What He Hasn't Missed

I think it's common knowledge by now that Soldiers miss a lot in their families' lives. Birthdays, anniversaries, Christmases, school events... Politicians talk about the "empty chair at the table" like they've personally sat beside one of those empty chairs and know what they're talking about. (Note: some politicians do actually know how this feels, but I think I'm safe in saying that's a minority.)

Anyway, that's pretty common knowledge.

It's easy to sink into that blue feeling, looking ahead at 2014. It would be very easy to think about what he'll miss this time around, what things I will be alone for, what things the kids won't have their father close by for, etc. If I'm not careful, that line of thinking can become very depressing, very fast.

Yeah, it's true he'll miss a lot. And there's a lot I'll be doing solo. But that ignores a very important fact, one I told my best friend 20 years ago when she asked how I could handle him being gone so much: "I'd rather him in my life when he can be, than not have our life together at all."

I started a different line of thinking today, to help me focus on what is more important. What he hasn't missed, what he's been here for, and what matters most.

He's been here for me through two surgeries, one minor and one more serious. He took care of me after both.

He's been here to help get our yard totally landscaped. You'd never guess, looking at his work, what this house looked like the day we moved in. He's even set it up so I can plant one last rose bush once he's gone, because we just haven't found the right one yet. (Ask me about the hole in the ground.)

He's been here to see our oldest graduate from 8th grade and from high school.

He taught her how to drive.

He has seen her first apartment, and met her first after-high-school boyfriend.

He took care of everything (EVERYTHING) while I was away this summer, caring for my mother. And then he drove us 14 hours to go back there to help her move.

He saw our Little G finish elementary school.

He put up the tree this year, all by himself, so I would find it lit and gorgeous when I got home from work. All we had to do was hang ornaments.

He puts out Christmas lights, each year a little more elaborate, whenever he's home.

He helped choose and care for our first tree in this yard. (And decorated it with a few pitiful lights that first year.)

He's rescued kittens from our back yard.

He's taken care of pests in that same back yard (including wasps, for which I cannot thank him enough).

He's cleaned and cooked and cared in every possible way that a husband and father can - which is why, this year, I will not be focused on what he's missing. I'll be taking photos and sending him notes and helping him "not miss" it so much.

Our Soldiers sacrifice a hell of a lot for this country. The least I can do is keep my focus on what is right, instead of painful, about being married to this one.

How We Do Christmas

It's Christmas Eve Eve and I am hearing a slow quiet rumble amid the roar of happy shoppers and people on break and everyone so happy for the season.

And the rumble says, "I am tired."

The rumble says, "I don't even have the tree up..."

The rumble whispers, so softly, "I have no Christmas spirit this year."

Some years, the Christmas spirit comes hard and fast and there is nothing but joy in the tree and the cookies and the gifts.  Some years, the list of to-do is the same but the heart is hurting or exhausted or just empty - and the list feels utterly insurmountable.

This year, for us, we are facing our first Christmas with the Big G away at school.  She has shoveled her front walk, finished her final exams, and is cozied up with some great books and hot cocoa and friends.

This year, we wait for my G to take a very long plane ride to a very long "away" and try to hang on by our fingernails to what joy we can, without thinking ahead to the pain.  But of course we can't quite do that as there are plans to make and our own lists to complete before he goes.  But we try.

So this is how we do Christmas during the stressful years, and this is what I would tell anyone whose heart is tired, whose list is too long, and who just isn't feeling it this year -

Do what you can.

Christmas trees and cookies and cards and festivals are wonderful, wondrous things.  But if they are sucking you dry in a season that should be delightful, then they don't have to be done.  Here's a novel thought - skip the tree.  Skip the cookies.  Skip whatever it is that you'd "like" to do but that you dread or just can't do right now.  If something else seems simpler and more "real" or even just more true to this moment right now - do that.

Go see the comedy that you've all been eyeing.

Order the deli tray and bakery cookies for Christmas Eve.

Ask your family if they really have to have the tree in order to feel the spirit - and if the answer is "yes" then tell them to get in the living room and get to work because the holiday is not about one person pulling the rest of the family together.

This is how we do Christmas...  We boil the holiday down to its most basic and most humble and simplest, joy-giving parts.  We do those.  The rest, we do next year or even the next after that when we have more energy and more time and more spirit.  We make our own way and our own holiday and we teach our girls to do the same.

Won't you join us?

New Life Rules

Time to write again, as there is another long "away" in our future. Between some work stress and some major life changes, it's a good time to reflect on what I want life to mean to me and what I expect from myself going forward.

This list is not conclusive and it's certainly going to need some additions, but it's what's been in my heart.

• It's ok to ask for help when I need it.
• Pray without ceasing.
• If my heart is feeling sore, I need to state the truth, at least to myself.
• Telling myself to "buck up" is not helpful.
• Reaching outside my comfort zone, however, can be a good thing.
• Even when things are dark, if I am simply trying to do the right thing and reflect God and goodness in my life, it does not go unnoticed.  I don't always hear about it, but it is not unnoticed.

Most importantly:

• If I wouldn't give certain "advice" to a girlfriend, why do I think it's OK to give it to myself?
• I matter.

Ultimately, the year ahead will have dark and light and strength and weakness - there will be times of sorrow and times of great joy.  I'm fortunate that this is just an "away" and not an "away and in danger".  I have a dear friend who has told me to take this year, search inside for the person I want to be and the future I want to share with my G, and build the foundation we'll need.  She, as always, has good advice.

Join me?

The Flag

There are days when my relationship with the US flag is a conflicted one.  By turns, I both love and hate this emblem of our country.  There is such a pull to it, holding us tight, demanding that we give and give and give, and so rarely giving back.  Then there are the days when I am so proud to be a citizen of this country, that the pure and lonesome beauty of its stars and stripes nearly brings me to weeping.

It is a powerful thing, that flag.  Over 20 years ago, he raised his right hand and swore to uphold it, to fight for it, and to die by it if necessary.  Over 20 years ago, I made a vow to him, which in turn binds me to that selfsame flag.  Our children have made sacrifices because of his original oath, and have grown up stronger for it.  And yet…

Our lives are very different from what I had grown up imagining our lives to be, and certainly different from that of most Americans.  

Most Americans, when they hear the National Anthem, or they recite the Pledge, do so unfettered, unbound by its power.  There are some, not all, who realize and appreciate fully the freedoms they enjoy because our country is a unique one.  They are proud, loyal, and steadfast.  Some, I am sad to say, are blithely uncaring, or unaware, or both. 

Most Americans are not asked to fully support that flag.

And most Americans would surely not die for that flag.

Most Americans do not move because their country needs it.  They do not go without their families for months, years at a time because their country demands it.  They do not serve at the needs of the Army, nor at the needs of any part of this great country.  They do not bathe the flag in blood, sweat or tears.

Most Americans do not occasionally hate the demands that their flag puts on them, because most Americans have not had much demanded of them.

There is much to say that is good and positive and right about this country.  All of those reasons, plus family tradition, are the inspiration for my husband’s original and continued oath.  Those are the predominant reasons he has stayed with this service, and we have all given so much.  We are free to do so much that in other countries is forbidden, or unavailable, or unheard-of.  We are freer than free, in so many of the ways that count.  Speech, Religion, Press, Self-protection.  Some days it feels as though those freedoms are under attack by the very forces that are supposed to uphold them, yet still they endure.

Most Americans pay absolutely nothing for this tremendous privilege, short of grumbling at the tax office.  Freedoms are, by their nature, not free.  Their cost is far deeper than a monetary one.  Their cost cannot be purchased except through the unfailing loyalty of those who have promised their lives to it.

Some days, that cost seems far too high.  Some days, that cost makes me weep for the lost days and months and years that we have sacrificed.  Some days, I could hate that flag. 

Most Americans do not understand.  They do not see the conflict that pulls at our military families, where fealty to “home” and “country” must constantly be an either-or, all-or-nothing choice.  Many Americans blithely say, “Well, at least it isn’t…” or “It could be worse,” not realizing that each change and each sacrifice must be weighed on an individual occurrence.  Gone is gone, and we miss the time we might have spent together.  Let us grieve a moment, let us feel comforted and not forgotten while we are half of the family we once were.

I am proud of the choices that we have made, to follow and support and remain loyal to this great country and that beautiful, terrible flag.  Most days, I would not change a thing except to be more appreciative of the freedoms it represents.  But there are times, when the anthem plays and the flag is flown, that my heart aches inside at the price we have paid.

There are days, I will admit, when there is no comfort there.

.

Sleep

I won't be going to sleep any time soon...  Little G is on her way home from a long field day with her class, and I am waiting for the bus to safely deliver her.  The waiting is difficult, but not unfamiliar.  It's fairly early in the evening, but I'd really like to be in my jammies and ready for bed.

Sleep is something I've learned to postpone, to do without, to occasionally fantasize about like I once dreamt of seeing my name published prominently.

What's that you say?  My kids are older?  Oh, how funny...as if that makes any difference!  Easy and consistent sleep is, I believe, one of those things we simply sacrifice for our children on occasion.

Before that baby’s even born, the physical and emotional upheaval of pregnancy keeps us awake.  Dreams, wild and sometimes theatrical, keep us from sleep.  Joints and ligaments and body parts we never knew we had, are suddenly calling to us overnight. 

People tell us, “When the baby comes, you can sleep when they sleep!”

Once the sweet bundle of joy is placed in our arms, a whole new reason for our sleeplessness appears.  Absolute dependence shines from those sweet eyes.  When they do sleep, we find ourselves watching them, guarding against the night. Or bathing. Or grabbing bites of lukewarm dinner.  Or staring into space, wondering, “Why can’t I sleep?”

Toddler years, terrific and temperamental, show us how even the most exhausted of children won’t necessarily sleep when they’re tired.  They fight, bleary-eyed and puffy-cheeked, against the rest that their parents desperately crave.

We briefly think, “We can rest now that they’re older!” when it’s time to send them off to school.  But, alas, we are mistaken. They have sleepovers , stomach bugs, school projects and insomnia. They wake us on Saturdays for sports.  They wake us to share the nightmares of the night before. Tossing and turning, we sleep lightly and wait for nighttime visitors.

Independent and growing fast, our children soon no longer visit us in the middle of the night.  They sleep as late as we will let them, they have whole sections of their lives that don’t involve us (much). Do we sleep now, secure in their growing autonomy?  

No!

Now we think about who their friends are.  What their grades are.  Their futures, their present, the diaphanous and distressing unknown that arises as our children begin to stand on their own.  We await curfew. 

People tell us, and we believe, “When they move out, you can sleep.”

I have come to suspect, though, that parents are never going to rest well.  We will never consistently lay our heads down at night, safe and secure and utterly at peace.  Once our kids move out, we think about college, and safety, and whether they’re happy.  We dissect conversations, life choices, events and aspirations… 

The phone rings with a wrong number, at the dreaded darkest hour, and we lie awake wondering if it might have been them. If they are okay.  If they, in turn, are sleeping.

Say Something Nice

This week has been an incredibly challenging one, and really I hadn't planned to do any writing.  Hadn't planned to do much beyond pulling on my Old Navy sweatpants and curling up with a good book.

But something keeps niggling in my brain, telling me to write today.

Often, our school principal uses the morning announcements to challenge us to do something.  "Learn one thing new today" has been a pretty consistent theme.  Today, his challenge was the following:

Say Something Nice.

It began with an email.  One teacher needed 50 black pipe cleaners for a class project.  "I'll trade other colors if you want!"  Within minutes, a second email popped up, "We have more than we need, thank you so much!"  This speed of help is not uncommon in our school.

A third email quickly followed, reminding us of the morning challenge and saying her "something nice" was that it was so wonderful that we work in a community like this where we help one another.

It got me thinking of all of the "nice" little things that have happened during this harried and hectic week, and I thought I'd share.

A baby's laugh, drawing smiles from everyone who walked past her.

Coworkers, pitching in where needed and never complaining that it "isn't their job".

Quick emails and phone calls from teachers, letting us know where their classes were so we didn't have to search.

Patient parents.

Smiles.

Chocolate.

Bright sun and a nice breeze after refreshing rain.

One of my pink lilies finally bloomed.

My husband's coworker, saying good morning with a smile, when I dropped My G off at work.

Kids talking and swinging outside.  You'd never guess they were nearing 13.

Caring veterinary staff, helping us care for our crazy cats.

A thank you.

A hug.

A smile.

There are so many things that make life difficult, so many things that make the days stretch too long and too hard.  If we take a few moments to say something nice to someone who has made a difference, or notice something positive that is going on in our world, it refreshes our spirit.  If we do it often enough, it becomes a habit.  If we have a healthy habit, before we know it, others will notice and start to do it too.

Philippians 4:8 is one of my favorites, and I think it fits tonight.  "Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things."

Let's say something nice.

Home

In my dreams, I am nearly always at the home where I grew up. I walk through the same rooms where I lived then, with the view out the window the same as it’s always been. My things are in the closets, the wooden doors as familiar to me as my own skin. Sometimes, the dream is more a memory, with past players and old conversations that never were or that should have been. Sometimes the house is just a stage, set with different props and acted upon by new talent.

In my dreams, the walls know me and I am part of them.

My dreams never keep me safe at the home we have made together, where we currently lay our heads at the end of each day. I don’t return to California, or Colorado, and only seldom do I revisit the wood-paneled walls of our first place in Kansas. If I briefly glimpse that former home, the floors are bare and the rooms echo with the memories we created there.  Those homes look just as they did the day we left them, spotless and shining and vacant of everything but the role they played in our family’s story.

When I awaken and remember the night, my heart will ache. My sighs are long and deep as I realize that I was home again, and not even able to appreciate it when I was there. For while I miss the view, and the way the light plays through the rooms, I miss most the people who filled those rooms. I miss their voices, their touch, the soft scent that means home. And I hope for more dreams to return me there.

Getting Out

Since My G has 21 years in the Army, of course we've talked a lot about retirement.  We have our plans, which of course the Army has changed for us a half dozen times at least.  We are taking steps to make Plans A, B, and C work, as well.

We get asked a lot, "So, when do you retire?"

Well, it's complicated.  Every day, it seems, I hear a new story about someone getting out of the Army. And I hear stories of "what happens next".

Folks, it isn't good news.

One friend and her Soldier husband were forced to med board out from the Army after he sustained injuries. They had no backup plan, and had planned to stay in until he reached his 20. Now they are both trying to find work, find a home they can afford, and they feel stuck. From what I'm reading, there's a bit of panicky feeling, too.

One of My G's battle buddies was all set to retire, having hit his RCP (Retention Control Point). RCP essentially is the "get promoted or get out" point that the Army sets, and he hadn't reached the next promotion point when the Army thought he should have. Thankfully, he was able to take retirement. During the retirement health assessment, they did a body scan and found that he has a form of cancer that is becoming more and more common among Soldiers who have deployed. So instead of going through simple retirement, he underwent chemo, and now radiation, and later a full medical retirement.  He's still able to retire, but the Army has exacted a pretty high price from him and his wife, both physically and emotionally.

I know of a Soldier who was dealt some terrible back injuries, healed, fought the Army for proper treatment and the correct surgery, and now is getting med-boarded out of the Army because he can't properly run and has other health issues. My friend, his wife, has put in for any and every job that she is qualified for, all across the United States, because she knows they may have to rely on her income for a period of time after this process is over. So far, nothing. This is despite many of the applications coming back, saying she is qualified.

My own battle buddy says that her husband didn't make the promotion list this time around, and they are gearing up for major changes with the Army and in their lives. They were once caught without a backup plan, many years ago, and they will not do so again. Still, there is a tinge of worry and fear -- the world is an uncertain place for a veteran, even one with 20 years under his belt.

Getting out is scary, right now. We hear every day that the economy is getting better, that jobs are easier to find, that people are getting back to work, that we can afford to keep a roof over our heads.  We hear that the Dow is so high, it must be great! We hear that there are jobs that are open, and available.

(We even, sometimes, hear about companies that hire veterans specifically to help them once their Army time is done. I pray, when it is our time to get out, that we will all have found a safety net and a job.)

Not one of these Soldiers, nor their families, are asking for handouts. They want to work, and they have all pushed through incredible odds already. But I think it's time we talk about preparing our Soldiers better for "getting out". We need to talk about fixing the programs that help them transition from Soldier life to civilian life. I hear that this program works really well for the Soldiers who put in 4 or 8 years of their lives and then want to go back to school or work outside the Army. But these programs are failing the Soldiers who have given the most time and lifeblood

I think it's time we talk about the Soldiers who have put in the most time, and the deepest commitment. I think it's time we figure out a better way to serve them. Because these Soldiers are often the ones who know the most about their jobs and their installations, they are also often held back from properly taking part in transition programs because their loss will be felt so deeply. But at the same time, these are the very Soldiers who need the programs the most, and the units owe it to them to commit to making sure their Soldier-to-civilian transformation is the smoothest it can be.

So, while it's not time for us to be getting out, it is definitely our time to plan for it. And make a Plan B. And C. Or more.

Sleep

Originally from
http://www.eziahp.com/effects-of-sleep-deprivation-on-health

Before that baby’s even born, the physical and emotional upheaval of pregnancy keep us awake.  Dreams, wild and sometimes theatrical, keep us from sleep.  Joints and ligaments and body parts we never knew we had, are suddenly calling to us overnight.  

Well-meaning people tell us, “When the baby comes, you can sleep when they sleep!”

Once the sweet bundle of joy is placed in our arms, a whole new reason for our sleeplessness appears.  Absolute dependence shines from those sweet eyes.  When they do sleep, we find ourselves watching them, guarding against the night. Or bathing. Or grabbing bites of lukewarm dinner.  Or staring into space, wondering, “Why can’t I sleep?”

Toddler years, terrific and temperamental, show us how even the most exhausted of children won’t necessarily sleep when they’re tired.  They fight, bleary-eyed and puffy-cheeked, against the rest that their parents desperately crave.

We briefly think, “We can rest now that they’re older!” when it’s time to send them off to school.  But, alas, we are mistaken. They have sleepovers , stomach bugs, school projects and insomnia. They wake us on Saturdays for sports and to share the dreams of the night before. Tossing and turning, we wait for nighttime interruptions.

Independent and growing fast, our children soon no longer visit us in the middle of the night.  They sleep as late as we will let them, they have whole sections of their lives that don’t involve us (much). Do we sleep now, secure in their growing autonomy?  No.  Now we think about who their friends are.  What their grades are.  Their future, their present, the diaphanous and distressing unknown that arises as our children begin to stand on their own.  We await curfew.  People tell us, and we believe, “When they move out, you can sleep.”

I have come to suspect, though, that parents are never going to rest well.  We will never consistently lay our heads down at night, safe and secure and utterly at peace.  Once our kids move out, we think about college, and safety, and whether they’re happy.  We dissect conversations, life choices, events and aspirations… The phone rings with a wrong number, at the dreaded darkest hour, and we lie awake wondering if it might have been them. If they are okay. 

If they, in turn, are sleeping.