Knee Deep in the Hooah!

Well we have talked about land navigation here on this blog, so why not talk about a far more dangerous venture? That dangerous place to tread is the human heart. It’s not just the human heart — well the symbol we use for our emotional core, but the human heart in turmoil. To be even more specific the female human heart in turmoil. OK, why did a bunch of guys just hit the “close window” button on their browser? Hm. Well, let’s tread this ground. It should only be tread by the brave any way. It’s not a place for the faint or for the weak at heart. If you are still reading at this point, then you are probably brave enough to enter.

I just had a very painstaking phone call with my husband. I can not go into details because that would not be fair to him or to that intimate place in our marriage where we are free to tell each other anything that is on our mind at a given time. We try to be very open and honest with one another. It gets harder when the distance starts to erase the face of the person you love. When you stop remembering the exact shape of his eyes or the way he looks at you when he knows you are holding back and not telling him the whole truth.

We are in a hard position right now. We are in a very tough place. The hardest part is we are being demanded to make decisions, but no one wants to give us any information. So, we are being asked to make a jump, a leap and take a huge risk. This risk could involve a huge pay off in the long run, and it could also mean financial ruin for us in the long run. It is always so hard when the ends of the possible results are further away from one another in distance than the opposite points on a compass. Of course if both possible outcomes were mild and both were acceptable it would not be a risk then, really. Do we go North or South? Do we go East or West? We would like to know. It feels as if we have been given a compass and a map, but the problem is those tools are calibrated to fit another geographical location. Those tools are not meant for this land, but we are not given any new navigation instruments. We are simply told to decide which way we think we should go.

I have to reach back and remember what it was that brought us here in the first place. Then I have to navigate my heart to see if I can relocate some of the emotion that may have been tied to that initial spark that caused a roaring fire for being an Army Officer for my husband. I can remember my husband’s face. I am weeping while I write this because I am slowly starting to forget the finer details of his face. I remember his eyes though. They are very big and very blue. Those eyes are often the first thing that people notice about him. I remember his smile too. I worry because it has only been 5 months since we have been separated. Either I am just getting old (shush your snickering!) or this must be common. I mostly remember right now, as I write this, that there was a certain tone in his voice when he talked about joining the military. A tone of confidence, surety, command and excitement. A tone I had not heard in his voice before when he talked about his other work.

My husband is a man of Faith. He does not think that the answers to life and finding the key to who he is will be found within himself or within an institution. It is not that kind of an excitement or tone I remember hearing that day. The inflection in his voice was not one of a man with an identity crisis. He wants to serve. He wants to lead. He wants to provide a living for his family, while he provides leadership in a position and within an organization that helps people live — that helps people live freely.

I have a lot of influence on my husband’s choices. He would never make a decision this big without considering my voice, and how it affects me now and in the long run. Of course that will not be the only deciding factor, nor should it be. It is still influencing, and that is a scary position to be in. Do I tell him to go for it? Do I tell him to lose all of his cautious overtones, jump hard and fast, and we will land somewhere at the bottom together? Do I tell him to play it safe, quit now while the quitting is good and let’s start fresh? I have to pick my words carefully. I can be persuasive when I need to be. Sarcasm and rhetoric are two of my favorite past times.

You know my answer, don’t you?

I can’t use the lure of starting fresh and taking it easy for a while to convince him to stay home. He has to do what he has to do to make this right with himself and to accomplish what he set out to accomplish. We have barriers, we have time issues and we really don’t want to live apart any longer than we have to. I will not manipulate the situation with the lure of home and some promise that he can put it all behind him once he is here. I know he can’t. I would rather my husband try with all of his heart, mind and body and land on the hard end of this risk than for him to sit and ever allow for one moment of doubt to eat at him when he is old and the days are long and quiet. I would rather deal with a broken bone than a broken spirit.

Tags: Junk Drawer by Claire
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Found the information below on RN.

Also, please visit Tanker Brothers for more information and posts about this important day of recognition.

National POW/MIA Recognition Day: September

Before 1979, there were no official commemorations held to honor America’s POW/MIAs. That year resolutions were passed in the Congress and a national ceremony was held at the National Cathedral, Washington, D.C.

Every year the US Congress continued passing legislation observing a National POW/MIA Recognition Day. In 1995 that changed and now the US President signs a yearly proclamation observing the day.

During the 1980’s, the American Ex-POWs decided on establishing April 9th as the date of observance. That day was chosen because it was the date, during World War II, that the largest number of Americans were captured.

Eventually in an effort to accommodate all returned POWs and all Americans still missing and unaccounted for, from all wars, the third Friday in September was proposed - a date not associated with any particular war. This is the date on which the holiday is now observered

Ceremonies observing National POW/MIA Recognition Day are held throughout the nation and around the world on military installations, ships at sea, state capitols, at schools, churches, national veteran and civic organizations, police and fire departments, fire stations, etc. The POW/MIA flag is flown and the focus of the day is to ensure that America remembers its responsibility to stand behind those who serve their nation and do everything possible to account for those who do not return.

Observed: Third Friday in September

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When I was in undergrad as a BSW major I dabbled in Philosophy. I was just one class away from being able to declare it as my minor, but decided against taking that last class due to overload. The final semester for a BSW consists of a full time internship, and the very nature of social work is working with client populations that have major stress factors attached at every angle. Also, at this point in my education I had become very disenchanted with the study of Philosophy. It seemed as if, to me anyway, there was too much value placed on who could ask the most profound question instead of who could provide anyone with the most profound evidence.

This frustration with academic Philosophy hit a peak for me when I was told during a class that there was no way to prove that evil truly exists. Well, to be quite honest in the convoluted vacuum of Metaphysics there is no way to prove that any of us exists. OK, so now that we are all just a figment of each other’s imaginations maybe we can all agree on something! That was my hope, but the questions would just get more bizarre, and to be honest at that time I couldn’t bring myself to care about the the impracticality in the study anymore. I was taking care of young children in the field of mental health whose minds, bodies, and little spirits had been ravaged by adults who possessed nothing in the lines of a soul or a conscience. I remember the statement “You can’t prove that evil exists!” when I read the file of a young girl who had not said a word in years, but rather barked like a dog because being a puppy was better than being a baby girl. Don’t tell me evil does not exist!

Then I remember hearing the arguments around human characteristics and attributes. Of course there were many discussions around the subjectivity of human experiences like love and death. We even discussed courage one day. I don’t remember the entire discussion around courage. I think I may have nodded off to sleep for a moment. Courage was a word to those in the class that meant everything from being strong enough to voice your stance on an issue, to wearing your hair green if you wanted to. I think that they got the term courage and pluckiness confused. Dying your hair green does not take sacrifice and love. Voicing your opinion may or may not. I found the whole topic disturbing, and it still bothers me to this day. What is courage if it is not the things that were discussed in my class that day? Being a dual military family, and having the incredible privilege to know other military wive and parents has given me the opportunity to understand courage a little more. Here are some acts of courage that I have been blessed to witness:

Courage is the young soldier who packs his ruck diligently to head over to the Middle East. He may be scared, but his heart is strong and he faces his fears with the reassurance that he has been prepared adequately and his family is behind him.

Courage is displayed by the wife who kisses her husband good-bye for the last time before the sand from that distant and dangerous place will kiss his face for a year, or more. She will walk away broken hearted and full of fear, but she will smile at her kids and act like she just knows that he will be fine — even when she doesn’t know it for sure in her heart.

Courage is evident in the young person who walks into the Recruiters station ready to say the words “I want to serve.” Knowing that our Country is at war, and that the chances of deployment are imminent can not stop the desire to fulfill his duty, but those threats make his desire to serve all the more strong.

Courage is witnessed by those around the young soldier’s mother when he is deployed. She hangs her yellow ribbon on her tree, she will talk to anyone who will listen, and she will defend his mission with every fiber in her body. She knows that even in the face of doubts and arguments about the war, her son must hear words of encouragement and words of belief in order for his morale to stay high.

Courage is the single father who is watching his young son prepare for deployment. He is both proud and mortified, and he aches to be with his son in battle. He has never been known to sit back idly while his children tread where danger is, but this time he must. He will pack care packages and send a cigar once in a while to say to his beloved son “I know you are a capable man!”

Courage is the American who refuses to collapse and be crippled in the face of threats of terrorism. It is the American who remembers vividly the pictures, sounds and smells of where she was on September 11, 2001, but still refuses to live in dread. It is the American who dug his heals into the ground and decided resolutely that day that he would not stop seeing his loved ones on the opposite coast and he would not stop his career because it involved flying. He faces his fear and adversity with a stone resolve.

Courage is evident in the husband and wife who decide that it is a sacrifice worth making for him to stay an extra tour instead of coming home when planned. That extra year of sacrifice will be a difficult path to walk, but they face their adversity together and cling to the hope of reunification.

I still can not define exactly what courage is, but I can recognize it when I see it. I am coming to understand that courage can not ever be divorced from love, commitment, and morality. They are all individual strands, but part of the same braid. You have to love with your whole heart before you can truly display courage. You have to commit yourself to the task at hand immediately and completely so you will not waiver when the sea of trial tosses you around. Courage may seem like a subjective experience or idea, but I can recognize it and admire it, and sometimes I am even able to emulate it.

Tags: 9/11, Army, Army Mom Posts, Army Wife Posts, Iraq, Posts by Claire, Terrorism, combat, deployment, faith, memorial, military, veterans, war on terror by Claire
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You are in the middle of your duty day, and I don’t know if you will find time to be on your personal computer today or not. If you do and you see this, I wanted to let you know that your refuge is waiting! We are ready for you to hobble through the door when ever the Army will let you come home. I have my moments of discouragement, but I have to say that I am not worried about whether or not we will make it through it all. I know we will.

I woke up with this song in my head this morning. It was pretty cool considering I had not heard it in years. I think it was my subconscious thinking about you and your journey home. Hang tough. When you are home it will be time to relax and regroup. Then we can tackle the bigger issues coming at us. In the meantime I will think of a lot of very lame “hip” jokes and puns (if anyone reading this has any good ones, please either comment or send me an email ;) See, aren’t you just raring and ready to walk through that front door?

Tags: Junk Drawer by Claire
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I think that hoop jumping is going to be our unofficial MOS for the next several months. It came down the wire yesterday that Mr. Hooah! will now need to pick an MOS (from a list of the most needed in the Army), go through AIT, and then he gets to reapply to OCS. Then they can decide if they still want him in that capacity, and then they can decide if he can indeed start mid-cycle or not. So, many more months of sacrificing financially and being away from one another for many “maybes.”

I am feeling very discouraged and very disenchanted at this moment. I understand that being an Army family is a life of sacrifice. I know that. I knew that when we did this. It is not easy to swallow when you sacrifice life, limb and livelihood and you know that they could slam the door on you and not bat an eye. It sure seems like a hell of a lot of risk, for no reassurance in return.

I know that we are not afforded guarantees in the military. The only thing we are guaranteed is that it will be very tough, and there will be a tremendous amount of sacrifice. I also know that the upside is the opportunity to participate in a community that is filled with incredible Americans. The camaraderie is exceptional, and the company we keep is worth more than gold. I have to remind myself of the benefits right now. The costs are seeming to add up faster than I can calculate.

Keep us in your prayers. It’s going to be a topsy-turvey ride. Some people have to take the long way home. Maybe we just need to slow down for a moment and try to find the beauty in the scenery while we are on this longer path. I don’t know what that is at this moment, but I have to believe it will be there.

Tags: Junk Drawer by Claire
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Bryan’s class went through their Turning White ceremony yesterday. They traded in the black Ascots they wear with their uniform that identifies them as a basic OCS Candidate, and they put on their white ascots that identifies them as Senior Candidates. The Basic Candidates salute the Senior Candidates. Mr. Hooah! traded his ACU’s for a hospital gown. I hope he does not have to put the black Ascot on when he comes back to Ft. Benning after his home convalescent care time. It is one thing to lose a privilege that has been earned for you by others, but it is something entirely different to lose an opportunity that you have personally sacrificed for and earned. Only time will tell us how this will all play out.

We have been told that there is probably no reason that he will not be able to class up with a class that is entering Senior Phase when he is recuperated and ready. I am praying that this will be the case. I could not imagine working so hard, giving everything I have, being separated from my family, and then having to go back and do it all over again even though I was half finished. The thought just overwhelms me.

Tags: Junk Drawer by Claire
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I am still working on my running routine. I can run a mile without needing to heave out a lung or becoming intimately acquainted with the belt on the treadmill (hard on the lips to kiss such things!). The program is pleasantly doable, and it’s nice to be able to move it up a notch at my own discretion. My goal is to be able to run 1.5 miles without stopping by the end of Fall — and not in the gym either. I want to be able to do this outside with my jogging stroller full of mischief in front of me. I will keep you all posted!

It never ceases to amaze me how much harder running is compared to the cross trainer I have been using for months now. I can do 6 miles on the cross trainer when I do a full hour. The course is hard too. It is mostly uphill now and the intensity level I use is pretty high. My general rule of thumb is if I can talk to you and not gasp between words and I am not sweating then I am not working hard enough. It really does work me out good, but it does not wear me out. Running takes a lot more energy and puts more wear and tear on your frame. I prefer to continue my cardio-workouts on the cross trainer, but I need to be able to run so that when I can not make it to the gym my exercise does not fall to the wayside.

I got a handful of emails from some of you who said that you were hoping to add a little exercise to your routine. I hope you have found something that works for you. It really does help to find something that fits into your life, and something that you can feel the benefit from immediately. Don’t torture yourself right off the bat. Life is short, but there is plenty of time to torture yourself later! We have a group of people here who just walk around the mall before the stores open. I may be joining them when the weather gets too cold to be outside. For the Fall I plan on enjoying my time with Emma and learning more about running and doing so around a lake. It will be a great place to run.

Take care, and if you need any encouragement, ideas or a cheerleader you can just write me!

PS: Yes, I do wear pink running shoes, and I run like a girl! :p

Tags: Junk Drawer by Claire
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One of the ways I process stress and trauma is to take that which has left me feeling devastated and review and examine it as a metaphor or simile. I often wind up comparing these difficulties to patterns, idioms, motifs or other general themes. For example, I may look at a difficult season in my life that causes me to think of a marathon runner. When I first see a connection like that it is the nature of my brain to begin to draw many comparisons and contrasts to the various characteristics and attributes of the object and how it relates to the situation at hand. So for a marathon runner I may see the parallels of my life reflected when I am dealing with things that revolve around the need for steadfastness, long suffering, endurance, and commitment. I think that today I see a new symbol emerging for me. It’s one I have not faced before.

It’s not a grand scheme, it’s not a romantic motif, nor is it comical or very clever. I am not “measuring my life with coffee spoons” at this moment, but rather I am standing, but not alone. I am standing and I am looking at a finish line. The finish line is so close and so tangible, but it is one that I am not allowed to cross at this moment. The course that leads to the finish line is long. It is hard, and all who tread that course will dream of crossing the finish line. Some start and have to stop so quickly that the finish line was only a distant dream - a distant dream that is very painful to lose nonetheless. Some are forced to stop right in front of the finish line. It feels cruel. Maybe this could be considered a “Moses moment.” We are gazing at the “promised land” but we are not permitted to enter. We have not been told that we may never enter, but for now this finish line will not be our victory crossing.

The notion of the uncrossed finish line was embedded in my heart and mind when I was discussing Friday’s injury with Bryan yesterday. He ran a 4-mile race the morning of his stress fracture. He ran it in spite of the fact that he was hurting in that hip. It’s the nature of my husband to not allow pain to stand in the way of doing what he should do. He ran it, and he was just a few meters from the finish line when he heard the tell-tale “pop” sound that sent him tumbling to the ground unable to even sit up yet alone walk. At that moment — that single moment in time, my husband had just missed two finish lines that were right within his grasp. He missed the finish line for the run, and now we are realizing that he has missed the finish line for graduating with this class. He told me he had visions in his head of the finish line for the run, and how incredible the symbolism of that pivotal moment has become for him. He knew right then and there that the other finish line would not be crossed within the time frame originally thought.

We are having to not only watch our new found friends, comrades, sisters and brothers leave us behind, but we have to stand on the opposite side of the finish line and cheer them on. When you stand on this side of the finish line your job is to encourage and support. The time may come later when you are the one who is allowed to finish the race, but for now you have taken a new position. This can be a very serious test of your character — can you let go of the hopes you placed within your own plans quickly and sufficiently enough in order to exhort, and not discourage those with whom you were once running? They are still your comrades and you still have a responsibility to them. An injury does not release you of the bonds that have been made through many weeks of intense training and close living quarters. Mr. Hooah! is proud to sit on the sidelines where he is temporarily placed and celebrate the victories of his fellow Candidates as they run and will cross that finish line. I heard no envy or bitterness in his voice as he told me last night how incredibly proud he is of the men in his Platoon, and how he can’t wait to hear stories and hear of their graduation. See, It’s the nature of my husband to not allow pain to stand in the way of doing what he should do.

Mr. Hooah! is still recovering in the hospital. He should be released today (Monday). We don’t know where we are going, where he will be released to right away, or what decisions will be made concerning his future. We can only wait. Wait and trust. You would think that this would be a torturous place to reside. It’s not fun, but it is a very good reminder that we can only lay plans in place and do our very best. That is all. We can not predict what the next moment in our life will be like. We can not say arrogantly that things are within our grasp and nothing can confound our will. There is a benefit to having a will that is very strong, as long as it is embodied within a spirit that is contrite and humble.

So, what do you do with an elusive finish line? What do you do when you can literally see it, touch it, and know that it is inches from your face — but you can’t cross it? It’s simple. You look at the finish line as a new starting point. Instead of seeing the unreached mark as a point of failure, you see it as a new challenge and an opportunity to grow. You put your foot on the new starting place and you begin to run again. In reality all finish lines are really elusive. We never finish running the race, we never finish learning, and we never finish supporting one another. Every goal that is reached is simply the next step to a new set of goals. I think that Mr. Hooah! has many more finish lines and starting points to conquer and embrace in this life. I have no doubt that he will be running again in no time. He also knows he is not running this race alone.

Mr. Hooah!, on your mark, get set …. you will be told to “go” again very soon!

Tags: Junk Drawer by Claire
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OK, you do realize that now that we have a broken hip and “convalescent care” ordered that Bryan is fully expecting me to tease him mercilessly about his age. Father Time (his official nickname in BCT) is recovering well.

He is in the hospital and will most likely be there until early next week. He had a plate and three screws put into his hip. The official diagnosis is a stress fracture. The official prognosis is full recovery — plate should make the hip good and strong.

Bryan said his hip had been a little sore for a couple of days. He got up Friday morning and was running in a graduation run. These are traditional runs that take place every time a class is ready to graduate. It is custom for all Candidates to run a 4 mile run with them in honor of their achievement. He said the pace is for these runs are generally slow and pretty easy.

He made it all the way to the finish line… his leg started getting numb. His other leg started feeling numb… he heard a loud pop and he was eating dirt — literally. He went down. That is when his hip snapped. Fortunately for him a soldier with a medic background was in the run too, and he immediately came over and evaluated Bryan and made sure he got medical care ASAP. Bryan said at some point (I am not sure where this falls on the timeline of things) but he was needing to be moved from one location to the next and there were stairs to be managed. A very strong Sgt. came over and had the other guys put Bryan on his back! This Sgt. walked my husband up some steps and made sure that not a single bit of pressure was put on that hip.

Bryan said that the attention he got was immediate. The medical staff caring for him was top notch, and the responsiveness from the Cadre and the other Candidates was stellar and extremely professional. I am so grateful that he is surrounded by such competent, caring and strong soldiers. I really am very grateful and extremely proud of all of them in the way they cared for my husband — their comrade, when he was seriously injured.

My anger is slowly dissipating now that I have some confirmation from Bryan that he is, indeed, going to live. It really was not a very good way for me to have learned the information. One 5-minute phone call could have saved me a lot of grief and an incredible amount of fear and anguish.

When I first read the email consoling me over his surgery of which I had no knowledge, I was in total shock. I remember trying to find phone numbers. I also remember my hands were shaking so hard I could barely hold the phone at one point. I couldn’t read anything. I kept looking at words, but it all looked jumbled to me for a moment.

“Who do I call? What’s going on? It’s a mistake right? Maybe the person sending me the note meant to say she was sorry for Mike’s wound — this can’t be about Bryan!” These were the thoughts floating around my head. The first person I thought to call was Sgt. H. He is Bryan’s recruiter and has helped me out a few times. I called the station. No answer. I looked at the clock it was late and they were already gone. So, it took me a while to remember where my emergency contact information was for OCS. I called the number I had and wound up making over 8 calls before I was actually talking to someone who knew the status of his health. It was a very gut wrenching thing to go through. I had no idea what we were facing. I had no idea the severity (and hip injuries can get pretty severe!) of his injury.

This morning when we talked he was laughing. He was lucid. He was on top of his game already. I was crying. I was fuzzy headed from not sleeping all night, and I was ready to sink. I am not going to Benning at all today. I am going to wait until I need to be there to pick him up to bring him home. This was not the homecoming we were planning, but this is what we have been handed. We are going to charge forward and see what the Army will offer Bryan in the lines of a future. We don’t know what his second chance will look like — if he gets it at all. Regardless we are a team and we will make it through this together no matter the decisions. For better or worse. For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. That is what I promised, and that is exactly what I intend to do!

Tags: Junk Drawer by Claire
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Well, isn’t that special? Now not only do I hate Septembers, but I am growing a deep hatred for Fridays as well.

I got an email this evening from one of Bryan’s fellow Candidate’s fiance. She was offering her condolences and wanted to know if I was OK. She also said she hoped my husband’s surgery had went well, and he was recovering. She is a very sweet lady and was just checking on me. She thought that for sure I would have been contacted by now.

I had not been informed of any of this of course. Not one word. I was in the dark until I read that email. I read it over and over and over again.

I called the emergency number I had. I was given the OCS number. A very kind Captain listened to me rake the Army over the coals over the fact that I was not even considered for a freaking phone call when my husband was headed for surgery. He was kind. It is not his fault. I reassured him that I was not blaming him. He took it. I was very upset, but I maintained an air of respect.

I was told that it is policy that unless the injury is life threatening they do not call the next of kin. Gee. Thank you. If I never felt like nothing more than a after thought in the Army I do now! Bad policy, bad decision and not a good move! With all of the talk about winning the hearts and minds of people, maybe the Army had better think about how policies like this can isolate, infuriate, and turn a wife’s heart very much against an institution. Don’t get me wrong. I am not going to start slamming the Army. I am not trading in my combat boots up top for some radical hippy sign. Not by a long shot. I am just very angry and very upset right now.

I don’t know anything else. Now, I get to try and go to bed soon. I get to try and get some sleep so I can drive 7+ hours tomorrow. I don’t know what I will find when I get there. They can’t tell me anything. I am left in the dark until I can hit the road tomorrow and get to Benning.

Tags: Army Wife Posts by Claire
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