanked on this day and any day. That there are few days more appropriate to do so. I can understand that thinking - in total. 

Few know what it is to lose a friend in war. Fewer know what it is to lose a family member to war. 

I will never tell a person that it is wrong to thank our troops. 

Never.

But I can tell you that when you thank C on Memorial Day, he thinks of the soldiers he has buried. He thinks of the families he held. He thinks of the ones who didn't come back. He thinks about the children who are fatherless and motherless. The widows and widowers. But, above all, his mind and heart go to the ones who cannot be thanked. 

He doesn't think about his buddies who made it home. He thinks about the ones who didn't. 

I think about Nick's mom when she squeezed my hand at his memorial. 

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On Tuesday I was driving to bring Eli to his ABA therapy about an hour from post. Along the interstate I noticed a large office building had put out hundreds and hundreds of full-size American flags. Perfectly lined up, a sea of red, white, and blue. It was a beautiful and humbling sight. A few seconds later I saw the large banner: 

Thank You, Veterans. 

Happy Memorial Day!

On Monday I saw the facebook posts "Remember to Thank a Vet!" "Grateful to those who fight for our freedom." "Proud to love a soldier." 

I am immensely grateful for every Veteran of this nation. More than I have words for. I am proud and blessed to love C. 

But when you thank him on the day when he remembers the ones who didn't come home ... when you thank me on the day my heart breaks for their families, for our friends, for their children ... 

I am not saying it is wrong. 

I'm not. 

But - for me - it does not feel right. 

Memorial Day is not Veterans' Day. 

They are not the same. 

Thank a veteran at any time - take a day to send cards, packages, encouragement at anytime. Remember the fallen every day.

Do not wait for the day that we remember the dead to think of the living. There isn't a day that the living do not carry the dead. 

Honor Them This Memorial Day

Every Memorial Day, people take the time to thank C and I for his service to this nation. The sentiment is beyond kind but that is not what this day is. This day - this weekend - is a time to remember the fallen, to remember their families. It is a day to mourn. A day to remember. A day to be grateful for the men and women who GAVE THEIR LIVES for your freedom, for your comfort. We celebrate them and mourn them. We are humbled by their incomparable selflessness - their complete sacrifice.

This weekend is a time to remember the dead. To name the fallen. To remember those they left behind - because there isn't a moment that they forget.

HONOR Them.

Who do you Honor today?

A Future at Peace

Transition is hard. 

I feel like I have been in mourning since early December. 

Part of me loves this post. It's beautiful. This town is beyond lovely; the people are incredibly kind. C actually got to take Logan to play golf the other day. He was actually home before the sun set - and that's normal here - to not work all hours of the day and night. To have dinner with your family.

I haven't seen a single military vehicle. Not one. I haven't heard artillery in the distance or taps played through the night sky. No cannon has woken me up (unwelcomed) at 0600. I'm not sure which way to face when the flag is lowered at retreat because I'm not sure where it flies. I can't hear it played by my house.

I see different uniforms every single day from different countries, hear the accents, see other nations' flags waving on houses. There is a "kangaroo crossing" sign at the crosswalk in front of an Aussie's house that makes me smirk when I drive by. 

There aren't any multi-cam uniforms around this post - no one coming or going. I don't see welcome home banners along the post gates. People here don't fear the doorbell. There are no red flags marking ranges in use. The "hospital" doesn't have a near set rotation of births based on deployment cycles. 

I have never lived in this world before. 

When those planes hit the towers over a decade ago, C already owned his sets of BDU's. He had already sworn a vow. He'd been to boot camp and been through the training and prepared for war during a time of peace. 

When he was commissioned and swore his new oath, our world was a very different place.

My entire military journey here has been during a time of war. 

You would think there would be a comfort in that - a deep breath at least. You would think that. 

Transition is hard. 

Days from now, weeks from now, months from now, I have friends whose loved ones will be boarding planes to continue this fight. We will be in two entirely different parts of this journey - both incredibly real - existing at the exact same time. Them living in the world still torn by war, us beginning the steps of a military at peace. 

I do not know how to put into words how that tugs at the deepest parts of my heart. 

I feel hopeful while at the very same time guilt-filled. I do not know how to wrap my mind around a military not at war. I do not know how to not worry about the path that lies ahead. 

I am fearful of what will happen as this transition begins. Fearful of what will be left for these heroes when the military adjusts for a nation at rest. Fearful of how a generation of war-time soldiers will find their place in a country that hasn't known the same thing. 

For my generation of military spouses - this is all we have known. This is all we have lived. 

I haven't been able to write because I haven't been able to process. 

That isn't true. I have understood. I knew what this post would be. I knew it. I knew when we left Carson that we would - most likely - be stepping away from everything we have ever lived. I knew that.  

I haven't been able to write because I just didn't know where to find the purpose in it. 

For more and more of us, our lives will change. Not today, not tomorrow ... maybe not even this year. Our futures will no longer be twelve-months-on, twelve-months-(maybe)-off. Some of us will begin the steps to exit this journey - to step back after giving more than most. The Army will be changing, shifting, shrinking. Our expectations will adjust, the way we think and feel and hope will change as the world around us does. 

It's going to be hard and scary and confusing. We will take the steps towards a time of peace while so much of who we are still lives during a time of war. 

We are still at war. 

Someday soldiers will have time to breathe, time to hold their children, time to mourn. 

I don't know how to focus my mind on the path ahead of us while my heart stays with those still fighting the battle behind. For a time, perhaps I must be torn. Living in a time of war mindful of a future at peace.

I don't know when it will be less strange to me that there aren't helicopters flying right over my house. I don't know when I won't miss hearing the "sounds of freedom" echoing through the mountains. I don't know when it won't be strange to not see a signal flare light up the sky in the dead of night. 

I don't know when that will ever not be my "normal". 

But I am ready to learn with you.

The Girl Who Was Too Young

Dear Twenty-Two-Year-Old-Me,

I know you're in love. I know that the first time you saw him with that ruck strapped to his back, packed with everything he needed for two weeks back at home, I know that brings you butterflies. I know you are deeply, unapologetically, consumingly in love with a man who wears a uniform. 

I know that terrifies you.

I know that every person who doesn't understand this, who thinks you're too young to marry him, who says you have "too much ahead of you", I know they are saying that because they love you as dearly as he does. 

Don't fault them for that. You are young. 

You do have so much ahead of you. 

They want the best for you. They can't know what the future holds. Forgive them that. 

I know you worry about leaving your beloved city - your home, your family. I know that very idea keeps you awake in the darkest hours. I know you never imagined a life that would not include the draping limbs of the great oaks of City Park, the festivals, the music. I know you never thought you would do anything other than your set plan. I know you will mourn that for some time.

That's okay. 

I know you never thought you would marry a man who has sworn a vow to give his life for his nation if necessary. Never entered your mind before him. 

It's okay to be scared about that, too. 

I know you think you will be able to ignore that part of your life - the military side of your new world. I know you think you can separate yourself from it, avoid it, pretend it isn't there. Oh how I know you want to believe you can. 

Sunshine, somewhere down the line you're going to learn the more you try to swim away from it, the more you are going to find yourself drowning. Somewhere down the line you are going to realize it isn't all about you and about how you didn't sign up for "that". Somewhere down the line you are going to have to wise up.

You are going to have to be humbled.

Somewhere down the line you are going to watch your husband's face when he stands at a memorial honoring his fallen friend - you are going to want so badly to hold his hand when he raises the other to salute. You are going to spend your first anniversary mourning the man who took his place. You are going to want to take that guilt away - you are going to want to make it all end - to feel the hurt so he doesn't have to. You are going to have to know that you can't. Somewhere down the line you are going to rub your finger over the bracelet on his wrist - engraved with a name you do not know - and you will notice in all the time that you have worn his ring, he has worn that band on his arm. Somewhere down the line you are going to watch a government vehicle drive down your street and you are going to fall to your knees praying it doesn't stop at your house. You are going to fight for air the moment you realize you've been holding your breath. 

Dearheart, someday you are going to watch that man march away from you and not know if he is going to come back. Someday you are going to have to hold a screaming child back who wants to run after him. Someday you are going to pray daily that the infant you are holding will get to know the man who created him. 

Someday you are going to need to be part of the life you live. 

Someday you are going to hear news that you don't want to - news about that little one you didn't plan on having so early - that is going to break your heart. Someday you are going to sit in a doctor's office and wait for results that will change that child's - and your - life forever. You will sit there without your partner - without the other half of who that child is - and you are going to have to be strong enough to carry that.

You are going to have to have love great enough to embrace that, to fight through that, to win the battle.

You are going to have to have the support of a community that knows - that heart-breakingly knows - that we need to carry each other. You are going to have to have enough grace to let your pride go and let them carry you a ways.

You have to choose to be part of that - and you have to realize that now - right now. From the get-go.  Because, twenty-two-year-old-me, embracing that, accepting that, Oh, the world you will belong to. 

You will have the honor of watching a child be born by one of the strongest women you will ever know. You will know how to hold a woman whose body collapses in your arms from the weight she has carried for too long. You are going to see joy - absolute JOY - when a daddy holds his child for the first time. You are going to have the most intimate understanding of what it is to see the deepest pain in that same moment - in that same father's eyes. You will know grief that forces you to look for good. You will face darkness that demands of you to bring light. You will learn that it is by giving that you receive and that by serving you are fulfilled. 

You will find a purpose in the uncertainty. Strength in weakness. Hope in despair. You will learn what it is to feel broken and what it is to feel whole. You will learn to share that with others. To empower those around you to do the same.

You will hurt until you cannot feel. You will ache in a way that will make you question. You will age in a way that you never thought possible; you will find wisdom you didn't dare to seek. 

You will love beyond words. Understand what it is to be grateful in the pit of your soul. You will be shown this life is worthy of your tears, worthy of the sadness. Worthy of your joy. You will know you were made for this. You will thrive.

You are too young for this. You are too young. 

But, my dearest self, you are able. You are worthy. You are ready. 

__________________________________________________________

What would you tell yourself when you entered into this life if you could?