Builders of Bridges

I saw that someone found my blog a few days ago by googling "military girlfriend, why civilians suck".
I'm not exactly sure why google sent them to me. 

I was saying to a friend this past weekend that I have learned to be careful in my opinions and my broad judgments over the last several years. I have been humbled beyond words for the thoughts I have held strong to in the past, for the opinions I was brazen and naive enough to share. 

I was an  impatient "non-parent" who had strong beliefs on how children should behave. I know I have given harsh looks in the past, thought rude comments in my mind and sworn the awful vow of "my child will never".

God gave me an autistic child who teaches me what it is to love every single day. 

Humbled.

I was a twenty-something who strongly opposed this war, who act-u-ally verb-a-lized that a soldier could not possibly love his/her family because of what they "do to them" when they enlist. I saw no harm in saying such words, had no intense pride in our flag, and always thought - somehow in all of that thinking - that I supported the troops. 

God led me to C.

Humbled.

It wasn't just marrying a soldier that opened my eyes. It took much longer than the moments of those said vows. It was the patient and kind and grace-filled Army spouses that I met very early on in this journey. It was their pride, their intense, intense love for their soldiers, their absolute pain in joy that I witnessed.

It wasn't my first deployment that taught me. It wasn't my first R&R, my first military formal, my first "dependent" ID card.

It was these women who spoke without judgment. Who held their tongues until they could gracefully teach. Who smiled softly at my ignorance and showed me what it was to be selfless but fulfilled.

It wasn't until I stood beside my dearest friend as she labored without her husband there and watched her beautiful daughter enter into this life. It was witnessing that unthinkable courage, that tainted joy. 

It was the first time I knew the person the flag was at half-staff for. It was the first time I ran my fingers across the name on his uniform that was my name too knowing he might not come back to me. It was the first time I saw the most heart-searing pain in my husband's eyes when he took the hand of his friend's mother and walked her to his memorial. It was seeing my littlest little waddle into his daddy's arms a year after he left. 

It was through witnessing my spouse give all of himself for something greater than us. It was seeing the great burden he carried, knowing the great burden he carried, and suddenly understanding why he did it. It was his grace and selflessness and deep love for the people of this nation. It was intimately knowing the very beating of my soldier's heart. It was realizing that somewhere in all of this, his love for country was my love for country, his sense of service was my need to serve.

It wasn't anyone's anti-civilian words that made me strong in this life. It wasn't returned frustration that brought me to where I am. It wasn't clinging to the Army and separating myself from the rest of the world that allowed me to find joy. 

It was patience and grace, courage and understanding. 

I firmly believe that people react to the life we portray. That if we are to demand understanding and acceptance from our civilian counterparts, we must first demand that we give the same of ourselves to them. 

We can and must be kind and patient and grace-filled and open.  We must live in a way that shows the beauty in the sacrifice of this life. We cannot ask this country to recognize the sacrifice of service if we do not live in a way that serves. In a way that emulates the values we hold fast. 

I have been brought to tears again and again by the incredible questions and conversations I have received and had with civilian friends and acquaintances.
They have given me the most hope.
I have been humbled again and again by the reminder of the words and thoughts of my past that have allowed me to bite my tongue for a moment, to think before I speak. I have been blessed to see the outpouring of support and quest for knowledge and understanding from my home community. 

There is no doubt that that came from an open dialogue. From sharing this life. From sharing the journey.

I know there will always be hurtful words - I know because I have said them. I know there will be people who we think will never "get it". I know because I have been one.

For every military spouse that holds the mindset that "civilians suck", a brick is added to the wall that so often divides us. Choose whether you are a builder of walls or a builder of bridges.

Build walls and close yourself in. Build bridges and change mindsets.

I hope you choose to be a builder of bridges. 

What I Wish My Civilian Friends Would Ask Me ... and What I Wish They Wouldn't

I get questions now and then about "how do you handle when someone says this", or "how do you stay calm when someone asks that".

I hear a lot about military spouses not having much understanding from their civilian friends and family. Unfortunately, I think very often military spouses think they have to choose between the two.

I just don't think that's the case. I think how we share this life with those outside of it has everything to do with how much they understand it. We can't ask a civilian friend to understand what we are facing or do face or have faced. That isn't fair to the friend. But we can open up, and show patience, and invite them to learn about the path we walk.

I have had such good civilian friends who have taken the time to ask the right questions and have also taken the time to read here so that they know what to not ask. These are a few of those things put in one place.
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Don't ask me if I'm scared my husband won't come home. 
I have sat beside my husband as he discussed his own funeral. I know who he wants as pallbearers. I know the songs. I know the scriptures. I know how he wants to be buried.

Every time our servicemen and women board those planes, we are terrified. What they do is beyond dangerous. Soldiers die in training exercises and in war. We don't need to be reminded.

Of course I'm scared my husband won't come home. We all are. Combat or not. Army or Marines or Air Force or Navy. We are all scared.

 Don't ask me about politics.
Don't ask me what myself or my husband thinks of our president, former president, policies, cuts, anything. And, please, don't ever ask him. One of the most shocking things I have learned in this life is that some of our service members choose not to vote. I'm not saying that I do or do not agree with that but the reasoning is that they vow to defend this nation under the order of whomever this nation's people choose to elect. Whomever. 

Please don't ask me. I hate when people ask me.

Don't tell me how much you hate war. 
I don't want to hear how much you hate the war or how awful it is for us. Don't tell me it was all about oil or any other insensitive comment like that. My husband chose this. And chose it again. And again. He believes in his duty, his job, his purpose. I don't have any desire to hear anyone belittle that.

Please don't compare.
I think this is a bit of a balancing act. I have learned that some friends don't think they can tell me whatever is going on in their lives because it can't possibly "be as hard". But every one of us has a battle we are facing. Every one of us has a great challenge at one point or another in our life. Please don't ever think you can't include me in working through a hardship, or venting, or asking for prayers. That isn't what I am talking about. 

What I mean is, please don't say that you can understand how a military spouse must be feeling with a husband with boots on the ground in a war zone because your significant other travels for business a lot.

That. isn't. (and will never be). the. same. thing. 

I promise you the conversation will stop. I may even turn around and walk away. Not because I am trying to be rude, but because I am trying with everything in me to not be.

Don't tell us the war is over.

Just Don't.  

Don't tell us they won't deploy because "they are all coming home". It's an insult for anyone to tell us they know better because they "watch the news". We live this life day in and day out. It isn't just a headline or a sub-line or a news-blurb or a talking-point. This is our life. And we know better than you.

Don't ask me if I am scared of my husband.
Don't dare ask me if I am scared to have him around our children. War didn't make him a monster. He fights for these kids. He does what he does for his family.
Do not ever imply otherwise.

Ask me what my favorite part is about this life. 

Ask me where we find joy. Ask me what I am most proud of.
Ask me how you can help.
Ask if you can send anything forward. Ask how we're doing and listen.

Don't think you can't talk to me because you suddenly think you don't know how to.
Don't talk to me about the military if you don't feel comfortable. Ask me if you can come for a visit. Check in. Ask me how the weather is but please keep talking.

Know that "planning" has a different meaning for us.

Our calendars are always fluid. We can't commit to a date six months down the road and sometimes not even six days. Hell! sometimes not six hours. It isn't that we don't want to be at/in your wedding, or that family vacation, or that high-school reunion. 

We want to be part of it all.

Don't think we aren't trying. Don't think we aren't wanting to give a definite yes or no. Don't think we don't value your time and commitment and coordination. We just can't promise anything - ever.
But, please, don't stop asking and inviting. Because someday we are going to be able to make it. Sometime we are going to be able to be there. Please don't cut us out just because we have such a hard time fitting in.

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We want to be part of your lives. We want you to be part of ours. If you can, come visit. We'd love to show you our world. We'd love for you to come to a welcome home - for any soldier. They are incredible to see. We'd love to show our pride and our joy and our strength. We'd love to walk through the cemetery with you and sit in silence and pray and remember our fallen.

We'd love your support, your understanding, your prayers. We'd love to have a conversation about what this life is and even what it isn't.
We'd love to have you as a part of the journey. 

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For more insight into this life read:
 Promises - A Soldier's Promise & An Army Wife's Promise

221 Days to Hug Mommy

If you spend thirty minutes with me - give or take - you will learn that I am a die-hard sports fan. I love my Saints. I love my LSU Tigers. And one of my best memories is going to Wrigley Field with my dad to watch the cubbies play ... well, lose ... but still. 

A photo popped up in my newsfeed today that Drew Brees shared of a female marine hugging her son. The back of his shirt said, "I have waited 221 days to hug my mom." 

It is a beautiful and heart-crushing image. It gives me goosebumps, brings tears.

Everything about that picture is beautiful. Everything about that picture is saddening. Everything about it is worthy of pride and honor. 

The most recent comment posted below the image (and there were over twenty-thousand) said "Mothers should stay with their children," and a little higher up, "What mother abandons her child for 221 days?" and more and more and more just like it. She was called irresponsible and unloving. That beautiful, beautiful image of pain and sacrifice and absolute joy was judged and twisted and dishonored. 

I don't have the words to explain my complete disappointment with the people who shared such hurtful and irresponsible words. 

It takes but a moment for me to be reminded that there was a time that I may have uttered them.

So often the images are of the men - the husbands and the daddies and the brothers. And while some will say the same things about a father leaving a child, it is nothing in comparison to the public beating our women who serve this nation take day in and day out. 

No soldier deploys for selfish reasons. No soldier wants to leave his or her home, his or her children, his or her world. No soldier strives for that. 

But each and every service member has chosen something greater. That doesn't mean they have chosen something over their children, their spouses. It doesn't mean they have chosen to put something in their place. 

Wars are not fought by childless men. Wars are not fought by childless women.

Military children hurt. There is no question. I have held two kiddos while their daddy boarded a plane to Kandahar. I have taken pictures of a daddy holding his new baby for the first time. I have watched friends' kiddos crawl to a man they had never met before. 

Military children hurt.

But, oh, how they thrive! How they learn to cherish and love! How incredible it is to see how much love they can hold, how quickly they can remember, how deeply they can understand that their family has chosen to serve a nation. How much they learn what it is to put others before yourself. How much our children learn to give to those who need, to cling to those around them.

Military families work hard to build a firm foundation. To give that to our children. Our children are resilient and strong and oh-so brave. 

They learn what service is from the best role-models children can have - their mommies and their daddies. 

These children are not abandoned. They are NOT abandoned. 

How strong the women who raise their right hands and recite the vows must be. How much they must hear and try like hell to ignore. How much it must hurt to have a stranger judge them. The stranger that they have sworn to protect.

Because someone has to. Someone must. 

To the service-women of this nation - you have my profound gratitude. You have my prayers. You have my support. 

I  know how beautiful that image is. I  know how much pain exists in the words "I have waited 221 days to hug my mommy." I know you are selfless. I know you love your children with the fiercest love. 

I know you are protecting them in a way so much of this world can't understand.

Thank you for having the grace to serve honorably, to love these children as only their mothers can. Thank you for your service - for your selfless service. 

Empathy

During and after Isaac, a comment someone had put on the Weather Channel's Facebook page was all over my newsfeed. The people of New Orleans were angered, deeply hurt, and frustrated by what one woman said. I can't remember the exact wording but she - rather void of tact - spoke about how stupid the people of the Gulf Coast (especially New Orleans) must be to live in a place that suffers hurricanes and exists below sea-level. She used harsh language, horrible wording, and nothing that she said offered a solution. Nothing that she stated held a purpose except to rant and call out someone else for something she couldn't understand.

How quick we are to pass judgment and condemn. How quickly we rip apart something we have no understanding of. How quick we are to give an opinion that holds no value, no purpose, no empathy.

She spoke about how whiny the citizens of my city are. How give-me-give-me-give-me we are with every hurricane. 

I love my city. I love my city for its uniqueness and strength and independence. I love my city for its acceptance of every walk of life, its character, its tenacity, its determination, its will to move forward, to celebrate making it through, to celebrate rising above, to celebrate life. I love my city for how proud it is, too proud to accept help without it being forced down its throat. I love my city because after it swallows that pride, it shows its gratitude, it gives back, it thanks those who came to its rescue. I love my city because it is a place that somehow has the ability to love deeply, to make those who visit it feel deeply, for those who live in it, to live by it, and for those who leave it, to carry it with them always.

New Orleans stays inside you. To leave it for a time, leaves a longing; to even think of leaving it forever, breaks the spirit.

So much of what she said, her hatred for something she couldn't understand, her need to say it in a public forum just because she could, because she "had the floor" ... 

How many times have Military Spouses heard strangers say or seen people post:

Well why did you marry a soldier in the first place?

I am so tired of hearing about this war. 

I am so tired of hearing about giving military families this, and giving military families that. 

Why do they even get married?

Why do they have kids?

How dare they bring children into that lifestyle!

They are so give-me-give-me-give-me. 

Why even be there when he gets home? He's a murderer! Their kids aren't safe.

Soldiers shouldn't be able to pro-create. It's not fair to the child. 

(Not kidding. I have heard it.)

Every word one of hatred. Every word one of ignorance. Every word gut-wrenching, soul-sucking, anger-filling.

How often do we as people pass judgment and express it just because we can. How often do we spew hatred because we "have a right!". 

How often do we inflict pain just because we want our say, our two-cents? Because our voice needs to be heard. It will be heard!

How much greater would this place be if we had more empathy. If we thought before we spoke, or typed, or tweeted. How much kinder would we be to one another if we took the time to try to feel what others feel and if we can't to not claim that we know better, that they must be wrong because we cannot understand. 

If you cannot understand why people rebuild, you don't have to. If you can't understand why military families exist, what it means to live this life, you don't have to. 

There are times when to not speak, does not make you weak. To hold your tongue does not mean you have no voice. If we could just feel for one another, respect one another ... it is not our place to condemn.

Words are powerful. 

No one can walk a mile in each person's shoes. No one can know how each soul lives. No one can feel what we feel, live through what we live through, but we can all accept that we cannot know. That we cannot know each person's struggles and reasons. We can choose to love first, to empathize first, to respect always. 

How quick we are to speak. How quick we are to condemn. How quick we are to show our ignorance.

How quick we should be to try to understand.  

Still Here

I was scrolling through my newsfeed when I saw a picture posted on a fellow Military Spouse's wall. It was of a soldier in full body armor, in front of a tan vehicle, gun strapped across his chest holding a simple piece of paper that said:

We're still here.

When we returned to Fort Carson after block leave ... when I saw those mountains ... for a moment I felt like I could finally breathe. 

I loved being home. I ate more chargrilled oysters than should be allowed, more snowballs, and shrimp po-boys and beignets than I should probably admit. I gained five ... and by five I mean seven ... pounds after feeling hungry for the last too many months. I strolled through my favorite shops on Magazine. I saw friends I haven't seen in a very long time. I hugged babies and tried on a bridesmaid's dress. I was present and there and all of the things I wanted to be. I love my city. I love my family. I love being around the friends who have worked so hard to understand this life and to support me and embrace it. I am beyond blessed in my friendships.

I knew that going home, that returning to a world outside of the military bubble, would bring up those questions and responses that every military spouse tenses when she hears. I knew that certain comments are always unavoidable. I knew that someone - or many someones - at some point would look at me and say the words, and the very first day I was in my city someone did.

"I thought we were out of there!" She looked at me with absolute confusion.

Afghanistan. She thought we were out of Afghanistan.

No. Shaking my head. No.

I couldn't answer any of her questions. 

"Where?"

Don't know.

"When?"

Can't say.

"How long?"

No clue.

How do people not know? How can they be so ill-informed? It is so easy for us to be reminded, day-in-and-day-out. We cannot forget. Last week and the week before when the flag at division sat at half-staff. When I entered the church and all of my music had been moved and I realized it was because two memorials had taken place. When I see a soldier dressed in multi-cam rather than ACU's. When writing up our calendar seeing when C won't be here. 

Watching my neighbors get together for dinners while they trade-off cooking responsibilities. Knowing C went to mow a neighbors yard because her husband isn't there to do it. Hearing a knock on the door from a pregnant neighbor saying she noticed C's jeep and can he help her move a heavy box up to the new nursery.

Listening to a friend's hushed voice when she says her husband worked with the warrant officer that was killed several weeks ago. 

There is not a moment that her soldier is on foreign ground that she forgets. 

We do not forget. We cannot forget. There are reminders all around us. I sat through two Care Team trainings last week preparing to begin to teach it and to sit through one of those ... I sat beside a Gold Star Spouse throughout. 

We can't forget.

The photo was of a soldier that could have been anyones soldier, in the armor that weighs more than most could carry, with a simple hand written sign begging, 

We're still here.

Don't Forget Us.

How can so many not know?

Send Me

In less than twenty-four hours I have heard two "speeches" that made me wish I had found a way to record them. One at a military ball and another at church this morning. 

Both got me thinking and nodding my head and trying to commit certain lines to memory. The topics were entirely different, nothing overlapped, and I'm not even sure which I am going to talk about here. I cannot tell you how much I wish I just had copies of what was said but one was just speaking from the heart and the other I don't think would want me to knock on his door and request one. I don't think two-stars appreciate random army wives knocking on their doors but then again, I've never tried it. :)

C and I attended the Army Birthday Ball on post last night. We almost didn't make it because C hasn't been feeling well (of course, he refuses to go to a doctor) but we managed to get there and it was really fun night. I don't know if it was because I didn't understand in the past, or I just wasn't interested, or if the speakers weren't very good, or my mind was racing through other things related to that event or what, but for the very first time a guest speaker got my attention and kept it. 

So much of what he said is very much what I believe. So much of the wording and phrases and passion making up his speech are all things that I feel and say and trust in. 

He said that our soldiers - whether people acknowledge it or not - are in the middle (not end) of a major conflict. He said that our soldiers - no matter what people paint them as - are not victims, they are not forced into service, but that they choose to serve. They knowingly say, "Send me. I will go. I want to be part of something greater than myself." That they believe in what they do.

He spoke about the first men who stood up to defend an IDEA. The first men who risked their lives for something they believed in with every bit of their soul. The men who had everything to lose while trying to create something that had not existed.

He said the first soldiers were not just fighters. The first soldiers were dreamers first. They dreamed of a future of freedom. It wasn't just (less than) one percent that stood up like it is today. It was so so so many risking fortune and prosperity and comfort for the hope of guaranteeing a chance at that to their children, and grandchildren, and great-great-great-grandchildren.

They fought for us. They died for you.

How few would give up their luxuries and comforts and fortune to protect that of others. How very, very few say, "Send me." How very few understand that freedom is always at risk of being lost. Freedom is never guaranteed or certain. At no point can it go unprotected. At no point can it be made vulnerable. At no point can no one say "I will risk my own for the whole." 

Someone must be ready. Someone must have the courage and the faith to defend. So very, very few have made your today possible. So very few will allow for your comforts tomorrow. 

So very few.

The humbled few who say each day, "I will go. Send me." 

Mourning

I know that Monday friends will post on my facebook page or text me to say "Happy Memorial Day" and to thank C for his service. 

It happens every year.

And I know that people mean well. It's hard to remember or to know what this day is about. I struggle with it every year. Yesterday C and I made it out to the outlet mall and took advantage of the "Memorial Day" sales - really took advantage. Today I picked up a set of red and white plates with stars on it and then put it back. 

Grills are on sale, patio furniture is discounted, grocery stores are packed. Everyone is getting ready for the big weekend.

People are gathering to "celebrate". 

I find that many times people think this day is equivalent to Veterans' Day or the Fourth of July. I cannot fault anyone for the confusion. Everything is marketed to party and to celebrate on Memorial Day. I didn't understand it before I lived this life either.

On Veterans' Day we celebrate those who have served - the living. We remember their sacrifices, their service, their selflessness. We remember them for what some of them may someday give. We shake their hands. We thank them. We honor. We celebrate their unbelievable sense of duty.

On this day, on Memorial Day, we honor the dead. We remember the fallen. We mourn, we say their names, we touch their grave markers. On this day the hands we hold are the widows'. The hugs we give are to the mothers and fathers who have lost a son or daughter. The tears we shed are for the fatherless and motherless children.

This day, we remember those who laid down their lives in defense of the nation. This day is to pray for the widows and the parents and the children. This day is to honor their fallen by supporting them, by loving them, by respecting the sacrifice. 

Monday - as we did the last Memorial day - our family will go to the wall at Fort Carson and silently read the names etched into the granite. Flowers and letters and favorite liquors will be left at the memorial. I never met a single one of these soldiers. I do not know their families but I have promised to honor, to remember, to recognize the sacrifice that is ongoing.

This day is hardest for the gold-stars. This day is hardest for those who relive the sacrifice every morning that they wake up without the other breathing, every night that they fall asleep without the other there. 

This day we must remember those they have loved and will always love.

If you spend this time celebrating, recognize the life that was given to allow you to - the thousands upon thousands upon thousands that have been given. Without knowing your name, without knowing your journey, before you were born, a soldier died to ensure your future.

REMEMBER them.

Remember those they loved.

Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.

John 15:13

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If there is a fallen hero you wish to remember please add their name to the comments.  

Life Changing

Hello, my name is Megan Williams and I am a volunteer for Delta Company. I am calling with a script. This call is not in regards to your soldier. I repeat, this call is NOT in regards to your soldier.

There has been a casualty within your soldier's unit ...

I cannot tell you how many of these calls I have made but I can tell you where I was when I made this set of calls for C's old unit. I was in the kitchen of another spouses house, leaning on the counter, crossing off one name after another. 

R was at the kitchen table, crossing off the names on her list. S was in her living room doing the same. Three phones. Three women. Three lists.

Name after name after name being crossed through.

This wasn't our company anymore but in every way other than on paper, it very much was. These were not my families anymore but they were the ones I knew first. These soldiers had been C's.

This call down was not mine to make - but I asked to help - because there is only so much you can ask from people. Only so many times they can make those phone calls. These families had suffered so much loss that they could recite the script with you, understood that answers could not be given, that what was in that script was all that we were allowed to say. They had received the same call so many times, throughout the entire twelve months.

I was twenty-three the first time I saw my husband come home after beginning the process of a casualty notification. Most of my friends were graduating after their 5th year of college when C called a father to tell him his son had lost both of his legs to an IED and was fighting to keep his arm. That soldier was the same age as me.

He lost both of his legs in an instant. In just one tiny, tiny second, they were gone.

Twenty-three. Fresh out of college. Fighting a war.

K - a reader - emailed me because she just went through tragedy within her husband's unit. One of his soldiers just lost his leg. Young, healthy one moment. Without a limb the next.

Her life changed when she found out. It wasn't her soldier. It wasn't his leg. But something changed. War became real.

And yes, war is very, very real to us. But once there is a casualty, a tragedy, a loss of life, of limb, of mind ... once we can grasp that, once there is that moment when it hits us, deployment becomes something else.

K said it felt like a loss of innocence.

She is so very right.

Certain things hold no value in our lives anymore. Certain things have no importance. How we see the world changes.

What we see other young people doing or NOT doing with their lives, suddenly frustrates us. What we see others placing value on, makes us want to shake them. What others take for granted, we know can be lost, and is lost daily on a battle field.

We know that these soldiers give and give and GIVE in ways so many cannot understand. The soldier C made the phone call for, STILL serves. He is still a United States Soldier who has given his legs for a nation.

The soldier K spoke of is at Walter Reed laughing and telling jokes and pushing through without his leg.


The strength.

The complete selflessness.

What they GIVE.

It is awe-filling. It makes me feel that I must do more. I must give more. I OWE them.

Because they give so, so much and ask nothing.


How few can understand. How many live their whole life without feeling this deep, soul-shaking  gratitude. How much we owe these men and women for just being willing to give -whether it is a cause you can believe in or not. Just the fact that there are people who - no matter the danger, no matter the very real possibility of loss - they will go.

There are men and women who will give all. Who are that selfless.

They walk among us, and live among us, and are ridiculed and misunderstood and protested against, with so few understanding.

Their resolve left unshaken.

It's life changing when you realize the goodness in these soldiers. It is life changing when you watch them walk again. It is life changing to know their spirits.

Life changing to know that such goodness gives so much for so little in return.

What's in an Age

I had a birthday a couple of weeks ago. I have never been big on birthdays. I don't dislike them, I just don't go crazy over them. But over the last month-and-a-half people have been trying to guess my age. For a very long time, I have preferred for people not to know. When I took a job in our first Army home state, it was in my job agreement that people would not know my age unless I chose to tell them. Weird, I know. 

I am younger than C. 

Throws people off all the time.

In three jobs I have had, I have been younger than most of the people I supervised.

It has always just been that way. 

I worked full-time through college. I sat on conference calls in the hallways between classes. I switched from jeans and t's to heels and skirts in the Lockett restroom at LSU. My bed was covered in literary theory and floorset/merchandising pages. 

To many people, I married young. And for my generation, yes, I did. To most of my old friends who are just getting married and just having kiddos, I was a young mom. And I was. For today, I guess I still am.

 I was talking to a newer Army wife last night who entered this life at the same age I did. Who was and is a "young wife". Whose friends are still very much living their youth, and extending their college lifestyle, and who worry about how to pay the $175 for the shoes they "have to have" rather than worrying over how you will hold your husband's hand as he fills out the paperwork directing his last will and wishes. 

This life ages you.

I am twenty-seven-years-old. 

You have no idea how hard it is for me to type that. I feel old but at the same time I don't. I cannot tell you how many times I have been reminded by some spouses in this life - or outside of this life - that I was only "twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five."That I had no idea what was ahead. That I was "too young" to know.

 I worry how many people will now take less value in what I say. How many people will question if my experience can really be what it has been. Because I married young. I had kiddos young. And to so many people - so many Army wives - people write others off too quickly because of the numerical age.

I have moved four times - so far - in this life. I have lived in four states - so far - in this life. I have lived through two deployments with another approaching. I have lived the emotional roller coster of a deployment that didn't come. I have watched my husband grieve for fallen comrades while at home. I stood behind him as he held the hand of the mother of the friend who took his place. Who didn't come home. Who could have been C. I have struggled through that guilt. I have watched my partner fight through that. I have felt helpless, unable to take that pain. There are no words. I have watched careers change in an instant. I have watched women bring children into this world while daddies fought in a war. I have held a friend's leg while she welcomed her daughter, while she pushed surrounded by women, without her husband to coach her through. I have watched my husband kiss his new baby goodbye. I have watched daddies kiss their new babies for the first time - months after they were born. I have watched my Logan's arm tighten around C's neck - knowing, somehow always knowing. I have whispered the words, "Come back to me," through trembling lips and the softest tears. I have watched him walk away. I have recognized the fear. I have stood beside other spouses at a memorial while a four-year-old boy kissed the photo of his father set high behind a set of boots, a standing rifle, and an empty helmet. I have sat beside my husband while he dictated his funeral. I have listened as he discussed his pallbearers, his burial place.

That changes you.

I have waited for life changing news for myself, while my husband was six-thousand miles away. I have hidden testing, I have battled between what truths I should tell if my diagnosis had been different. If it had been what the fear was at the time. I have waited for a phone call that would change the life of our little Eli without C here. I have watched my husband struggle with leaving both of our boys in the hospital on two different occasions to return to duty. I have survived the nightmares. I have cried myself crazy in a kitchen after thinking I heard my husband being shot over a phone line. I have learned how to pray in great despair. I have learned what it is to be body-trembling-grateful. I have been humbled again and again. I have struggled with the guilt of thanking God for the saved life of my soldier while nearly being knocked over by the guilt of the same thought. I have feared the doorbell. I have lost my breath at the sight of my Logan wearing dog tags. I have felt the unspeakable joy of two homecomings for my C and seven for others. 

I have bought a car - negotiated a price, fought a finance manager to get what was fair. I have moved cross country during a deployment. I have made a temporary house into a home. 

I have waited. I have lived the vows. I have honored a man in a life that many cannot understand. I have stood against ignorance. I have done my part to help others to understand. I have fought for my soldier, for my family, and for the families that surround us. I have learned day in and day out how important grace is.

I have taken a path that no one understood - that I didn't understand - and have embraced it. 

That ages you. 

It sets you apart. It gives you experiences most will never have. It changes you.

You learn you are able. That you are strong. That you belong to something great.

You learn that your twenty-seven is not the same as another's. You learn to be amazed by what you have lived through. What you have survived. Where you have thrived.

Age is a number. One day I may learn to wear it as a badge of honor. I am twenty-seven and I have thrived through this much. I am twenty-seven and I have loved this completely. I am twenty-seven and I have learned that I am able, that there is no place He leads us that we are not meant for.

Age is a number. Just a number. 

What have you learned?
And how old did you think I was? ; ) 

Encouraged Ignorance

There are times when I wonder how people can have such a skewed perception of soldiers. How some people can think that they all are messed up in the head, that they are cold, uneducated, unable to think on their own. Most of the time I just can't understand how so many Americans can lump all soldiers into one stereotype. 

Most of the time.

Then there are days like today when ONE soldier commits a horrendous act against humanity and the line is blurred. There are days like today when I see what I saw on a major news network this morning and I have to turn it off because of how sick it makes me feel. There are days like today when an "expert" gives his "professional opinion" on why evil has taken place at the hand of an American soldier.

Because then it makes sense. Then I can understand why some people ask me if I am scared my husband is going to snap on me, or if I worry about him around our children. If I worry that he may kill me in his sleep. Then I understand why some people think our soldiers are broken.

Because someone, with some degree, and some title that people think matters gets ten minutes of airtime spent talking about how just being crammed into a vehicle causes PTSD, and how one tour of duty causes EVERY soldier - "in (his) professional opinion"- to suffer from PTSD, how any soldier has the potential to become a murderer at any time, how soldiers cannot separate threat from innocent women and children, how we have to be prepared for soldiers to "snap" at any time. How our soldiers cannot re-integrate into society. How they don't know how to "be" civilians anymore. 

And at no point in this interview - that seemed to last far too long (and I didn't watch it all) - were there the words "some" or "few" or "at times". It was always definitives, always communal language, always inclusive. Not "some", not "a minute amount", not "in rare occasions", not even just "often."  

Listening to this "professional," should have made me fear my husband. Should have made me question if he should be around our children. Should have made me look at him as a "potential murderer." 

That's disgusting. It's disrespectful. It's harmful and contagious and offensive.

Because he was convincing in his language. He is a "professional" on one of the largest news stations in the world receiving ample air time and never once being questioned on his wording. 

If he is going to call my husband a "potential murderer" well, it must be true. 

Surely our society - or those who broadcast it - doesn't have such a strong distaste for our service men and women. Surely no one would encourage this view of our soldiers - encourage such ignorance.

Because that would be horrible and wrong. 

My husband is a servant -  who, YES, has seen horrible things - things he will never forget. He lived through them and now he holds his children tighter. He loves his family fiercer. He defends his nation against the horrors he has seen in other countries so that our innocent eyes never see them here. He has seen a bullet-filled, maggot-ridden toddler left dead in her bed in another country, by a foreign enemy, and he has vowed to never let that be an American daughter. He has made the decision between life and death and saved the men that he was responsible for, that he promised to bring home. 

He has buried his comrades. He has held their parents, their spouses, their children.

That doesn't make him broken. 

It makes him someone that this worldly place cannot understand. 

It makes him selfless. 

How dare the world be told any different. 

Didn't you Hear?

They are coming home, didn't you hear?

No more war.

Didn't you know?

No more deployments.

They are coming home. The war is over.

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God, give me grace.

Part of me wants to think that hearing this hurts a little less after hearing it for so long. Part of me wants to think that I "know" how to not let this get to me - when strangers ask how I didn't know! When strangers tell me that my husband isn't deploying. Part of me wants to believe that I can just shut this out. 

That it doesn't affect me. That it doesn't make me angry. That it doesn't make me want to show whoever is saying it how wrong they are to speak such words.

I so want to be at that point that just has to happen somewhere down the road where such words don't make me cringe. Where such completely ignorant statements won't hit me like pings to my ears. 

Didn't you hear? No more War.

No, no I didn't. 

During the day-and-a-half that I saw C between his month-long-"adventure" to the desert of California and his three-day-joy-ride in the field he must have neglected to tell me. 

I'm sure he meant to.

It somehow must have slipped his mind while scheduling training-after-training, and field-exercise-after-field-exercise, sitting in meeting-after-meeting talking about a deployment that some stranger says isn't happening. Because if a stranger knows surely C has been informed.

No more deployments! Didn't you hear?

No, I hadn't heard.

Somehow someone must have forgotten to tell the instructors that teach us how to care for the families of the fallen, how to support them, how to speak to them, how to honor them. How to hide our tears, how to stay strong while their world crumbles before them. Someone must have forgotten to tell them to cancel those. Someone must have forgotten to tell them we no longer have soldiers fighting. That we no longer have soldiers dying. That there is no reason to fear the doorbell. That the loves of our lives are safe. 

Someone should tell them. They must have not heard.

Somehow someone still feels a need to train these men and women. Someone still finds it necessary to take them from their families, to have them miss lives while they are still at "home", to take them for months and weeks at a time to prepare for something that apparently isn't happening anymore. Someone should tell them because I miss my husband. If there is no more war, surely there is no more training. Surely he can be home every night. Surely he will not miss anymore of his children's lives. Surely there is no longer a reason. 

Someone must have forgotten to tell my friends whose husbands are in a war zone ... oh wait, what is it called then? Someone should tell our friend who just watched his girlfriend leave to go to ... um ... the desert for a nine-month-vacation. I'm sure she is just there for those awesome tan lines the helmet and chin strap give. Someone should tell those soldiers. Maybe I should knock on my five neighbors' doors whose husbands just left on twelve-month orders. Surely they haven't heard yet. Surely not. Someone should let them know.

Didn't you hear? No more war.

No, no I didn't.

Someone should tell them.

They must not have heard.

Honoring the Guard

There is a post by an new Army Spouse in Vermont that has the military blogging world turned all upside down. 

I just read it and I have to say I think my skin is smoldering right now with the blood boiling below it. I am sharing the link and I want you to read what she said first and then come back. You can't comment on her blog - and trust me, you will want to - because she has disabled the commenting option but I hope you will here. And I hope you share it and help share a message that our guard families need to hear after hearing the awful one she has to share. 

Now take a deep breath, make sure there are no heavy objects around that you may be tempted to throw at your computer, you may want to wait until small children are napping so that they don't worry about your facial expressions ... take a breath. Ready? Click HERE and then come back!


Update: Her blog has been removed, her soldier was reprimanded, and his unit issued a formal apology. This is a good reminder that what you do and what you say reflects on your spouse. And the rules in the military are very different from the rules in the civilian world. 


I saved what she wrote because I was fairly certain this was going to happen. I am sharing it here because I know that this is how a very, VERY small group of Active Duty Army Wives feel and there needs to be a lesson here. If you think the way this woman thinks, you are wrong. If you think you have some kind of right to belittle another branch or guard unit, you are wrong. If you think, in your wildest dreams, that YOU are somehow better because of the fact that your HUSBAND is an active duty soldier ... (girl, please!) ... You. Are. Wrong.


Here is what she had to say:
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Army Wife, Army Life

Stirring the pot...

I want to preface this entire post by saying that this is my blog. The views, thoughts, opinions, and statements are MY OWN. I feel that that gives me the right to express my opinion on whatever matters I see fit, if you don't agree with something that I'm saying, they make a couple handy little buttons. One is a red 'x' in the upper right hand corner, feel free to click it, it won't hurt my feelings. That being said...

Living in Vermont, there isn't a very strong Active Duty Military presence. 90% of the military influence around here comes from the Vermont National Guard. Oftentimes when I explain that my husband is in the Army, people automatically assume he is in the Guard. It's an easy assumption. We don't have an Army base here, we have Camp Johnson, a National Guard base. The Guard ACUs are almost exactly the same as AD Army, and many civilians (and myself) don't understand a lot of the differences in company patches. The Hubs was still assigned here, and we are still going to be sent away from here. If he hadn't been here, I wouldn't have met him. This is where my rant (of sorts) begins.

The Vermont National Guard is just that, they are State Militia. The Hubs is a Regular Army soldier. The National Guard spouses around here like to refer to themselves as 'Army Wives'. They aren't. They are wives of Guardsmen or "Guard Wife". I am the wife of an active duty, federal soldier.  That being said, the Hubs is not a Marine, he is not a Sailor, he is not an Airman. Call a Marine's wife an Army wife and see what happens.  They will correct you as quickly as I will correct you. A dog is not a cat, it'll never meow.

When you try to explain this to a Guard spouse, they get defensive, and often times throw a huge fit.

My husband is a soldier, he got deployed, just like yours!

I agree, your husband got deployed just like mine, but when he came home, he got to go back to a normal civilian life. When my husband got home, he still had to put on his ACUs and go to work, as a soldier.

I agree, your husband got deployed, just like mine, but when he came home, he knew he wouldn't get deployed again for at least another four years, in which time he probably wouldn't have re-upped his contract. When my husband got home, he knew he could turn around and get deployed again. Period.

My husband is a soldier, he has to go to drill!

Yup. One weekend a month, two weeks a year.

I can argue your points all day if you want.

I guess what I'm trying to get at here, is that I would really like people to stop jumping down my throat when I tell them that they are not an Army Wife. I'm not trying to imply that you're any less of a person. I'm not trying to imply that your husband is any less of a man. I applaud him for what he did, if he got deployed, and I respect him for that. I applaud him for the time that he does give up, on his one weekend a month, two weeks a year. I applaud him for going through BT and AIT. He is a member of the Guard, 100%, there is no denying it. He is not a regular army Soldier, you are not an Army wife. It's nothing to be ashamed of.

I'm just trying to point out the blatant differences between a Vermont Guard member, and a United States Soldier.

The second part of my rant is this.

As I said before, Vermont Guard is a State Militia... that still comes with responsibility, in uniform and out. As soon as he opens his mouth about being a part of ANY type of military presence, or dons his uniform, he has to realize that. That's part of what they bash into their heads at BT.

Part of YOUR job as a spouse, is to be a direct reflection of him. That means getting your facts straight, and getting educated. 

- Respect OPSEC and PERSEC when your husband is deployed. I see none of this when a Vermont Guard wife has a deployed husband.

- Respect the higher ranks. When I met my husband's 1SG, I made sure to put my best foot forward. I put on a nice outfit, did my hair, and put makeup on my face. Used manners; ma'am, sir, please, and thank you. I sat quietly and spoke only when addressed. If I had a question, I waited for a break in the conversation, and said 'Excuse me.' It's simple really. I see none of this when Vermont Guard spouses get together for an event with their spouses.

- Respect your husband when he's in uniform. Just because my husband and I aren't on post when he's in his uniform, I keep the 'handling' to a minimum. Technically, you aren't even supposed to hold hands with him when he's in uniform. I keep a hand on the Hub's elbow, or not at all. I don't sit on his lap, I don't make out with him, we hardly kiss for that matter. I see none of this when Vermont Guard spouses are together.

- Respect the uniform itself. Don't put it on and take sexy pictures with it, with boobs/butt falling out all over the place. That's just trashy. A fun picture with his cover on is one thing, flaunting your assests is another.

It burns my biscuits when these spouses, who so loudly (and rudely) insist that they are 'Army wives' can't even handle these simple types of things, that go along with being an actual Army wife. You're just making yourself and your spouse look bad.

I just want to re-state, that I'm not posting this to be disrespectful. My Uncle served in the NH National Guard, and did a tour in Iraq. I'm so proud of him for it! He wore the uniform well, and with pride. He isn't any less of a person because he wasn't active duty for the 4 years that he served. Be proud of your spouses for what they do, no matter if they are a member of the Guard, lawyer, doctor, or burger flipper at McDonald's. Spend less time trying to make yourself into something that you're not, and more time respecting others for what they are. You'll be a lot happier for it, I promise.

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How ya doing? Are you breathing? Did you bash in your computer screen? 

Okay? Yes? No?

Good.

My name is Megan Williams. I have been married to an active duty soldier for nearly five years [did you think it was longer? ; ) ]. At the age of seventeen he joined the Mississippi National Guard and spent his weekends at Camp Shelby. At the age of twenty-four he became an active-duty soldier.

He has deployed to Baghdad, Iraq and Kandahar, Afghanistan. He will deploy again to ... um ... somewhere ... sometime in the ... um ... future. 

I was born and raised in the incredible suburbs of New Orleans, Louisiana. I lived through Katrina. Humvee's roamed our ruined streets, were patrolled by guardsmen from Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama. Have you heard the horror stories from New Orleans after Katrina? Can you imagine some of the things they saw?

Anyway, here we go. 

As an American, let me first thank our National Guardsmen for taking an oath not only to defend the Constitution of the United States but to defend the constitution of your state. To not just fall under the command of a President and a nation, but of a Governor and a state. Because unlike the Army Wife who wrote such an awful post, I realize that your oath of enlistment varies in only one thing - you swear to both.

I, (NAME), do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States and the State of (STATE NAME) against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the Governor of (STATE NAME) and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to law and regulations. So help me God.

It is the same oath as an ACTIVE-DUTY AMERICAN SOLDIER but with the state and governor added. The very same oath.

And to think that they are not "soldiers" because they are "part-time". Come on, now. Do you really think it is easier to get notice one day that you will leave your civilian world, your civilian job, head over to a war zone, lose buddies (and do not think for a moment that guard units do not lose troops - don't. even. dare.) come back, take off the uniform, put on civilian clothes and return to the civilian world that has little to no understanding of the military sector. Do you really, seriously think that is SIMPLE? Do you really think it is easier to stand up for your nation and simply re-enter into it with next to NO services to help you do so? Easier?

Hell, no!

For the National Guard Wives - you ARMY WIVES - let me apologize for the words this new Army Wife has spoken. Let me assure you that they are no where near the words and thoughts of so many of us. Thank you for giving your husbands. Thank you for allowing them to leave suddenly, for something you may not have planned on. Thank you for making it through, and loving them and supporting them, with little to NO support around you. Thank you for patiently accepting the misunderstanding of a nation - and of ignorant spouses - who do not realize how difficult it is to live the life of a guard family. Thank you for living with dignity and for biting your tongue when you really didn't want to. Thank you for being the bigger person here.

Because she doesn't deserve that.

To serve is to serve. 

To serve it to give selflessly, to live for something greater, to give a life if asked. A terrorist's IED does not distinguish between Guardsmen and Active-Duty; bullets aren't just aimed at the men who are "full-time". That doctor who gives that one-weekend a month, two-weeks a year in your eyes, he may save your Active Duty husband's life some day - when he finishes his recruiting time. And I don't think your husband will give a damn if the patch on his arm belongs to a guard unit. Will you care if you get that phone call that the love of you life has been very-seriously-injured and a surgeon is trying to save his life? Will you ask if he is guard or active duty? Will he be less of a soldier, less of a hero if he is one or the other.

NO.

He won't.

How dare you belittle the families of the National Guard! How dare you speak down to them. How dare you disrespect the service of your husband. And by speaking against ANYONE who serves, you dishonor his service.

I hope you understand that in time.

I pray you understand in time.

Who serves more, who serves "greater" is not an argument to be had. To argue over whose service matters most is not for an Army wife to begin. It isn't for anyone. 

To leave your family, to miss births, deaths, LIFE, to see men fall in battle, to have to see things most can't imagine ... You do not get to lessen that.

Thank you to our Guardsmen and especially thank you for what may be asked of you in the future - as our active-services are lessened. Thank you in advance for stepping up to fill the gaps. For going when you are asked, whenever and where ever that is. Thank you for choosing to serve. 

As the wife of an Infantryman who has given fourteen years (seven as a national guard soldier), I am forever thankful for your sacrifice and service. Thank you to our National Guard Soldiers and their families!