To the Senior Spouse ... I See You.

I see you.

I see that you are trying. I see the burden you carry, the responsibility you didn't ask for. I see it.

I see that you go to sleep most nights running through what you said wrong, what you did wrong, what intention didn't come across the right way. You are right more than you are wrong, your intention is always good. You may think people don't see that but I do.

I see that when everyone else seems to blame you for the long nights away, for the long trainings, and rigorous schedules, your husband has probably been gone longer. Has worked in his office until zero-dark-thirty, has gone TDY for two weeks so that he can properly train his troops for the month-long rotation to follow.

I see that this time must be the loneliest time of his career for you. I see that people judge you before they meet you, that they place expectations on you that aren't fair, and that you are held to a standard different from the women beside you.

I see you.

I see that you cringe any time your child acts out or fidgets or speaks too loudly at an event because for whatever reason so many of us think you should have more control over your children. I know that you try your hardest to fulfill that undue expectation but I know they are children. No different from mine. They will fidget and talk and run away when you need them beside you. They are children and you are doing your best.

I know you teach them to honor the flag as best as possible, teach them service and sacrifice and the importance of what these mommies and daddies do. They are military children. You give the same hugs when they can't understand why daddy keeps leaving. You kiss the same bo-bos and make the same "cereal for dinner" nights when the day has been too hard.

I see that you are just like me. That you miss the love of your life. That you feel the weight and the sadness and the heartache. That on top of all of that, you feel the pressure from the hundreds of families who know your name. I know you don't want to let us down. I know you don't exactly know how to do that. 

That's okay. I don't know either.

I know that every night he is in his position, you will not get a full-nights sleep. You'll wake up at midnight when he finally makes it home to sleep for a few hours before heading back into the office. Or on those few nights when he actually makes it home before the sun sets, his phone will ring from the commanders and first sergeants  below him giving the report on the latest issue.

I know you will eat more dinners alone than you ever thought possible while he is "home".

I know you can't show your difficulty. I know you don't get to feel weak. That your struggle through whatever separation or deployment is something you feel you must manage on your own. That you don't get to be broken. That you don't get to check-out, because you have families depending on you. Everyone is watching.

I know you feel that.

Some of them want to see you fail. No matter what you do. No matter how kind you are, how devoted you are, how present you are - they want to see you fail them. Let them go.

I know you don't know as much as we believe you do. I know you know somethings you will say you don't. That's just part of the role you were placed in. You can't change what people think of that.

I see how hard you are trying. I see how much you care.

I see you.

I know that when you see his boots on American soil for the first time in a long time that moment is you and him. For just a moment, it is just a soldier and his wife, just a father with his children. And then the phone starts ringing again, and the hours get long again and you eat dinner alone ... again.

I know you are tired. I know you don't get the credit you are due.

I want you to know that I see you. That I appreciate you. That I know you love your soldier. I know you want to do everything in your power to support your soldier and to support these families. There is no difference between you and I but the pressure that is placed upon you, what is expected of you.

I see your intention. I see you are trying.

This time won't last forever. Do your best; give your best. 

I'm rooting for you.
Because I see you.


Written by: Megan Williams
© 2014, all rights reserved
Do not use without permission.

Among Friends

I talk often about the importance of relationships in this life. I've talked about how important I think the word "relationship" is rather than just "friendship". 

You build relationships with people in this life. People you only know for a short time who take root in you. Who become a vital part of your journey. Who connect in a way that there just aren't words for. 

People who, at some point, this life will separate you from but somehow that doesn't matter. It hurts like hell and you say too many "see you soons" but somehow this short period means more than distance.

This post was supposed to be our "family time post". C isn't in harms way. There is no threat of deployment looming for us here. But, still, he is gone more than he is home certain months. At an Army post where nearly every activity is done as "couples" it is so strange to be the one whose husband is not here. It is strange to be in a place where you are the "odd" one because your spouse seems to be "always gone". (He isn't "always gone" but sometimes it sure can seem like he is).  I am grateful that he loves his new job. He has really found "his place". This change was terrifying and difficult and overwhelming and I am so thankful that we both know now that it was the right one. 

This is also the first year juggling the schedule of a kiddo on the Autism spectrum. It's demanding and tiring and humbling. 

In eight short months people have been placed in our lives that have pushed us through. In so many ways, they have walked Eli's path with us. They have seen what Autism is for him - what it is for our family. They were with me days after he was diagnosed. They have encouraged me. They have strengthened me. They have learned with me.

They have quietly waited while Eli and I fought through meltdowns. They have reminded me of my own new mantra of "no apologies" when I automatically apologized for stepping away from a conversation, or moving Eli away from their kiddos, or correcting harm done. 

Women I didn't know a year ago who have loved my children with a fierceness I would never expect.

Today, during a birthday party at a nearby ranch, one of these women convinced me to let Eli ride a horse. Eli, my nonstop, sensory-seeking, will-run-into-walls-for-stimulation kiddo, wanted to ride an animal that could crush him in an instant. "H" promised me she would walk with him, stay right beside him. She nudged me to try something that scared me for him and she promised that it would be okay. The moment Eli was on that horse you could see a change. His entire body went still. He sat there and listened to the trainer (who I later found out is currently undergoing the certification process for equine therapy to work with kiddos on the spectrum) and let her guide his feet into the stirrups. 

As they circled, H stuck right by my little giant as he quietly talked to the horse. I couldn't sit down as I slightly paced and watched his entire demeanor calm. I continually blinked back tears as I watched my good friend praise him and say the same things she has heard me say. I nearly lost it in the very beginning when - as he sat there taking everything in around him - she asked him, "Where are mommy's eyes?" - the very thing we ask when we try to bring him back into our world. 

She knows me. She knows my children. 

No one else there could have known the significance of those few minutes. No one else could know what it took for me to let him go and to give up that control. No one else could know why a three-year-old calmly riding a horse could bring tears to his mother's eyes. 

My dear friend knew and I am so grateful we were able to share in the beauty of that together. 

We build relationships with people rapidly because we have to. Our time together is too short. This life demands so much of us. We need each other. I strongly, strongly believe people are put before us for a reason. That relationships are vital to thriving in this life. That we do not do this alone. 

I am so thankful for those placed before me. I am so thankful to be part of this community.

I am so thankful to know such incredible women. 

Meet Eli, the Little Giant. 

He's pointing at "Mommy's Eyes". So very special. Love you, H.

To the Junior Officer Spouses From a Fellow Officer Spouse

I spent much of my time while I was teaching, sitting after courses, listening to complaints and concerns between the spouses of different ranks. I received emails from co-leaders talking about their counterpart, not knowing that same counterpart was calling asking how to handle the other.

One of the best experiences I had the honor of participating in was sitting on a panel during the Company Commander/First Sergeant Spouses Course at our last post.

I have wanted to write about the complexities existing between the different ranks and how that intermingles with the spouses world for some time.

I'm not quite going to take that on - not yet, anyway. But I am going to speak to the Junior Officer Spouses if I might for a moment.

When I met my husband he was undergoing the transition of having been a "sergeant" to becoming a "sir". He was commissioned weeks after I had met him and no part of my life has been lived as an "enlisted spouse" but nearly half of C's career has been as an enlisted soldier. It may be the fact that my mindset was a certain way when we started this journey, it may be the mentors I have been blessed to have from every aspect of the Army, it may be that C and I had a clear discussion about what we never wanted to be when we first started this journey - whatever it is, I have seen enough harm done by spouses just entering this life to last all of C's career. If I could ask anything of those just entering this life, I would ask this:

Be humble. 

Nothing that you have done grants you special privileges or perks or recognition. Nothing about you makes you above another spouse - and definitely not above any soldier. Your spouse has been commissioned to lead his men; you haven't. Your junior enlisted spouse counterparts are undergoing the same trials, the same difficulties, the same separations, and they are doing it while trying tirelessly to make ends meet on a paycheck far below your spouse's.
You hold nothing over them. 

Nothing.

Enter with a servant heart. 

Your spouse has taken on one of the most selfless services anyone in this nation can undertake. Serving a nation does not sit solely with the one who wears the uniform. Serving a nation takes the heart of the entire family. If you choose to partner with your spouse in service, you lay yourself at the feet of the spouses of those who serve beside your own. Serve your families. Stand without judgment, without expectations, without price, and give what you have. Give your time. Give your talent. Give your gratitude, your understanding, your camaraderie. Whatever you can give - if you can give - give.

Be a Seeker of Knowledge.

Seek out mentors. Listen to and watch those who have been through this for over a decade. Learn from them. Ask questions. Ask opinions. Ask for help. Look to the Senior Enlisted Spouses - the wealth of experiences these incredible pillars of our community possess is more than you can process on your own. Spend time with them. Get to know them. Let them be your partners in this life. Look towards your Senior Officer Spouses and follow their lead. Pay attention to partnerships between leaders' spouses - find a strong one - and learn. 

Too often Senior Enlisted Spouses are disrespected by young and new Officer Spouses who think they somehow have something over those who have done this longer, been through the reality, and triumphed. Please don't ever make that mistake in thinking.
Please.
We need mentors in this life. We need strong spouses who can lead and guide and empower. You need to be that one day, but you have to learn first.

Be Present.

If you cannot volunteer in all things, try to be present whenever possible. Let people know who you are. Be open. Be honest. Be sincere in your actions.
Be graceful. Be kind.

Be Worthy of Respect.

I am going to say again, "be humble". There is a chain-of-command, a system, a code, that warrants where your spouse falls in the line of respect. His education, his training, his commission, demands a respect that must be recognized. But even with that, even with the "sir" uttered when addressed, he will have to earn the true respect of his soldiers. Great men die in defense of the leader they follow. A good soldier - a good officer - must be worthy of that respect, that honor.
You must earn the respect you wish to be given. Nothing about the rank of your spouse guarantees that or warrants it. Your actions, your choices, your words, have everything to do with how you are perceived. Live in a way that is worthy of the respect of the servants of this nation. Live in a way that is worthy of the faith of your families. Live in a way that breaks down barriers and removes walls. Live honorably. Give fully. Be worthy.

You are not above any spouse beside you. You are their equal. Their partner. 

You are fighting the same battle. 

Open your eyes, open your mind, open you heart.

Welcome to the journey, now choose the way you live it.

Strong Women

I just hung up the phone with a dear friend. Her husband just deployed so, of course, an appliance broke. The washer this time. It's Murphy's Law of Deployment but duct tape can't fix this one. 

The repair man is on his way. 

She's also pregnant, high-risk, and has a pre-school-aged kiddo (who is a sweetheart). No family near by. And she is the type of person who is always, always, helping e-v-e-r-y-one else. She's an incredible woman and her husband is an awesome soldier in this for all of the right reasons. 

This is her very first deployment and she is doing remarkably well. 

We talked about - and have often talked about - the importance of reaching out for assistance. About how we cannot be strong all the time and about how sometimes the greatest sign of strength is admitting that sometimes we need some helping hands. 

She promised me she knows and told me how hard it is to need help. I think we've all been there.

The moment my friend said anything to a fellow Army Spouse, this fellow spouse swooped in and did her laundry, cleaned her house, made her a meal with nothing - nothing - expected in return. Nothing about that is strange for this lifestyle. Nothing about that even seems "extraordinary". It is simply what we do.   

I cannot tell you how much I love our community. How incredible and beautiful and awe-inspiring the sense of service surrounding it. How we bond with one another is unlike any other. How we care for each other and support each other and demand to be allowed to help one another is indescribable. 

We live through the unthinkable and we push each other through it. We cry together, we laugh together, we sit in silence together.

We remind each other why we are here. We empower one another to pass it on. We love deeper, we respect greater, we hope fiercer. 

How great our journey can be if we reach out, if we give, if we seek to do more. How great the journey. How great the Grace. How incredible the strength given. 

Toughest Tears

This evening I sat at a large table surrounded by my Cav sisters and watched a Sergeant Major cry. 

I couldn't help looking at his sew-ons while trying to look anywhere but into his tearing eyes. A Ranger, a Pathfinder, a Jump Master, you name it and it was on his chest.  

He was acting as the CAO (casualty assistance officer) for his fallen friend and he was in our upper-level Care Team training offering his perspective.

A Ranger. A Pathfinder. A Jump Master. 

A Sergeant Major. 

In tears. Taking a moment to breathe.

---------------------------------------------------------------

I don't know what the future holds for us. I don't know if C has served on his last combat deployment. Every part of me thinks he has. Every part of me believes we are past it. That I will never be the one on the other side of that doorbell. That it will never be me. That I never have to fear it again.

I don't know how to explain the jumble inside of my heart. I sat surrounded by women who would be on these teams. Who would stand up and go if called upon. Who I have all the faith in, and respect, and admiration for what they are willing to do. 

Every part of me felt total and complete guilt as I sat there knowing I most likely will not be with them. That from now on C should be safe. 

Every part of me finds comfort and gratitude in that. Every part of me is thankful for the service he has given and for the position he has been selected for. Every piece of my heart is thankful for this new path ahead. 

I don't know how to explain carrying that immense gratitude and at the very same time carrying complete guilt. I feel I am abandoning our families - and the families of our troop are very much our families. I hate that they may fight through a deployment that I may not be fighting through with them. I feel so very guilty that we may never live through that again. That I have let them down somehow. That I haven't given enough. 

I - beyond words - know that this change was right for our family. I know the hours and hours of discussions and research and prayer led us to the right point. I have the deepest faith that what is to come will be meant for us. That I will have purpose in this new walk. That C will be where he can do the most good. I know how vital his future position is to the overall mission. I know this is a good fit for him. In my heart I know that this is the most difficult decision of C's career. I know that what I am feeling will never compare to what he must be carrying. Never. 

But I want to be here with our families. I want to be here to do the most good that I know how to do. I know how to comfort. I know how to communicate. I know how to hold a child who is hurting, a spouse who is hurting. I know how to fight through a struggle, through murphy's law of deployment, through the hardest, darkest days. I know how to hold a hand and sit in silence. To my bones I know how to give all of me as a combat spouse. 

I know how to watch a Sergeant Major cry and blink away my own tears.

----------------------------------------------------------

People may never understand what these families give - what the families that surround me will continue to give. To sit at a table and to hear - in detail - how a fallen soldier's body is transferred, how long a period of time that can take in different instances. To hear gruesome, unimaginable scenarios, to know that the next time that could be your soldier and to still, STILL, despite all of that, stand up and say, "I will help. I am here. I care." takes more of a person than most can imagine.  To just think of what a combat family carries day in and day out, in the months before a deployment through when their favorite boots are in theatre to when they again sit inside their doors ... to carry that and to thrive through life! It takes your entire self. It takes the deepest determination and patience and understanding. It takes the most profound love. The most tested faith. 

It has been my honor to stand among these families. It has been my joy to watch young spouses thrive. I have been humbled by the strength surrounding me, by the will, the resilience. Awed by the selflessness of these families. 

Every moment that I remain with you, I can promise you will have all of me. Every move I make in your circles will be with the full intent to build you up, to do good, to make a positive change. For however long I have the honor to stand with you, you will have my whole heart. The day we leave this unit, the day we walk away to begin the next chapter, will be an emotional, emotional day. I hope I will have done enough. I hope I will have given enough to try with everything in me to repay the smallest bit of the debt we owe the men and women who serve our nation. I hope I will have done the most good.

Sisters-in-Arms

I cannot tell you how much I have wanted to write. How much I have wanted to share with you. How much I need the therapy I find in writing it down and sharing the journey.

There have been so many things that at this time, I just cannot share. I respect OPSEC. I understand the gravity of keeping some things close. I understand that there are some things you just don't get to share. I will never compromise the safety of our men and women in uniform for the sake of a blog post. Ever.

There have been some things that I just haven't felt comfortable writing about because the struggles we are going through are what some - but not all - of the military community are going through. What C and I have been facing and pushing forward in spite of are very personal to our Army journey. They very much have to do with his job, his years of service, his point in his career path, his rank. 

I do not like to talk about rank. 

A comment was made by someone recently that made my blood boil. Her husband has been in for 23 years. She is very much "done with the Army" (something I have heard her say more than once). She has a distaste for officer spouses and for officers. She has stereotyped spouses - repeatedly - based on their soldier's rank. She quickly, decisively forms opinions on "who they are"; she "can just tell" as she told me. All these things I have heard from her lips and experienced for myself.

Every person is entitled to take whatever they think and think it. Really, I'm okay with that. But this person is/was in a position of leadership. She was an instructor for a course that teaches new spouses about embracing this life, thriving through it, understanding the in's-and-out's. She is in a position where what she says holds meaning. She is in a position where we do not discuss our spouses' rank unless absolutely unavoidable. We - as spouses - do not hold rank.

I'm going to say that again.

We. do. not. hold. rank.

I have never entered into combat. Haven't spent one night in boot camp. No one punched my chest at C's last promotion.

(I'll get back to that. Well not the punching the chest thing, but the not holding rank thing.)

This instructor stood in front of a class of new spouses and berated the Army Officer. She made comments that her husband - a 1SG - "actually worked." That the enlisted spouses in the room had to learn to see their spouses less. That their spouses "earned their paychecks." That they weren't "given" to them like others.

I don't know where to start here. I honestly don't know how to explain the dozens of phrases and situations and rebuttals and frustrations running through me. They are all things I have heard before but to have been informed that they happened in this type of setting ... Yes, she was reprimanded, privately, but I wonder what impression that left on those spouses. I wondered if that sparked a division for them.

What did they leave that class thinking? What did the "enlisted spouses" in that class leave thinking? What did the "officer spouses" think? Because in that class - in this journey - we are Army Wives.

When the comments were brought to my attention, my first thought was for our very, very good friend, with a very strong career path ahead of him, that took a career-ending-fall, because of the mistakes of others. Who fought to save the careers of those below him for a mistake that was not in his power to prevent. Who did so honorably. Gracefully. With dignity, and compassion, for those who served with him and below him. My thoughts went to the many who did not submit their paperwork to separate from the Army while he did - the very same week that she commented that they "don't really work."

My thought went to C who works insane hours. Who loses so much time with his kiddos. Who greatly respects the men doing the job that he has once done. Who answers the calls at all hours of the night and then goes into work, or to pick up a soldier in trouble. Who, as part of his job, has to know about the well-being of the families of his men. Who never, never has time that is considered "off duty." Who is held to a higher standard. Who started out at seventeen at the very bottom and has given his youth.

My thoughts went to how hard he has worked while facing the vast uncertainty of the cuts that may very well affect him. So much that he carries ...

He "earns his pay."

As a very new Army wife, I was told by a senior officer's spouse that I should be "more conscious of my friendships" if I cared for C's career. That people notice. That people talk. She was referring to one particular friendship at the time that I still hold very, very dear to my heart. Her husband's rank is very different from C's.

WHY do we do that to one another?

WHY do we insist on creating a division?

 I have never thought I should care and I never have.

When told by a volunteer in our unit that I was "different," she asked why. The thought made me sad - wondering if she had been told the "category" I unwillingly fall into was all a certain way, or if those clinging to that same category had given her just reason to find me "different." After debating how to answer what I told her is that when it comes down to it, her husband's life is at greater risk than C's. His chance of sacrifice is higher than what I face. And her husband will still put his life on the line, making far less money and, that to me should be recognized and respected.

I know how hard C works. I know how much responsibility is on his shoulders.

I don't think spouses have a right to stand in front of others and say who works for their pay. I don't think spouses have a right to form a division among us.

I don't think a spouse holds the right to belittle the sacrifice and work of ANY soldier.

One fellow spouse told me in the Civilian world, we would be good friends. I answered her that we are in the military world and we are.

The lines are tricky. The lines exists for the soldiers for good reason. No, our experiences are not 100% the same. What I am struggling with at this point in our journey is not what most are. It is very much only related to rank and status and time in and branch. What the spouse of an enlisted soldier faces at some times may not be the same as an officer's spouse. What the spouse of an officer struggles with one day may not be the same as an enlisted soldier's.

But that does not give either the right to belittle that struggle. We cannot know what the other is feeling and making broad judgments is toxic.

We are accountable for what we teach those entering into this life. We are accountable for the impressions we give by our actions, by our words, by our faces, our sarcasms, our jokes. We are responsible for empowering our sisters-in-arms.

What we say about "the other side" will stay with those who hear it. I am blessed to be married to a man who has done three years as a "joe", four as an NCO, and seven as a "sir." I am blessed to have friendships in every single aspect of this life. I am blessed to have mentors who have instilled a deep respect for the service as a whole. I am even blessed to have "teachers" who taught me what I never want to be.

We are responsible for those who join the journey, for giving guidance that does good, rather than sharing stereotypes that do harm. We all live a life of service and to serve is to serve. To love a soldier is to love a soldier.

Simple. Basic. Sisterhood.

Southern Comfort

There is a restaurant near the shipping store I use that makes Cajun dishes. From time to time I go in. The prices are too high for portions that are much too small for anyone who knows that kind of cooking. When I am desperate for a "like-home" fix I always seem to head in and order a shrimp poboy and slowly savor the all of six shrimp between the not-crisp-enough french bread. I eat my poboy with just melted butter and shrimp. Call me crazy. It's the way I like 'em. While part of it brings a comfort, much of that restaurant brings back the homesickness in full force. It is never enough. 

But no matter what, every time I open my car door in that parking lot, I can smell beignets. 

I would put money on that smell. The frying oil, the dough, the powdery goodness that melts when you eat it. Every time I open that door I nearly lose my footing. 

Today when I ran into the grocery store beside it, I found myself in tears. Yes, I miss my city. There are no words to explain that. You have to know such a place. If ever I cease to love ... 

............................................

I had only met a handful of spouses since we had been at Benning. My neighbors whose husbands were in the same class, a friend of a friend who was often at our complex. That was just about it. I nearly didn't take the course being offered for the spouses. Pregnancy had not been easy and the thought of committing myself to almost a week of classes seemed beyond sensible. I had made it here for the first day. We'd see about tomorrow.

There was that awkward feeling as ladies shuffled in, some knew others, some clearly didn't. Our seats had been assigned and I quickly found my place with the large binder on the table. The three people that I knew weren't at my table. I didn't know a single soul. Not-a-one. 

And then someone across the table asked where I was from and her entire face smiled when I said, "New Orleans" and my whole face smiled when she said, "Lafayette." She didn't say it the way we say it. Not, "LAH-fi-ette," but "LAUGH-fai-ette." She was authentic.

We were put at that same table for a reason and I thank God for it.

For four days we laughed at each other's jokes, we debated king cakes, we spoke each other's language. Well, most of it. She is from Lafayette. 

And that was that. I missed graduation because I started having much-too-early contractions right before the ceremony. We spent four days together.

 I didn't see her again until after Eli was born. When C was deployed, while she was preggers with number three, she came to New Orleans to spend the day with me. 

One day.

We shopped, we ate, I introduced her to Randazzo's king cake, and I won our long-standing debate over whose was better. 

Five days. We had spent five days together since the time we had met. 

May seem crazy. 

Last week her and her family - husband, three kids, and two dogs - stopped over in Colorado during their PCS from Hood to Washington and stayed for a day and a half. I miss her already.

She had a child walking who I had never met. She had a husband that I had only met twice before.

And she is one of my closest and dearest friends in this life. 

Seven days. We have spent a total of seven days, spread over (nearly) three years, physically together. 

Seven days.

She has seen my highs, my lows, my struggles. She knows the fear I am holding onto right now. She understands why I am battling certain decisions. I have heard her weak moments through a phone line. I have contemplated putting kiddos in a car and driving to Texas if she gave the slightest hint that she needed me to. She understands what I miss. She understands the mistakes I have made, and do make, and will make. She makes me laugh and she has seen my tears.

Seven days.

God gives you who you need, when you need them. He opens your heart to those who bring you closer to Him. There is no timestamp on what makes a friendship. There is no benchmark for when things become real.

Sometimes they are instant. Sometimes they are true from the start. Sometimes distance doesn't matter. Pain can be shared across borders. Heartache can be understood in a phone call. We can carry each other duty stations apart.

There is a beauty in this sisterhood. Bonds formed in the strangest of circumstances. Unbroken. Unwavering. Always understood. 

She is my bit of Southern comfort when I need a recipe for a good shrimp dish. She's that needed Southern comfort when I need someone to let me be a little-less strong. 

The Lives We Miss

I have a stamp with our current address on it. I have a stamp for two reasons. One: It's easy and it looks pretty. Two (okay really this is three, I guess): I forget my address all the time while I am writing it.

I can't tell you how many store rewards cards I have had to restart because I can't remember the zip code or phone number they are under. I have had five addresses in the past (not even) three years. At times, I have to stop and think or look up the address to the house that we still own in the Fort Campbell area. I can't remember the name of the subdivision - Glenellen something. I couldn't tell you the address from our apartment in Georgia. I don't remember the complex's name. It was way off exit ten. WAY off. Thats about all I have retained. I remember every nook and cranny of the apartment. I remember our wonderful neighbors (even if they were all Texans). I remember the playground, the drive from the interstate to there. I even remember who handled the paperwork to sign the lease but for the life of me I cannot remember the name of the place - much less the address. I can't remember the address for the temporary apartment we lived in before C deployed from Carson. No idea. None. Can't even remember the zip code.

It's a problem. Five places in just over two-and-a-half years.

Where I grew up people had the same addresses for forever. I used to know so many of my friends' by heart but that has started to diminish because I have two many numbers jumbled up in my head. But they (their parents) are in the same houses they have always been in. People don't leave. People don't move. People add on or (like my parents) only move a few blocks away, down the street, or around the corner to a bigger house. An old friend of mine literally moved next door.

I have been incredibly homesick. I love Colorado. It's beautiful. Everything seems so healthy, clean. The air is amazing. There's no humidity. I love our new unit (CAV and all). I love the friends I have made. I love my fellow volunteers. I know I will learn much from the more seasoned spouses around me. We asked to come here and I am glad we did.

But I miss the South. I miss my family. I miss so many of my friends - both military and civilian. One of my very good friends and his wife had their first baby just over a week ago. I didn't get to make it to her shower. I didn't get to go see that precious little girl while she was in the hospital. I don't know when I will finally be able to meet her and hold her. Another good friend is pregnant with a child that she has tried for and hoped for for a long time. She has two precious angels in heaven watching over this growing baby. I will never see her pregnant - only in pictures. I won't be at her baby showers. I don't know when I will meet that precious, precious baby either. Two of our dearest friends in Georgia ... I have never met their sweet CC. She is just over a year old now. We missed her birthday. C and I have never met his only nephew on his side - his only brother's son.

He turned one in October.

I fear that my sister's two youngests will never really know me. That I am going to be "that aunt" that shows up from time to time ... briefly ... that they won't really know me any other way.

I haven't seen my older brother in what seems like a lifetime. I saw him for a few hours sometime in the last year. He lives in New York. Our 'schedules' (ha, yeah right, a schedule!) never seem to work together.

I am not able to go to the plays that my little sister directs or acts in. I don't get to see her while she is learning and growing and becoming who she is meant to be. I really wish I could be there.

I haven't seen my little brother play the drums (or any other instrument) since he was in high school. I haven't been to any of his gigs. I just haven't been there to go.

I don't know why but in the last several days - maybe weeks is more accurate - I have greatly missed my family. I have shared joy over the phone or through a text messages as people have become engaged or announced they are expecting or have held their precious child for the first time. We skyped for Christmas. But I haven't been there.

I want to be there for these moments. I want to be with a friend when they are having a hard time. I want to go to my sister's and just listen to her life with five children running through the house. I want to be at the showers and the celebrations and the weddings. I want to hold these babies while they are babies. I want to be a part of it.

I feel like I am missing everything.

------------------------------------------------

So it may seem strange to those on the outside of this life that many of us have witnessed the birth of a friend's child. That many of us have held a leg or a hand or wiped the brow of a friend in labor. I am sure it seems strange to many on the outside that Logan's Godfather is one of C's fellow PL's that he deployed with many years ago. It may seem strange to those not in this life that we form friendships in a single night that will carry us through an entire year. We support each other. We carry each other. We hold each other's babies. We watch each other's backs. We share Thanksgiving and Christmas with a group of six other couples that are in no way related to us other than by a unit.

We become each other's families. We become the dearest friends. We form a sisterhood. Because on all the days that we cannot be in the place we want to be, with the people we want to be with, someone right beside us gets it. Someone right beside us is thinking the same thing, wanting the same thing, missing the exact. same. thing.

We carry each other's heartache on the days when we cannot have what we miss the most. We have to.

Because on days like today - when all I want to do is sit down with friends and eat chargrilled oysters and king cake and any good, Southern food, and poke my preggo friends' bellies and meet these precious, beautiful babies - it is good to know I have someone to carry mine.

A Cry for Grace

We are military women. We are strong. We can do anything. We have super powers.

Okay, um ... no.


Yes, we are the strongest of women. I will say that again and again and again. We face battles that most can't imagine. We live through things that many will never understand exist. Sometimes it can feel like we can conquer the world, we are told that - I tell you that. I believe that we are strong, that we are able, that we can do more than most but it is those moments when we feel like we've "got this" that the moments when we are crumbling make us feel like we have no right to.

This life is hard, this life is beyond challenging.

We do not have super powers.

We have great love, we have unyielding support, we have Grace but when we enter into this life we aren't suddenly given an ability we never had before - that automatically makes us super-able. It doesn't work like that.

You have to seek it.

A very good friend of mine is right in the middle of the deployment while also in the midsts of a very big unknown. We have all been there. That time when everything falls apart, when we fall apart. When we physically feel like our body is breaking into pieces, one by one by one. When we find ourselves barely moving, barely breathing, barely surviving. When we question if we can do this - when we are unable to see beyond this most trying time. We feel helpless, we cry ourselves to sleep.

We don't sleep.

We all go through it. And so very often we tell ourselves, "I'm an Army wife. I can do this on my own. I should be able to do it. Everyone else does it alone."

It is so easy to think that. I find that so very often that it's the leaders who tell themselves this over and over and over again. Because if we reach out what will people think? We can't be weak! We can't make people question if we are capable. No, no way!

I get it. I really, really do. But that is not how to lead. We teach our wives (yes I know how funny that sounds) to be self-reliant, to learn to function on their own, but we always remind them of their resources, that they are not alone, that we are here.


We tear ourselves apart trying to make it on our own. Trying to not lose it when all two or three or four kids get sick at the same time - when we get sick at the same time. When you finally get all of you into the car to go to the doctor and the car won't start. When you lose your ID off post. When CYS loses paperwork that kicks your child(ren) out of their system until they get it together. When you turn on the news at just the wrong time and that panic sets in on top of every other emotion your heart can hold. When you see announcements that the American people take for face value and you have to hold your tongue. When every muscle of your body aches.

Those are the days that can break us. Those are the days that can take us out of this life. Those are the days that the strongest of women cannot do it alone.


We have no superpowers.

But there is always great love, great support, awe-filling Grace.

ASK for it. USE it. CLING to it when you need it. And at some point, no, at many points we all need it. Call a friend. Call your family. Call your church. People want to help, know who they are, and ask them for it. That is where you will find the grace.

You cannot lead if you will not reach out. You cannot thrive if you aren't willing to fall to your knees. You cannot find strength if you do not seek it in others.

There is no shame in knowing your limits. It doesn't make you "less" of an Army wife. Deployments teach us who we are. The darkest moments show us our strength. Sometimes we need to share someone else's. Sometimes they will need to share ours - and we are all willing to give it. Asking for help doesn't take from someone else. We do not lose anything when we give it. We gain.

So take a deep breath, find that littlest bit that is left, reach out your hand and ask for help.

Sometimes the strongest act, the greatest triumph, is found in the quietest, softest, most broken cry for Grace.

Appreciation

For all of you who support your soldier or airman or sailor or marine, who wait, who sleep alone and then wake up everyday and choose to keep moving forward in the face of fear and the unknown and the what-ifs, who have resolved to rise above it, who are determined to become stronger, who use their experiences to support those who have just joined our ranks, who encourage, who empower, who keep their soldiers focused by building and maintaining a strong homefront, who choose to take a step back and let the needs of this nation come first,

For all of you who love your soldier or airman or sailor or marine, who cry as many tears of pride as you do of heartache, who stay committed, who recognized the difficult journey ahead of you and accepted it anyway, who refuse to be defeated,

For all of you who hold your tongue when needed and share your journey when most necessary, who use your time to strengthen this military family by strengthening your own, who hold the hand of your hero while shaking the hands of the heroes that stand beside him,

For all of you who are determined, for all of you that cry into his pillow and then wake up to take on the next day, who will not give up, who will not lose faith, who keep grace, who honor the sacrifice, who live the sacrifice, who will thrive along this journey,

I am honored to stand among you. Thank you for all you do!

Happy Military Spouses' Appreciation Day!

Erasing the line

For the past few days, I have been visiting with good friends at my first Army home - Fort Campbell, KY. This is where I welcomed home my husband (before he was my husband), where I watched women I did not know then welcome home their soldiers two years later, where my husband and I escorted the family of his fallen friend, where I witnessed a birth, where I delivered my first little boy, where he and I nearly died, and where we all began to live.

It is here that our life together began it's journey. It is here that I received my crash course in the military life -with excellent, and not so excellent, teachers. It is here where I found my niche. It is here where I began to learn this life. Here, there have been senior wives - seasoned wives, as I call them - who took me in once I was willing to be taken. They taught me, by example and by straight talk, the things that I needed to know. I will be forever blessed to have a handful of these women in my life and to have been led to them for this purpose.

I didn't want to go. The few wives that I knew had all left. They had said horrible things about coffees and about FRG's. I had avoided them since my furniture and suitcases landed in this awful town. But I was a horrible liar. I didn't have to work and I couldn't go back to work - I already had 50 hours in for the week. "Maybe I can get started on stuff for next week," I thought.

"Go." He interrupted the battle going on in my mind. "If you don't like it - leave. They won't bite." He knew I needed something in my life besides work. I already hated my job. I spent everyday at it thinking of how much better the one I left was about to be.

I must have changed 10 times. I was starting to show - the bump was definitely there. "Great," I mumbled, "I can't even drink." I still wasn't used to the whole pregnancy thing and I was already frustrated.

"I'll be back in half-an-hour," I yelled while walking out the door.

"An hour," he shouted back.

"Yeah, right!" I grumbled.

I know for those who know me you may be laughing at this foolishness. The me at that time was 100% content with going to work and coming home - and that wasn't the me before I married him. I wanted nothing to do with the military life - with the wives, with the social commitments, with any of it. I had been completely turned off from it by word-of-mouth. Word-of-mouth - a dangerous thing.

In our life, word-of-mouth can do great harm (as it can in any life). But word-of-mouth can ruin careers. Word-of-mouth can cause a woman to wait for two men in Class-A's to show up at her door. Word-of-mouth can cause a wife to disengage. Word-of-mouth can prevent a lot of good.

Keep it shut.

For a couple months after this "coffee" I still stayed in the shadows. Claiming to be too busy, or too tired, or too anything. I went where I was told, stayed for the bare minimum, and left. I cannot tell you why I was so opposed still - but, I can tell you when and why I changed.

I had stopped working, I was on strict bedrest, my husband was working long days, and I was alone. It was a horrible feeling and not a feeling I was used too. It was almost maddening - waiting for anything to happen. After Logan was born, my husband told me the Commander's wife had asked for me to attend the coffee for that month. I had not received an eVite (which I usually ignored anyway) so I didn't know what he was talking about. None the less, I got dressed (as best as I could with my mess of a body at the time), got the diaper bag together, and Logan and I headed into the neighborhood next to mine to stop in. This time, physically, I really couldn't stay long. I was still limited on my activity from my emergency section. I think I grinded my teeth as I rang the doorbell. We were greeted with a giant gift basket and multiple women with beaming smiles. Punch to the gut - at least it may as well have been. I had not said a word to half these women - and to the other half I hadn't said much. Their husbands were deployed and mine was not - and they had done something (that we do for all new mothers in this circle) to include me.

Then I understood. I had drawn the line - they hadn't. It wasn't until right then that I could see that.
It was my time to give back - and I have never stopped giving.

At first, I volunteered out of guilt - and that truly is what it was - guilt. I helped with anything I could - wherever I could. How selfish I had been to not step in and help with those whose husbands were deployed while mine remained safe.

And then I gave because I loved to give. I gave my time - it was all I had - and I reached out and became part of something. It is when I made this decision - to be active, to be involved - that I began to learn. I began to form friendships, found women who became mentors even. And to say friendships is an understatement - relationships is more appropriate. The knowledge I gained and the bonds that formed allowed me to become me again. I cannot imagine the army wife I would be now without these strengthening bonds - perhaps I would not be an army wife.

There can be no isolation - we cannot survive that way. We cannot be completely selfish. We cannot believe everything we are told. We have to be involved, to be conscious of what is available around us. Communication - accurate communication - is vital to our survival. Relationships are vital to our survival. It is easy for some to sit and wait, to work and go home - but how many deployments will that last?

There will always be wives ready and willing to reach out - but there is only so much effort they can make. I drew the line.

I love the service this life offers to me. I love that I can serve those around me - to strengthen them and myself at the same time. To provide the resources that can foster the bonds that get us through each day is something I can offer. To help new wives, like myself, understand the life we have taken on and to commit to be active in it is something I can teach. To own it. To embrace it. To thrive in it. To know that everything becomes so much easier when we erase the line is something I can emulate.

We cannot waste years waiting for the downtime in between - because, yes, they are gone years over time. We don't get to take that time back. We only have now - right now - to live this life we have chosen. I cannot sit and wait. I can help and wait. I can reach out and wait. I can be involved while I wait. The time goes by so much faster when we do.

Sisters, Mothers, Friends

There is not a day that I look at my children and do not realize how completely blessed I am that their father was here for their births. Had things gone as planned for us he would not have been here for either one - but things happen for a reason and both were changes in plans I will never complain about.

For non-military families, a father's presence at the birth of a child is a given. The only reason couples quickly try to figure the math in their heads when they find out they are expecting is to know when their little sweet baby will bring them happiness. Military families quickly run the dates and timelines through their heads to figure out if their soldier will be home. The overwhelming joy often finds itself deflated by a dagger of unescapable despair. When I found myself pregnant for the first time - unexpectedly - the first thing to enter my mind was that my husband would not be here. By the grace of God, he was.

For Eli, C was expected to be training. God threw a wrench in our plans again, and he stood beside me in the O.R. as Eli entered the world ... three weeks early.

We have been so very blessed.

Because of our blessings, I remain in awe of every woman who brings a child into the world without her husband. While I know I would have been given the strength to do the same I cannot imagine undergoing it. When in labor with Logan a gross negligence on the part of the medical staff nearly ended my life and prevented his. I cannot imagine going through the absolute terror of facing this reality without the strength and support of my husband. Because of my situation - and the speed by which my son was delivered - my husband was not actually there for Logan's birth but was able to be there soon after. Still a blessing.

I had met her when she was nearing the end of her first trimester. You could not have matched two better people. We were instant friends. For the next six months our lives merged together daily in some fashion. Our husbands belonged to different battalions within the brigade. We playfully battled over cavalry and infantry. She pointed out when I was wearing red as I pointed out when she wore blue. I poked fun at the stetson. Infantry men don't wear any of that crap so she had nothing to say back! (Ha! Had to take a jab while she can't say anything in his defense!). Our bond was and is unbreakable.

That is one of the most interesting and overpowering things about Army Wives. There are bonds you make - often quickly - that cannot be shaken. The things one wife will do for another may seem strange to those outside of our world. We care for eachother's children with little notice and with nothing expected in return but the same support. We bring each other coffee at two in the afternoon because we needed to talk at that moment but may end up not saying a word because sometimes we just need to feel the aura of someone else's strength. We do not get offended if a friend jumps up for a phone call and leaves the room for half an hour without so much as a "wait a second" because we do not need an explanation.

It is no coincidence that we develop such strong bonds quickly. I believe we are drawn to those who will strengthen our spirits. We all have times of weakness as we walk our camo-covered path - it is important to have our bonds established so that it can take little effort to grab hold to someone who is stronger at that moment. Time is not a friend to us. We do not have the luxury of gradually getting to know another person over months and even years. And so I believe we are led to those who will be best for us as we let go of our better-halves for a time. These bonds must exist, for every big and exciting moment has a different effect on us than those who get to share it with the one person it should be shared with. These bonds will help us to hold onto the joy rather than focus on the emptiness.

"Will you stay?" she said. It was not really a question though she had framed it as such. Many of the "questions" from one wife to another are not really questions. They are usually a signal that we are needed - that our presence is necessary.

My eyes locked to hers, "Absolutely," I replied. We exchanged smiles. Hers edged with relief and gratitude, mine with fear. I hoped she didn't notice.

I was afraid of this with my own child. I had never experienced it. My son entered the world with complete chaos and terrifying tension. He was almost ripped from me in an O.R. I had no idea what this was really going to be like.

I placed the cellphone by her head and hit speaker. "He's here," I said. His voice came through the phone. "Hey, Babe," he sounded so nervous it made me laugh to myself.

"We're about to have a baby!" she said, turning her head to the side as she breathed through her contractions.

I took my place at her left leg, camera ready to start snapping. My thoughts were swirling around my head. "Please don't pass out, please don't pass out," I repeated in my head as I tried to focus my nervous energy on her. My body was shaking; I was terrified.

"Time to push," her nurse said.

I took my position, feeling a little sick and weak, but stroked her leg completely forgetting she couldn't feel it. "Come on, let's get it done!" I smiled. She'd heard me say the phrase so many times before for far more simpler things.

She nodded as a determined face replaced the tired one, she leaned forward, breathed in deep, and it began.

A young woman welcomed her beautiful daughter into the world that night. Her daughter has two different birthdays in that family. To her daddy, who's lack of words when his little girl started to cry brought tears to my eyes, she was born the next day. Nine and a half hours time difference.
He listened as he heard different women hold onto his wife and urge her to keep going, to do what everything in him told him he was supposed to be doing, and he couldn't speak. He could not find the words. All they could do was cry with one another over the phone. Such immense joy - such incredible sadness.

That night was one of the most beautiful nights in my life. The emotions that flooded my body give me goosebumps to this day. There are no words to describe the beauty of that birth and the absolute humility of my friends determination. I was honored to be present and humbled by the strength within her.

I am humbled everyday by women with a fierce determination to thrive in this life. I am honored to stand among them, to experience the joy and the sadness of it all beside them. We hold eachother up, we give of ourselves knowing there will be times that we will need to take of them. We depend on this reality to help us through our tomorrows. There is no stronger bond that exists among friends than that shared by the women who know what it means to love a soldier.

The Women We Were

Like anyone else, sometimes I wish I could manipulate time. To speed up the twelve months that our family will be separated. To fast forward to the day I will see him march in with all the others. Part of me wants these months to blur by, for nothing to happen in between. More often I wish I could press pause and keep my toddler a two-year-old and my baby a baby. To somehow let them be the same to C as they were when he left. To keep Eli from crawling and walking before he can come home and to stop Logan from becoming more and more of a “big boy” everyday. To preserve the time that C will miss so that there is no confusion and heartache when he returns.

But nothing good can come from having a remote control for life. There is nothing healthy about trying to put a hold on the changing world around us. When our soldiers are gone we have to continue to grow. We have to continue to live. The world will not stop around us and to try to ignore that can only make things more difficult. We cannot control what will come and what will pass. And the fact that we exist in this world of the Army (which is very much its own little world) does not remove us from the larger world outside of it. We have to exist in both, we have to be strengthened by both, we have to continue in both.

We were all different women before we entered into this life. We came from different backgrounds with different interests and different opinions. None of that changes when we enter the military life. We are still different - sometimes very different - but we share the similar struggles, joys, and fears. Like so many of us, I never thought this would be my life - never thought I would be married to a soldier - until I was.

Five years ago if you would have asked me where I would be now it would not be surrounded by moving boxes with two small children writing about my life as an Army wife. I would most likely be recovering from the Louisiana Bar Exam, celebrating (hopefully) the completion of my most difficult feat. I would be one crucial step closer to the career I had always wanted for myself. I wanted to be an attorney; there had been nothing I wanted more. I wanted to be an advocate for children who were not given the fair beginning I was. For women who knew nothing but physical pain and unspeakable fear from both the men they were tied to and strangers who had stolen any sense of safety they had had. I wanted to lighten their load, take some of their great burden onto myself. I yearned to give a glimmer of hope to women and children who were broken - thought to be beyond repair. I would use the Law to protect them, to help them begin again, to punish those who made them suffer. I was amazed by how willing I was to walk away from something I had been so deeply passionate about until I suddenly wanted something different.

Four years ago, at the same time that I was preparing for the LSAT, I came to a realization. Something that surprised me and intimidated me. Surprising because it was in no way the path I meant for my life to take and intimidating because my realization was so final. I knew that with this decision there was no retreating, no way for the two paths before me to meet.

I was in love with a soldier. And not just in love with, but unconditionally committed to.

The two paths before me disappeared and I only saw one - the one paved in green and beige and brown.

It is difficult to explain the feeling I had about my choice in the beginning. It was not regret - I have never regretted the life I chose - it was a sadness that the two could not be combined. That they could not exist together. At least, not in the way I first imagined.

We had just left an FRG Leader/Rear D get-together. We were nearly off post, it was dark and Logan had already fallen asleep in his carseat. I sighed when I heard it - that horrible, silver piece of technology that seemed to interrupt constantly. His blackberry was ringing. My breathing became rapid and heavy; I was frustrated. Was this another wife calling asking if my husband could cut her grass, or yelling because her husband's paycheck was 18 dollars short? I didn't even want to know. My breathing suddenly paused and then slowed. My husband's face was different. This call was different. I recognized that face. It was the face he got when a soldier had been killed - despair, dread, sadness.

He hung up and changed course. He was not going to the office, nor was he bringing me home. This was not a soldier. It was a wife.

We went straight there, we brought Logan, not wanting to take the time to drop him off with a friend. This call was urgent, and we were both needed. I did not know her well, she was always kind, always smiling and I knew she was a good leader for the wives of her husband's Company. I did not know much more than that. By the time I walked in the door, I could see she was broken. Not her heart, not her body, it seemed that her entire being was broken. My heart ached for her. Her husband was in Afghanistan and, without knowing what had happened yet, I could see in her eyes that she needed him. She had been through every woman's greatest fear. I do not mean every Army Wife's greatest fear - but every woman's. The crime that is unforgivable - the physical violation that can destroy a woman's mind and body. She had been raped.

Over the course of several weeks and months, I formed a bond with this beautiful woman that strengthened daily. We became great friends and I watched with absolute joy as the light returned to her eyes and her smile became more prominent in the day to day. She was healing - as much as a woman can heal from such pain - and it was incredible to witness. Her strength, her overwhelming courage to not be defeated would empower any witness to her transformation. The healing was painful and difficult and she began the process while her husband was at War. There is no remote. There is no pause.

Incredible Strength.

Life does not stop when they are gone. We cannot shield ourselves from the everyday nor from the greatest fears. Life will not wait for our husbands to return. We must face it head on.

As Army Wives, we are surrounded by strong women. We have to be. We do not have another option but to survive - to not only survive but to make the most of each day because our timelines have a much more immediate deadline. Our moments together always have a timer, always with another deployment around the corner. We do not always have our husbands to hold onto, and have them to hold us when we are weak. We have eachother and ourselves. We rely on eachother to be support when no one else can understand how even everyday difficulties are more difficult because we encounter them without our partners. But we also must rely on our own strength to reach out to others when we are breaking.

For what my brave friend overcame she had to rely heavily on the strength within herself before she could ever reach out for the support surrounding her.

We are surrounded by determined, nearly indestructible "females" (as my husband says). We need to recognize the talents and abilities within each of us and use them for this life that we have bravely chosen. The passions and drives that thrived within us before can and will exist in this life if we allow them. They can only help both ourselves and our fellow spouses fighting a similar battle. We cannot overcome the challenges the Army life and the outside world put before us isolated nor can we only depend on the strength surrounding us.

The women we were must have been strong. I do not believe one can truly, unconditionally commit to the life of an Army Wife without having that strength already within them. The women we were were strong - but the women we are are stronger.