FYI
I am not sure how well known this resource is, so I wanted to pass it along here.
Together We Served: [Read more →]
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"Don't be dismayed at good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again, after moments or lifetimes, is certain for those who are friends."
~~Richard Bach
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Entries Tagged as 'reunification'
Mother’s Guilt and Redeployment
When the time came for redeployment I went through a huge array of feelings and emotions that I really was not ready for. I had envisioned over the past 15 months that when the end of my son’s deployment came up that I would feel joy, elation, relief, and happiness. Don’t get me wrong. I have certainly felt all of those feelings, more so than anything else. It’s just that they were accompanied by other feelings that took me quite by surprise, to be honest. [Read more →]
Now THIS is good news…
I knew that this was coming, but to see it in print was enough to make me nearly giddy this morning. Home coming time is sweet and scary. Keep our Surge troops in your prayers in the coming weeks. Their boots are one step closer to US soil!
3,500 U.S. Troops Set to Leave Iraq in Coming Weeks
Tuesday, May 06, 2008
(AP found on FOX News)
(excerpt)BAGHDAD — About 3,500 American soldiers who were part of last summer’s troop “surge” are scheduled to leave Iraq in the coming weeks, the U.S. military said.
The soldiers, part of the 3rd Heavy Brigade Combat Team, will redeploy to Fort Benning, Georgia, said a statement released late Monday. The U.S. sent some 30,000 additional troops into Iraq last summer to help stem growing violence.
Those troops, along with the rise of Sunni fighters who allied with the U.S. and began battling al-Qaida and a truce called by a key Shiite militia, were credited with a sharp decrease in violence during the last 10 months.
The soldiers are part of the third of five “surge” brigades scheduled to redeploy. The other two are expected to return to the U.S. by the end of July.
“The continued drawdown of surge brigades demonstrates continued progress in Iraq,” Brig. Gen. Dan Allyn said in the statement. “After July, commanders will assess our security posture for about 45 days and determine future force requirements based on these conditions-based assessments.”
When Lesser Men Talk
Thinking of the stir that was created in me last night when I read some blogger’s comments about the troops and his opinion of our bravest and finest, kept me up late. It’s in the midnight hours that most mother’s of deployed soldiers do some of their best worrying and praying. I used to think it was due to the fact that the distractions of the day were calming and suddenly our minds and hands were left with nothing to do. That was a good theory when Mr. Hooah! was gone to Ft. Benning while Mike was first deployed. I have come to realize that, for me personally anyway, it’s because I know that as my day is ending his is beginning. It’s a funny assumption on my behalf because I know he pulls shifts all hours of the day. I got a call today from him, first one in a long time, he sounded tired, but considering it was after 1am there I am surprised he was still awake. I’m a mom. I can’t help it.
So, this stir that was caused within was a flash in the pan, and it’s because the words that were typed on that screen were baseless, senseless, tasteless, and gutless. They were typed out for one reason, and one reason alone — to attract attention and make some big splash. There is a huge difference when someone uses hyperbole as a tool to excite interest or drive home a point, but it’s another when someone uses a constant, heightened offensive tone to bring attention to himself. Ultimately I find comfort in reminding myself that it is not men like this who shape our world. The men who shape our world do not do it by provocatively stomping on the grave of men better than themselves. Instead men who shape this world respect those who defend them. Not only is it true that … “A Nation which forgets its defenders will itself be forgotten,” but I would say the same is true for the individual who thinks that a tantrum will bring him any notoriety and that using the graves of the fallen will accomplish that end for him.
[Read more →]
Out of the mouthes of babes
Emma and I often have some of our most enlightening conversations while we are in the car. She has a pretty good set up. I drive her around, and in turn she bosses me around. It’s usually quite funny to me because here’s this little wisp of a girl, strapped snugly into her car seat, telling me that I should “go mommy!” when the light is red. Our conversations are usually full of girlish silliness, which my daughter is very prone to. Sometimes our talks are of what she wants, what she would like to eat for lunch, or what she did at dance class or gymnastics. The other day our conversation took a turn that I was not expecting.
We talk about Michael everyday. He is a part of our family and I have always made it a point to mention him to Emma on daily basis. I did the same for Bryan when he was gone from her for so long. We talked about “papa” like he was home with us. “What would papa want to eat for lunch, Emma?”, and questions like that, often came up in discussions. Emma knows Mike is in Iraq. She told me one time, not too long ago, that “Mike is in a rack!” I tried to help her understand that he was not in a rack, but rather he is in Iraq. “Oh never mind!” I thought to myself, “If the girl wants to believe that her oldest brother is somewhere sitting on a rack then why would I try and educate her about a war zone?” I don’t know what kind of rack she had in mind exactly, but with her limited knowledge I can only imagine she meant a towel rack, a dish rack, or a coat rack.
Then about two weeks ago we were driving to Bryan’s work, and Emma spotted a horse out in a meadow as we drove by. “Mama! I see a horsey!” She was so excited and I asked her what color it was, and it morphed from being a brown horse, to being a brown horse with red and pink hair (a punk rock horse I am to assume). Somehow this talk of horses then morphed into a talk of modes of transportation. This was not a connection I was expecting her to make. She is not old enough, in my mind anyway, to understand that a horse and an airplane are similar in that they are vehicles we use to get from one place to another. So, Emma pipes up and loudly proclaims “Mama, I am going to fly on the airplane!” To which I reply “Oh really now?! And who is going to fly with you?” Emma reassured me that her papa was going to take her onto the airplane. “Oh really? So, you and papa are going on the airplane? And just where are you and papa going, little girl?”
“Mama! Papa is going to fly with me to Iraq and we will get our Michael.” she squealed loudly!
I am glad I had my sunglasses on. How did she come to know and understand that Iraq is a place? How I pray that she will not have to know much more than that, for a very, very long time. How I pray for the day when she can see her Michael walking down that long ramp and into the arms of his anticipating family.
Anniversaries and Cabbages and Kings
We are fast approaching the one year anniversary of Mike’s deployment.
One year.
One very long, tiring and scary year.
He turned 22-years old the day they landed in Kuwait. I remember the picture he sent me through e-mail of him sitting at a picnic table drinking a very nasty looking near-beer in celebration. A lot happens in a year. I think we have both aged far more than 365 days though — and I am sure he aged more than I did. We have lost time together that can never be replaced, and we have lost some common ground. My son is now among that highly respected group of Americans known as Combat Veterans.
Even though I know he has grown and changed during this time, he will come home and look about the same to me, undoubtedly. There are a few facial expressions that he will have for the rest of his life that will always make him familiar to me. All of my older kids have a few (and Emma is developing hers with flare). It’s a raised eye brown, a crooked smile, a tilt of the head… some signature physical form of expression that takes my breath away for a quick second. When I see it I am immediately transported back in time and can see the small face of a child who is either in trouble or is thinking of a way to get out of trouble. Nothing bad, but maybe a cookie that has been snatched or a dish that was broken from careless play after being told not to. Those little things never fade, and those are the treasures that mothers bury deepest in their hearts. It’s a treasure that doesn’t seem to fade — at least not in this stage of life.
I don’t know what the years of war do to a military mom’s memories. It does alter them to some degree. The memories are so entangled with fears and pride. It’s all so surreal because the memories are a little fragmented between the contact you have with your soldier, and the news you hear on the home front. It is all intertwined with a stew of mixed emotions that slowly churn over the course of time.
War has taken so much from so many people. For some it has taken someone they love dearly away from them. They will not behold that face again on this earth. I am grateful that I have not had to walk that path, and I pray for those who have. Some mothers will embrace a son or daughter coming home who has been so badly wounded that she will once again take upon herself the duties of a mother, and probably most will do it with a willingness and a magnificent grace that would put Florence Nightingale to shame.
And, yet, in that light of sacrifice, I still support the efforts in Iraq (as I always have) because I see the larger picture. I can not succumb to infantile thinking that allows people in protest to spout off that wars only happen because we have weapons. That’s the most preposterous, sophomoric, over-simplification of the human condition that I have ever heard. Anyone who believes that still believes in dragons and faeries. The sad part is those who hold this childish non-sense up as truth also choose to act worse than spoiled children toward those who have seen the realities of war - those who do not believe in the dragons and faeries of childhood, and who have “seen the elephant” in their manhood. Berkeley is a shining example of infantile mental and emotional regression.
I am truly more worried now than I have been in the past about the climate in this Country and the escalating hate that is being poured forth from the anti-military and anti-war crowd. We have heard recently about domestic-terrorists (let’s be honest … remember in Rules of Engagement the importance of properly identifying your enemy… ) bombing recruiting centers, praising the bombing of recruiting centers, harassing Marines and speaking of them as if they are second class citizens, threats being made toward those who want to shield our Citizen Soldiers, and protests that have turned into a blatant display of disregard for the laws of the land (and lawmakers who let it happen!). Can you see why a mother, a wife, a family, or anyone who loves a returning Veteran would have cause for concern? Just as our soldiers have sworn to “support and defend” so have we promised ourselves to do the same for them.
I am waiting. I am anticipating the moment when I know his boots are here on American soil. It’s a thought that can instantly put a smile on my face, and suddenly for a moment I feel like the richest woman whose ever lived.
Keeping it real during reunification
Well, it’s been over a month now that Mr. Hooah! hit the front door, and believe it or not, I am not ready to pack his duffel bag already! I was a little worried about how well the reunification would go, and what bumps in the road we would hit. It has been relatively smooth going. We are very blessed to see most things eye-to-eye, and the matters in which we don’t are usually small enough to look over in the long run.
My big concern was how it would be to have him home after several months of my running the show solo. It’s hard sharing the driver’s seat when you have had to live in hyper-drive mode for months. I was very used to late nights, early mornings, doing all of the finances, keeping up the house, pampering the Princess, and running the high schooler everywhere. All day, every day (except Sundays), and all alone. I didn’t realize that I had shut off a small area of myself in order to cope with the daily grind. It’s a part of me that did easily reopen once I had my husband home.
The first week was a lot like a honeymoon. It was ideal and cozy. We could hold hands, touch one another, and steal a quick kiss anytime we wanted. It was an easy period of time because it still felt to both of us that he was home on a visit. Now the quirks are coming out, but I think we are handling them all quite well. I do credit the fact that I lived everyday, while he was gone, as if he were coming home tomorrow. He was gone physically, but he was still the husband and father in this home. I know my husband well enough to function for both of us for a period of time. I know what he would say and think in certain situations, and I acted with that knowledge accordingly.
Sometime around Christmas, Bryan came to me with a concerned look. “Honey, where are my clothes?” I looked at him kind of puzzled and said “I’ve put them in your drawers and hung them on your side of the closet.” He was perplexed that I had assigned him drawer space and not informed him of its location. He was very relieved (I think that there was a fleeting moment of fear that I had burned his Army PT clothes that he likes to wear around the house). No, I just washed them and put them away. I had a hard time even getting him to surrender his laundry. I think he was afraid that it would wind up smelling like lavender or jasmine (which it has, by the way). When I was finally able to convince him that I seriously do not mind doing his laundry with mine and Emma’s, I began to realize that he had not fully unpacked yet. Our closet is stacked with tightly rolled clothing. Everything neatly ordered, neatly rolled and ready for inspection.
I am learning to overlook the locker in my closet, and he is willing to live with shirts that smell like lavender (well sorta anyway). It’s one of those quirks that makes you smile and shake your head. My husband had to chapter out so he could properly rehab his hip and still have a shot at commissioning, but a part of his heart and mind are still in the Army.
The Army as a way of life, as a form of identity that I didn’t understand or “get” before he joined. I understood a little through Mike’s experiences. I could tell when I saw him after BCT and AIT that he was no longer just a young man, but he had become a soldier. My husband spent 6 solid months in Tradoc, and I am telling you all that he is a soldier now. It creeps into your blood, it settles in your bones (and sometimes even breaks them!), and it captures your heart and mind.
The essence of who my husband is has not changed. His faith and core values dovetail well with the military, but I can see the changes more in measures he takes and his perceptions of civilian life. We’ll have to wait and see where this path leads us. I am here, my seat belt is firmly buckled, and my willingness to travel down an unknown road is in check. I am ready to roll.
Knee Deep in the Hooah It Will Remain… Happy New Year!
Another year has come and gone. Another year of life that was lived, sometimes by the seat of my pants, and sometimes in a time warp where a minute felt like a month. My life has been turned upside down, inside out and backside outward by this thing called the Army. I have felt ankle deep, waist deep and neck deep in the Hooah! at times. I think that knee deep is still a pretty good measure for where I tend to fall on the average day.
We have faced deployment, extended deployment, movement in the battlefield, no communication from either soldier for a while, wounds, injuries, leave times, chaptering out, and rehabbing to go back in.
My life has changed beyond what was recognizable to me. [Read more →]