Celebrate

When you live a life like this you have to find joy in the big things as well as the small things. The last two weeks have been stressful weeks for our family. Tiring, long weeks. We returned home from two weeks of traveling yesterday to an agent waiting to do a background check on C's previous boss. It was just bad timing. I was tired, the boys were tired, C needed to get some training in. It's a wonder I didn't close the door in his face and crush his badge. I guess I was just too tired to be snappy. I wanted the day to end. I wanted to get into my own bed and just sleep. Nothing was going to make this day better except its ending.


Many months ago, I called to check on a friend of mine. We haven't seen each other in nearly two years but we keep in touch. I will never forget that phone call and hearing her voice when she told me the news. She was half way through her pregnancy and baby Lily was most likely not going to make it. If she did, she would have a difficult life. There were complications - many complications. Her husband wasn't there. And she was facing that possibility without him. I wanted nothing more but to get on a plane and fly to Tennessee and hug her. 


There is no telling how many tears were shed that night - between the both of us. I do not believe I have ever cried as much as I did then. To not be able to help. To not be able to physically be there. To not be able to have her husband be there. It tore me apart in the worst way. To know how badly she was hurting. To know that I had never faced what she was facing. To know no mother ever should. 

There can only be tears.


Yesterday I heard the news. Lily was born - perfectly sized, perfectly healthy, perfectly beautiful. She is a miracle.

And to make it more amazing - her daddy was there.

I cried and I cried and I cried. There was just so much joy. A woman months before faced the possibility of losing her little girl that she had never met, without her husband beside her. And yesterday, he sat right beside her as perfect little Lily came into the world - very much alive, very much perfect. A perfect child of God.

It is so easy in this life to be beaten down. To grow tired of the journey. To focus on the negative. And then there are moments like this that we celebrate. When we are reminded that He has a plan. That He brings us through it. That He will not abandon us. Because her daddy got to hold Lily - not months after her birth, not weeks after she learned to smile, not after she first learned to roll, or sit up, or crawl but right as she entered this world. So much joy. So much to be grateful for.

We have to celebrate this life because it isn't always easy, it isn't always what we want it to be, but it is a beautiful life when we choose to embrace it. Hold onto the joy. It will get your through.

Man's Best Friends

Logan has become adorably concerned with C's whereabouts. All. The. Time.

"Where you going, Daddy?"

"Daddy go to work?" "Daddy go ensercise? (exercise)" "Daddy go potty?" (Yes, that makes me laugh). 

"Daddy take a shower?" "Daddy wake up?" "Daddy go sleep?"

"Daddy be right back?" "Daddy coming back soon?"

It is constant. He is always aware of his placement, of his mood, of his needs.

"Daddy hungry?" "Daddy need water?" "Daddy tired?"

It brings so much joy to my heart to see how well our boys are doing. And I know it may not always be this way. I know that after the next deployment my little Logan will be much bigger. My little Logan will start Kindergarten the next time C is deployed. My baby Eli will be Logan's age - starting preschool. 

Wow. 

That hit me hard. 

Okay. Back to the present. 

My boys know their daddy. My Eli runs to him. He laughs. He hugs his legs. He reaches up to him and says, "Daddy!" It is as though no time has passed for Logan. C's still his best buddy. Still his favorite person in this world. He still wants him at every moment. Still plays with him, seeks his approval, wants to be around him any chance he gets. These precious, precious boys love their daddy. These beautiful boys know their daddy.

I cannot tell you how much I take that as a victory. How indescribably grateful I am every time I hear them call his name. Every time Logan asks one of his hundreds of questions about C. Every time Eli chooses to run to him instead of me.

I am so grateful for how much C loves them, how much they love C. 

There is little more beautiful than the relationship between a father and his children. There is little more incredible to me than seeing how much this relationship has grown through eleven months of separation, with six-thousand miles between, living two continents apart, while C lived with and worked among people of a different culture, different religion, different belief. 

And they are still best buddies.

I am so very grateful.

No Words

There are no words.

None.

It is something that you know or you don't. You have felt it or you haven't. You have lived it or you can only imagine.

There are no words.

I knew that the song playing meant that they were about to walk in. I knew that when this song ended they would announce the arrival of the troops. I couldn't sit down. Everyone else was sitting. They didn't know. But we had welcomed C's men home last week so I knew. I. could. not. sit. down. 


"Ladies and Gentlemen," and then the screaming started. I didn't hear anything else that announcer said. I couldn't hear the person standing next to me. I don't know if I really heard anything. It wasn't until I watched the video on my phone back of them marching in that I realized just how much my body was shaking. There is no feeling like it on this earth. Chills, goosebumps, shaking, tears. And I hadn't even seen him yet. 


And then one soldier turned the corner and took the last step into the formation of 300 men and women  and I knew those shoulders. I knew that frame. I knew that stance. That was my C. Without question, without hesitation, that soldier was mine. 


"Look at me, look at me, look at me!" I thought over and over again while my eyes didn't leave that face on the complete opposite end of the assembly center. He stood perfectly still, as they all do, with his eyes very, very slowly scanning the crowd. "I'm right here!" my eyes yelled and then they met his. He saw me  and in his perfect stance he gave the slightest, slightest nod. No one else would see it if they weren't looking for it, but I did and that moment will be mine forever. There were so many tears. Hundreds upon hundreds of the tiniest, simplest tears. The first time we saw each other. The first time I could look into his eyes from - what felt like - forever away and know that we were US again. That in this huge center filled with hundreds of people all trying to find each other while remaining so very still, so very focused, so very strong, we found each other. No words. No waving. Nowhere near in each other's direct sight. We were pulled to each other. He found me while I yelled to him with my eyes.


You can tell me things don't happen like that. You can tell me that people can't feel each other like that and I will tell you over and over again that you are wrong. He found me out of the corner of his eye, across hundreds of people, without moving his head. That doesn't just happen. 


And then they released them to us and the crowd swarmed. Wives found husbands, daddies found daughters, parents found sons. In half a second the mob surrounded us, I saw my husband turn around to motion to one of his soldiers, and then he was gone and I felt like I couldn't breathe. "Where WAS he?" In the path between us that had been empty instants before were hundreds of families embracing, running, crying, cheering, laughing, smiling, kissing and I couldn't see my soldier. Desperately my eyes darted left, right, left, right. I couldn't see anything. I don't know if I could even process. He was gone.


And just like it happened the time before, my short, short body was standing on the bleachers looking left, scanning the crowd but not seeing anything that I wanted to see, when I heard it on my right, "You looking for me?" and there he was. 


There are no words. There are hundreds of tears, thousands of goosebumps, but there are no words.

To see our children hug their daddy. To see him kiss them. To see him hold them. To hear Logan yell, "Daddy!" and Eli softly say "Da-da" over and over again are incomparable to any joy I have ever felt in my life.

To kiss him. To see him. To know that he is here.

There are no words.

I have him. He's mine. He is safe. He is alive. My baby boys get their daddy back.

There are no words.

There are only tears. Hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of the most beautiful tears.

My husband is home. Thank you, Lord, for keeping him safe. Thank you, Lord, for giving him back to me. Thank you, God, for giving the grace for the journey. Thank you, Thank you, Thank you, God.

"Boots on the ground" - on this ground, on American soil.

There are no words.

No words but Welcome Home.

Nesting

I have decided that Sunday is my laundry day. Well, I didn't really decide - it has just happened that way since we moved. I have never done all my laundry on one day before but now I guess I do. And this Sunday was definitely laundry day. 4 loads when it was all said and done. It was also a baking day. I baked a total of 16 dozen cookies. 8 dozen of which were from-scratch-M&M-cookies but all for the returning single soldiers' barracks. When the boys were napping, and the laundry machines were going, I took on the garage. The insane, horrible disorganization that was the remainder of a very badly packed move. And I did it. I opened every box. I sorted, I tossed, I put aside donations, I marked items for a garage sale, I unpacked and consolidated, unwrapped and put away. I lifted a very large, very heavy, seven-foot, artificial Christmas tree onto a very high storage shelf and didn't get injured in the process. I broke down boxes; I sorted packing paper to be recycled. I finally found my bathroom rugs in a box labeled "Candles". 


I started to pin a potential slipcover.


I finished painting the garage-sale-find-dresser for the boys room and went out to set up the pool for my boys. I pruned my flowers and made an arrangement with the fresh cuts. I cooked dinner and then we headed to LOWE'S. 


I bought more paint : ) ... and tape, and rollers, and brushes ... 


And - get this - I did it without any coffee.


I guess you could say I'm nesting. The week before Eli was born, I was on my hands and knees scrubbing grout lines with a cleaner and a toothbrush until C insisted he take over. I didn't nest with Logan. It's hard to nest when you aren't allowed out of bed. But I am most certainly nesting now.

I want things to be perfect. For the house to be done. For it all to be put away. For every little thing to be put in place. Perfect. Because I want things to be "home" when he walks through this door.

And then it hit me. It will be perfect - no matter what I do and don't finish - it will be perfect. Because he will walk through the door. And all the rest will follow.

I can slow down.

Because we will build a home as we go. And if I don't paint the rest before, he'll paint with me - because he knows how much it means to me. If I don't finish my slipcover before he walks through that door I will while he takes our boys to the park or brings them to look at the tanks around post. I don't have to decide which fabric to make curtains out of right now because I can ask him his opinion in just a few days. (Which he will roll his eyes at).

These things can wait.

But again, I'm nesting.

And C did have to physically take that toothbrush out of hand and pull me up off the bathroom floor the last time.

It can wait. Really. But then again ...

Where's that blue painter's tape? I may just start taping off the trim in my room ...

Home

I impatiently kept stepping over to the side - hoping to get a glimpse of him. Why was he taking so long? Was that a pilot getting off? Why was there a pilot walking off? 

Panic ... Did he not make the flight?? The attendant read my face, "Williams, right? He's on there. He's coming. Hold that sign up, little man!" He helped Logan hold up the "Welcome Home Daddy" hand-made sign. Logan was so excited. I was amazed at how well he understood what was happening. He could hardly stand still but he was so well-behaved. Eli on the other hand ...

Well I did interrupt his nap-time (or nixed it all together, rather) so of course he was screaming. That and the fact that he mastered the whole walking thing this week and was SO over being held. I would usually be embarrassed, panicked by the screaming child in my arms in such a busy airport. My face would be beat red, my body would tense, my mind would be screaming. And it was until ...

I saw him.

"DADDY!!" Logan screamed, "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" He stood beside me screaming. I had told him he had to stay right by me throughout the airport.

"You can go, Logan,"and he ran to him - sign still in his hands. "Hi, Daddy!" He handed him the sign and jumped into his arms.

Applause broke out around us. Was Eli still crying? I had no idea. Someone yelled, "Welcome Home!" but I barely heard it. I saw Logan in his arms hugging him - like no time had passed. His Daddy was home.

"You okay?" he asked as he reached out to hug me. I couldn't speak. I just barely nodded my head as I realized I couldn't even open my lips. His head flew back, his mouth opened and he laughed.

I had not said a single word since telling Logan. I fell into his arms, me holding Eli, him holding Logan and the tears didn't stop. They started the moment I saw that uniform, that smile, that beaming smile. I didn't have any words. My family was one - in the same embrace we held so very long ago. The four of us, holding onto each other - centered together. There was no one else there. No sound, no screaming, no clapping, no words, nothing. Except the sound of his laughter.

His laugh responding to my tears. His laugh telling me he's home.

The Pledge

Bathtime for Logan is play time. Very often my Dad takes this chore on for me so that I can put Eli down to bed. It is just another little thing that provides much needed support. But when Logan's hair needs to be washed I usually bathe him. That boy has a LOT of hair.

"What should we sing?" I asked - like I always do when I wash his hair. "Wheels on the bus?" He shakes his head. "ABC's?" (always a favorite). 


 "No," he responds plainly. 


 "Umm.... Itsy Bitsy Spider?" 


 "Nope" he responds - a sly smile creeping across his face. 


 "Then what should we sing?" I asked, running out of options. 


 "Pwedge," he responded his smile becoming wider. 


 "Pwedge? What is 'pwedge'?" I thought to myself. And before I could figure it out, he began ... 


 "I pwedge a'legins to the flag of the 'nited nates of 'merica.
  And to repubwic, for ich it stands, one nation, ununer God, 
  inninisible, wit litity and hustice for all!" 


 Soap in his hair, beaming smile on his face, my hands were frozen. He saw my tear. 

"You 'kay?" he asked suddenly concerned. This wasn't the reaction he expected. 


"Yes, buh-ga," I smiled back. "Very, very good, Logan," still processing everything that I was feeling.


"'gain?" he asked. I nodded and he began, " I pwedge a'legins..."

My two-year-old can say the pledge. Of course he says it how I would expect most two-year-olds to say it - but, my two-year-old can say the pledge. Logan has a speech problem - he struggles with so many words, with so many phrases, but he proudly and meaningfully says the pledge of allegiance.

Beautiful.

How incredible that his daddy will hold that little boy and hear him say it for himself so very, very soon. How amazing will that moment be?

How incredible.

How absolutely incredible.
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"I pledge allegiance to the flag, my heart to the soldier that defends it, and my never ending support to all who serve with him." - unknown

First Sight

"Ugh!" I said out loud as I washed my face. It was so very small but I could feel it - the kind of pimple that you just KNOW is going to be a bad one before it has really even started to form.

"Seriously?" I thought to myself. I pulled the tube out of the cabinet and dotted the green goop onto that one spot. Then I felt another spot that maybe, just maybe was thinking about forming another one so I dotted there too. And then another. And then eventually I squeezed the green mask into my fingers and covered my entire face.

"RRRRRIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGGG!!!" I grabbed the wet towel and wiped the grossness from my hands. I passed from the bathroom to my bedroom, scooped the phone up off the bed and tried to not press it against the drying putty on my face.

"Hey!" I hadn't expected his call tonight. His schedule had been growing fuller by the day and he had warned me that he would not be calling until later tomorrow.

"Hey ... you sound surprised." Well, duh, I was surprised. Why is it that the times he says he won't call always seem to be the times that he does? And the times that I am expecting a call always seem to be the times that the phone never rings? "Weird question," he continued. "Do you remember my Skype user name?"

"No Way!" I blurted out. "No Way!" I repeated over and over again in my head. Is it possible to be mentally telling yourself to not get your hopes up (and to really think that you have a grip on it) while having your heart race in absolute anticipation at the same time?

"Way!" he said making fun of my response. "Look up my username and email it to me. I will be on in a minute."

Of course this would be the time I would look like I had green frosting caking my face. To wash it off or to keep it on? Why was I taking time to think about this? "Make a decision, Megan!" Was I talking to myself now? Surely I could still think straight. I soak the washcloth in warm water and rush back to my laptop.

"Hey!" I heard his voice but I couldn't see him. The screen was a black box where his image should be. This was NOT happening. In half-an-instant my exploding heart thudded to a stop.

"I can't see you," I moaned. There it was that "don't get your hopes up" that hadn't been able to reason with the racing of my heart seconds earlier.

"I can see you," he said back - trying to keep his voice calm as he processed my own sadness. I half-smile - at least glad for that.

I have not seen my husband's face in over four months.

Correction: I had not seen my husband's face in over four months. ; )

"I SEE you!" the words burst from my mouth before my eyes could truly process. Of course my eyes couldn't process it - I couldn't see. There were too many tears pouring from behind my lids. "I see you. I see you. I see you!" I could not say anything else. He laughed.

Seeing his head cock back and his mouth widen and his teeth shine while my ears heard the same laugh I have only heard over the past several months took my breath away.

I could see him. I could see the smile that I so deeply miss and see his eyes brighten and his face glow as he felt the same thing I felt. We could see each other. Without any reasoning I pressed my fingers to the screen. I could see him.

And it may seem trite - to become so overwhelmingly emotional over something so basic, so natural. To be able to the see the love of your life. To be able to see a laugh that for so long had to be remembered from past laughs as it could only be heard. To see his laughter.

To see the joy. To see the hope. To see the complete object of one's affection, one's life, one's world.

To see a laugh.

It's like first sight.

Finding Me

Emails have been coming in since the Moneysavingmom.com feature and one of them triggered something that I meant to write about so long ago and got distracted (which I often do). I am very thankful that the story (and conversation that was sparked by it) of one person's struggle in this life helped to remind me of this.

I was going down the list of past friends, mentors, inspirational wives with a dear, dear friend of mine. When I asked how one of the kindest, quietly supportive senior wives we had worked with was doing her face changed.

"Oh, Meg, you don't know?" she look at me confused. This was not my post anymore, not my current Army home but one I still held close to my heart. The confusion on my face answered her question.

What happened doesn't matter. Her life was changed in a way that none of us ever want and I nearly slammed the brakes in heartache for her. She is kind, she is generous, she is the classiest of Army women and I am very proud to have learned from her.

She said one thing to my good friend after the path of her long army life changed course that has stayed with both of us:

"Do not lose who you are."

This life can be overwhelming, this life can be consuming, but it is not all that exists for us.

I am fully and completely submerged in the Army Life - I love it, it strengthens me, it is truly a BIG part of who I am. But it is not the only part of who I am. It is very easy to make our entire life about our soldiers, about their jobs, about this lifestyle. And I say repeatedly to be involved in it, to be active in it, to thrive in it. And I think that in saying those things it may lead women to believe that this must be their every moment, their every breath, every thought. That this part of life is the only part of life.

It isn't.

I will be the first to say that I struggle with this because I love this life. I believe that we all have a path that has been set before us - that we try to tweak and force to go another way at times - but that is our path. I have said before that I never expected this life for myself; I never had half-a-thought that my life would be what it is now. In truth, I had a very different picture in mind. My point is that I believe that the women who choose to take on this life, who choose to truly, completely, and passionately put their hearts into loving a soldier, are meant to do so. And so to not lose yourself in it is difficult - because this is my life. I am married to a soldier.

I have battled, within myself, trying to find the balance. I thought that by taking on this life I had to lose the life I "thought" was meant for me. I was resistant. I was closed-off. I decided that I would not accept this life anywhere beyond my husband. And in Erasing the Line I talk about when I realized that that was not something I, personally, could continue to do.

"Do not lose who you are."

Was I losing myself? The thought would not leave me. Because, if anything, from the time I had that lightbulb moment years ago when I suddenly found my "purpose" in this life I have never felt more like "me". I have never felt more defined, more complete, more understood than from that day forward.

Before that "ah-ha" instant I had been mourning who I had "wanted" to be. I thought that my hard work always focused on a single plan (a well-thought-out, eye-on-the-prize, I-know-who-I'm-gonna-be plan) had hit a dead-end. When I received that punch-to-the-gut some time ago I finally understood that who I am fits. Who I am has a part in this community - who I am is not solely this community but is a part of it. Who I am does not hide behind who he is.

Who he is is a part of who I am just as much as who I am is a part of him. I am dedicated to this life because I believe that I was brought here for a purpose. I serve in this life because it was in that single moment of recognition that "who I am" came back to me.

I haven't lost myself in this life. I had been lost - wallowing in what "was supposed to be".

But still, the thought that kept trying to overpower the certainty that I feel in my choice was questioning the "what-if". What if this life is not my life after a decade or two of commitment? In losing this life will I lose me again?

I cannot live today fearful of what might be tomorrow. What good can come from that? I will never be productive, never find a purpose in anything if I live in fear of what may come. So, "Do not worry about tomorrow." Live today.

I am a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, and I am an (Army) wife. No matter what tomorrow brings, I will always find me in it.

"So do not worry about tomorrow; for tomorrow will care for itself." - Matthew 6:34

Find Erasing the Line HERE

Daddy Kisses

She was confused for just a moment as she tried to process what she heard. "Megan, is someone ..."

"What?" I said down the steps.

"Oh!" she slightly gasped to herself. She had answered the question in her head that she never really finished asking. "I heard C's voice but it must be the bear. I was confused."

I could hear it through the door as well but I guess I had been hearing it for long enough that night that I didn't process what she had said at first. Logan had been pressing the hand of his teddy bear that played C telling him goodnight. He had been playing it over and over again for a while now. He was laying under his covers hugging his bear, pressing the tiny hand - repeatedly.

A while after the voice had stopped I quietly opened the bedroom door and peaked in. Hugging that bear he had fallen asleep. Next to him, tucked perfectly under the covers, was his "daddy doll".

I hadn't put it there.

Nearly everyday I am amazed at the tenacity of this child. And some of you may question my using that word for a two-year-old but I mean it. His ability and determination (and that is truly what I believe it is - a determination) to hold onto his daddy overwhelms my heart. It is almost as though he is keeping C present in his life. Of course we talk about him together daily and Logan has started talking to him on the phone more and more when it works, but it is as though Logan knows he needs to keep him present.

He left his floor pillow and his cartoons in my room and quickly walked though the connecting bathroom into his room. He returned quickly walking straight to Eli in the swing and pressed something to his face. From my angle I couldn't see exactly what he was doing. Eli started laughing and Logan looked up at me grinning, proud of himself for something.

"What are you doing, buh-ga?"

He pressed something to Eli again and his belly laugh made that same smile span Logan's face. Logan walked over to me and I saw the doll in his hand. He pressed it to my face and said, "Daddy Kisses." The same proud, accomplished smile brightened his face. He had made a connection - a connection that he knew was something to be proud of.

I hugged him close to me and he pressed the doll from his face to mine. "Daddy kisses," he said again.

Every night, when it is just me, the thought that fills my heart and my prayers oh-so often is "Please, dear Lord, let these children know their father." The thought encompasses the greatest pain and hope and desperation that there is no other option but for them to know this man that loves them with more intensity than I knew was possible.

My children amaze me. I am so very thankful for their kind hearts. What has touched Logan, what allows him to still grasp and want the image of his daddy present in his life is a blessing.

I fervently believe that in this life we will be given the strength for the journey. I intensely believe that every tool, and emotion, and pillar of support that is necessary to thrive in this life will be provided for us if we look for it. Logan, my two-year-old son, is one of those pillars. The absolute innocence and goodness within him overcomes the challenges of this deployment every single day. There is nothing more beautiful at this moment than what I have seen in that child.

The little one who purposely falls asleep to the sound of his daddy's voice and tucks his "daddy doll" into bed, the same little boy who thinks to give his little brother "daddy kisses" and then to pass them to me is a gift.

Along this most difficult path, we do not walk alone, we do not hurt on our own. In the face of the greatest separation a little boy provided another gift of strength in the simplest action, in the tiniest moment with the most innocent thought - with Daddy Kisses.

Beyond the Vows

Oh where to begin with this. Questions and non-questions have been hitting me left and right about this and I have gone back and forth on whether or not to address it. There are many things that I have been asked that I haven't addressed for multiple reasons - I don't want to get political, I don't want to be divisive, I don't want to offend. That isn't what my purpose is with this blog. I want to bring people together. I want to strengthen fellow military wives, I want to allow seasoned wives to reminisce and offer their experiences, I want those who are not in this life to understand it. But when it comes to questions on commitment and fidelity I hesitate to address it because it seems like a no-brainer to me. But I have been asked it by soon-to-be wives, by good friends, and by not-so-close people so I know it is on so many people's minds. So again, this post will be very much my opinion. It will be the way I see it, the way my marriage works and the way my husband and I live our life. While I would like to hope that what I feel is what every military spouse feels, what every married couple feels, I know that that is simply not the case.

Divorce is a big issue in the military. Infidelity - by soldier and spouse - is a huge factor in that. That is the reality. Those are the facts. My husband and I have seen some horrendous, awful, nasty divorces over the last few years. He has had to work directly in the middle of them, attending court, dealing with finances, child custody, property battles - all while a soldier is deployed. And while it may be so easy for some to understand why this happens, to understand why a marriage becomes so irreparably broken, it stills breaks my heart to see this happen. And it may be because I am still very fresh in this but I know spouses who are nearing retirement with seven, eight, nine deployments under their belts who are still devoted to their soldiers and whose soldiers are still devoted to them. And I am not saying that they have not had times (and I know they have had times) when they have wanted to walk away, when it took everything in their heart to not throw their hands up and say "I am done." I know that they have had days, when they were packing up a house for the ninth time, or decorating the Christmas tree for the seventh year alone, or potty-training the third child without their spouse, or shoveling the two feet of snow in the driveway when they had to question why we do this.

It starts at the vows.

I take you to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love you and honor you all the days of my life.

The words are simple, easy to say, quick from start to finish. But there is so much in those words - such incredible promise, commitment, finality. And I don't think people recognize the finality of it anymore. I believe in the vows. I believe in the words. I believe in the promise.

"I promise to be true to you." To my complete astonishment, this is what I think people find to be the most fascinating and unbelievable about what we do. I took my husband as my husband. I chose him - only him - to be with me in this life. When I took his hand in mine and placed a ring upon his finger, I did so knowing that he would be gone for years of our life together. That for half of the beginning of our marriage I would be without him. That does not give me a pass. That does not give me a pause on this promise. "In good times and bad." I am pretty sure you all can figure out what the "bad times" would be considered. Yes, those 365 days that he is not here every other year. Those would be the bad. And I will always be true - he is my heart, he is my life, he is my husband. I won't be with anyone else. Now narrow your eyes and pick your jaw up off the ground when you ask an Army Wife why she stays faithful. She stays faithful because she made a promise like any other spouse. The promise is the same - the sacrifice is great.

"In Sickness and in health." Lord, I pray that we only know health. For those who understand what is involved when we choose to love a soldier - the idea of "sickness" is different for us. My husband has said that one of his greatest fears is the loss of a limb. He has seen friends return without their legs, with parts of their bodies missing, with parts of them unrecognizable. I know that this, as a family, would be our greatest struggle, greatest challenge, greatest trial. My prayers are always with the families that endure this obstacle, this tragedy. There is little more inspiring than to hear a wounded warrior talk about his/her journey back - the recovery, the willingness to continue. I cannot imagine if that day were to ever come. I pray with everything in me that it never does and if that is not the plan - that our family will endure with strength and grace.

"I will love and honor you." I hope that in everything I do, everyday, I honor my husband. I hope to honor him as a soldier, as a father, as a friend, and as my partner. I am incredibly proud of who he is, what he chooses to do, how he chooses to live. That never ceases.

"All the days of my life." There it is - the finality. ALL the days. The days that he is home but isn't really home because he is training in the field, or working late at the office, or on TDY. The days that he is home beside me, holding our children, fixing the sink, grilling steaks, being present. The days when he is over six thousand miles away, without electricity (off and on), in below freezing temperatures, in the desert, missing his family. All the days.

I do not say any of this to say that this commitment is easy. There is nothing easy about choosing to love a soldier. The simplest tasks become harder, the most basic routine becomes twice as involved. I have to reaffirm my vows daily in this life because I did not just make them on that day years ago. I make them everyday as I re-choose him, as I re-choose this life.

Ofcourse there are so many parts of it I could do without. I could have not moved four times in a year (one move in my first trimester, one in my last). I could have not pushed up a wedding by four months to adhere to a rumored deployment date that didn't happen. I could have not had my son's second birthday with his daddy absent. Of course those things are difficult. Of course it is a battle to keep going. Of course I want my husband beside me.

But I chose him - in good times and bad.

Its in the vows.

I choose to love my soldier - for all the days of my life.

On His Mind

"Who does this shirt make you think of?" she asked - not expecting an answer.

Without taking even a second, he says, "Daddy!"

Tears were in my mother's eyes when he said it with his smile and tears waited there again when she told me. She had been dressing him and she showed him the t-shirt from a fundraiser at Fort Campbell. The front reads, "Proud of my soldier" and on the back is a spade with "Currahee Kid" printed over it. He has worn this shirt many times before. He sleeps in it, he plays in it, he watched soldiers come home in it. He knows this shirt is directly linked to his daddy...and he so loves his daddy.

These moments are becoming easier now. At first, even before C left, the fear of Logan losing the memory of him - of who his daddy is - broke every part of my heart. I recognize that for Eli this will be normal - I have already accepted that in my mind. He will have to get to know his daddy when he returns and that is okay to me. But Logan and C are incredible together. Their bond is overwhelming, the love my husband has for our children and the complete admiration Logan has for him both heals me and breaks me. He is such a good father. I am so proud and so very blessed to walk this journey with him - as bumpy as it can be.

"Daddy!" Logan yelled as the familiar tone rang. The same three numbers would show up as the satellite phone so I had saved them all under the same loud and obnoxious ring. Logan was ecstatic when he heard it and ran to the phone.

The only voice that came through the line was the recording stating, "The call could not be completed." This happened four times before C gave up. Each time Logan's face lit up. Each time the wrong voice spoke, his color drained and his lip dropped. The disappointment in his eyes traveled to my own. My lip dropped too and I hugged him.

"Daddy," he repeated over and over again as he tried desperately to make my phone work. Holding it up to his ear, swishing his fingers across the touch-screen, pressing the one button on the front. He finally handed me the phone and allowed me to just hold him. He's been cuddling so much more these days.

And these moments are so very heartbreaking. No mother wants to see her child hurt. No mother wants to deprive their child of joy - and that is what C is to him - complete joy. I thought these moments would destroy me - the pain that accompanies each dropped lip and every teary eye.

I had to think, find a way to not feel broken throughout this, to make these moments moments that can strengthen me, lighten the load, give me hope. I looked at my reality. I accepted my reality. And I saw things from a new perspective.

The entire predeployment I was terrified that when C returned, Logan would not know him. That he would be scared of him. That he would not remember anything from before. The image I had made up in my head of C walking towards us and Logan not running into his arms gave me the greatest stress. My hair may be graying just thinking about it. And it is difficult to explain if you have never seen C and Logan together. They are a pair, a team, buddies and they have been since the day Logan was born. I could not bear the idea of that not happening and every time Logan would miss his daddy I would hold onto that made up image.

I realized that the way I was perceiving his sadness was wrong. This was good - not Logan's heartache or disappointment, of course - but the fact that he missed his daddy. He knew him, he knew what they would do together, he knew that different things "belonged" to him and daddy. He knew these moments, these memories, that belonged to the two of them and he missed them. He knows him and he will continue to know him and to love him and to want him. He knew that that shirt was linked to his dad and he was so happy to wear it. He knows that it is daddy's voice that reads to him at night. He points to him in pictures, he talks about him when he brushes his teeth the way daddy does as he pretends to gurgle when he's done. He knows which car is mine and which one is his. All of these things make him happy as much as they make me sad.

He loves his daddy. He knows his daddy. He loves to hear his voice and give kisses through the phone. C is his buddy, his best friend.

And that is the image I hold onto now. Of C walking out of that formation. Of his camo somehow emerging from the sea of camo surrounding him. Of Logan's face when he recognizes him. Of him in C's arms so very happy to hold him and touch him and see him. Of the beaming smile on Logan's face and the tears in C's eyes. I hold onto this image as it continues to both break me and heal me.

I miss our family. I miss my husband. I miss seeing his face. I miss seeing him smile. And it is so good to understand that my son does too. The moment he wouldn't want him, the second he wouldn't ask for him, the instant he wouldn't point to C in a picture would be the moment that would truly break my heart.

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.