Memorial Day

This Monday, May 28, 2012 is Memorial Day. It is a sad day. It is a powerful day. It is an emotional day. It isn't about an extra day off of work. It's not about sleeping in or getting drunk. It is not about deployed soldiers, or lonely families waiting for their return. It is not about the work my husband does on a daily basis, or the many millions of minutes that I have spent away from him. It is not Veteran's Day.

Memorial Day is the one day a year that we Americans honor and remember the dead soldiers. It's a harsh thing to read isn't it? It's a harsh reality. It is the one day a year that this nation sets aside to say: We recognize what you gave up, because we asked you to. We realize your family misses you. You made an impact. Your life was valuable. Your memory is powerful. Your absence is noticed. We are thankful.

I find it disturbing that is happening less and less. I find it heart breaking that I open up my facebook page and see so many comments about people missing their deployed husband, or thanking all military. While those sentiments are true, and beautiful, it's not what Memorial Day is about. Don't let the reality of this day be lost on you. Don't let the reality of the agony that this day holds be forgotten.

For some families, this Memorial Day is their first with their soldier dead. It's the first where this day means something so much deeper and more powerful than road trips and vacations. It's the first where they know that their soldier won't be coming home, and won't be calling. There won't be any more text messages or emails. There won't be any more dinners together, or new family pictures to put up on the wall.

For other families, this Memorial Day is one in a long line of many that they have experienced with their soldier in Heaven. This day is another reminder that they've somehow managed to make it through another year without him. For some it's a scary thought: the memories are beginning to fade, and it seems like the people are beginning to talk about him less and less...

For me, there will be alcohol involved. It's tradition. In our world we have a moment of silence, followed by a raising of a glass in their honor. For me, Memorial Day is a day for Y, O, S, B and all of their wives, children, parents, and family members. It is a day when I remember their loss, when I remember the ache that their families carry every day. It is a day when I remember their silliness, their seriousness, their light. It is a day when I hold their families up in my heart and my mind and I pray. I pray for comfort. I pray for healing. I pray for the tears to be wiped away and for joy to be renewed. I pray for this nation to never forget them. I pray for this one day to always be theirs.

To our friends in Heaven, may you always know how important you were to us. May your families always know how grateful we are for this sacrifice. May we always take care of those you've left behind. May we always be praying, until there are no more soldiers joining you in Heaven because of war.

There are a thousand moments that I adore everything about her. There are a thousand of her nuisances and quirks that bring a smile to my face. Her laugh has the ability to light up an entire room. Her encouraging heart melts me in a million ways. When she snuggles, she does it with all that she is. It is powerful.

But some times, on occasion, I am exhausted beyond comprehension. I am tired of the medical conditions, and the challenges, and the millions of things I have to think about and take care of. Some days I'm overwhelmed. Some days I feel sorry for myself and I think how completely unfair it is that this beautiful child will always have this... this illness.

Some days I want to crawl into a hole and hide.

Revelations

In the past few weeks, I've been making a lot of changes in the daily function of our home. I think it is important to occasionally look around at one's daily living and evaluate what needs to stay, change, or be encouraged. After doing this, a few things stood out in my mind that needed some definite improvement.

The first: Homeschooling. School had become a monotonous, boring, hurry-up-and-get-it-done type of environment. We had completely ignored spontaneity. We had stifled creativity. We had rejected the notion of change, and stuck to "sit in the chair and do the paperwork". By "we" I really mean me. Yes, I confess, I evaluated myself and I received a very bad grade. My children do the work very well. They sit still and fill out the papers, and they're even motivated to do it most of the time, on their own. But I was noticing that their love   of learning, their curiosity, their passion for understanding was completely disappearing. They were, quite honestly put, becoming robots, and I was the person who created that. It was a heart wrenching realization. I had essentially become, a public school. It was powerful, to realize that. And it hurt. I want our children to be SO excited to read. I want them to dive into stories and be creative, and discover new things. I want them  to adore learning so much so that they can't stand to stop! I want them to realize that there are multiple aspects to learning (and yes, seat work is sometimes a part of that) and explore all of them. I want them to be eager to try new things.

So what have I changed? Most importantly, my attitude. I've also changed the format in which we homeschool. Each child gets my individual attention. Period. I realize this isn't practical for everyone, but I set a timer of 20 minutes, and each of our children has my full, and undivided attention during those minutes. Sometimes that's explaining a math struggle, sometimes that's reading stories, sometimes that's putting some flour in a pan and watching their hands discover the textures and smells. The phone goes on silent, the chaos ends, and the kids get all of me for those minutes. For my oldest, she knows if she has a question, or doesn't understand something, she moves on and waits until her 20 minute slot to cover her "challenges" with me. For the triplets, they no longer have to share me during their school time. We have also added in suggested creativity. What I mean by this is that they each get to suggest an activity (sewing, painting, coloring, beading, cooking, etc etc etc), and we explore it as a group and then decide on which to do. Some days that's as simple as "Mommy, I'd like to make Jane a birthday card." and other days it's more complex "Mommy, I want to build a castle!" but it's brought about all sorts of creative ideas (the castle one ended up happening with the aid of pillows, blankets, and a mattress). Everyone works together and we all learn something together too!

Second: Smiling. You might be surprised that this is on my list with how silly I am all the time. To be honest, I was surprised by the realization myself. What stood out to me was this: I rarely smiled when my children entered the room, asked me a question, or came to me for help. I rarely responded to their whining with a smile and a reassurance of affection and compassion. I rarely physically showed that I enjoyed them, and realizing that really impacted me.

I have worked hard to change that. When one is walking through the living room to get a drink of water, I smile at them. When one is whining because they didn't get their way, instead of saying "If you don't stop you're going to go to your room." I respond with "Nugget, I love you." and I have been amazed how that tiny reassurance has quickly ended the whining. I am just shocked by how much it has changed my own attitude. I'm less annoyed by their irritations, and more excited to show them I love them even when they're frustrated. I have discovered they talk to me more. And not the same way. They talk about their hopes and dreams. They say the experiences that upset them, or frustrate them. They listen to me differently. I realize you're probably sitting there thinking "Really lady? This is common sense!" but it really wasn't for me. Smiling at my children when they talk to me has changed us all in a way that I love.

Third: Pictures. I struggle with picture taking. I'm just not the photographer type. But I know that one day they will forget this place, and this home, and we will all want to remember.

I have been focused on taking at least one picture every day. Sometimes it's posed, and sometimes it's random, but I know I'll never regret it. I don't think I've ever heard someone say "Boy! I wish I hadn't taken so many pictures!" but I know I've heard people say "I wish I had taken pictures!"

I will leave you with this last thought: Our lives are a painting. Don't ever stop creating it. And don't ever allow someone else to define. You are the artist. You control what it reflects.

Growth Charts

Today was the final class of RCIA for Chief and me. We're now officially "Catholic", complete with certificates and everything! Today, in the midst of our hugs and reminiscences (is that even a word?), we all started talking about our rebel periods. Somehow, the whole: I dumped Chief, while he was deployed, conversation came up. And we also got to tell our "how-we-met" story (which is a fun one!). I was a cold hearted back in the day.

You might be wondering by now, what is the point of all this? Well, I don't really know. For some reason, in that moment, opening the casket of my buried past seemed fitting. Yes, it's embarrassing (I mean, seriously, dumping a deployed soldier!?!?!?), and yes it's behaviors that I've long since walked away from, but it's refreshing to remember who I once was, and the inevitable biproduct of recognizing who I am now. 

I have a long way to go. I hope that I always say that. I hope I never give up on the idea that I can always improve, always tweak, always grow. I hope I teach my children that there is no such thing is impossible, even in regards to the most difficult experiences within our selves. 

I have had many memories that hurt like hell. I've had experiences that spent years haunting my mind and making me afraid. I have been a terrible person, no. Scratch that. I still am a terrible person. But I am less terrible today than I was ten years ago. And I know I'll be even less terrible tomorrow than I am  today. 

So what's the point? I suppose it's to never stop changing. Never stop challenging yourself. Never stop fighting, working, bending, breaking, mending, and sewing yourself into a better human being. And every once in a while, take a peak back at where you've come from. But only for long enough to stay motivated to keep pressing forward. If you hang out for too long in the past, you'll convince yourself that you've come far enough, and you will die to all of the possibilities that lay before you. 

Army love

I have to be honest, there are a lot of things I don't like about being married to a soldier. The long nights/weekends, the plans that change at the last minute, the deployments, risk to life and limb, frustrations of living in a world of red tape, not getting to choose where I live or when I move, and on and on, are enough reasons to completely overwhelm any person debating whether or not to embark on the endeavor of marrying a soldier. However, there is an equally lengthy list of reasons why I love living this life as well. There are obvious ones: benefits, discounts for military, and a steady job, which I will not go into. :)

1. Being a military spouse immediately connects you to something larger than yourself. It's different from college, or sororities (or fraternities) or any of social group. I am connected to a cause that I firmly believe in: defending this country.
2. Living in post housing. Okay, I'll be honest, post housing can have some MEGA annoyances (changing policies without warning is one of them), however the perks of post living outweigh the drawbacks. Having a maintenance phone number to call every time I have a problem (to include if there's a lightbulb that needs replacing and I can't reach it in my 20 ft ceiling living room), and they will come, for free, is AMAZING. Having an office where I can go and get FREE lightbulbs, batteries (for smoke detectors) and filters (A/C) is really, really, really nice. 
3. CYS, SKIES, and ACS all offer childcare, sports activities, classes, and education for free, almost free, or very low cost. There is NO place where my daughter can get a month of twice weekly swim classes for $35. It doesn't exist, outside of the military.
4. The life lessons. Because my husband deploys, I have been forced to learn to be independent. I know how to change a tire, fix a smoke detector, unclog toilets and pipes and drains, mow a lawn, change the oil, and on and on. Quite honestly, most maintenance upkeep is actually done by me, since I don't deploy and I'm around to do it always. I am thankful that his absence has forced me to not be a damsel in distress.
5. The love lessons. This life has taught me to never take a moment for granted, to always tell those I love that I do, and to be live each experience to the fullest. This life has shown me that time is precious, so make it count. It's shown me that love can survive the toughest of experiences. This life has forced me to watch the love of my life leave, and not know that he will come back. This life has provided me with the elation of being a newly wed every time he's come home from a deployment. This life has shown me that my husband is a complete rockstar and it's my responsibility and my choice to cherish him while I have him. 

Above are five things that make me so grateful for the challenges of this life. I have many more, but I currently have four children who are standing in front of me waiting ever so patiently for me to come and play with them. 

I hope you all have a blessed day.

Marriage Monday Mirror

We were warned that when we got married in the church, we should expect difficulties. We were told that temptations would come, and life would get tough. We looked back on what we've walked through and thought we could handle whatever would come.

When I hear the word "temptation" I immediately think of cheating. It's what I always envision. I don't know if that's some subconscious reflection of something in myself, or if it's just what the word implies. However, temptation comes in many forms. 

It's strange how everything feels so complicated. It's not really, but it feels like it is. It's unsettling how when you're not around me, I feel overwhelmed with admiration, devotion, adoration, and respect for you. But the second you walk in the door, this ugly side of me comes out.

I mean seriously, why does every conversation feel like a battle? Where is the teamwork that we've been so happily a part of?

Yesterday at church, I cried through almost the entire service. Every scripture, every word was like a sucker punch to my selfish heart. "REMAIN in me..." but what have I done to "remain"? "Stop being hung up on everything else and focus on Christ." "How are you displaying love? Are you being supportive or critical?"

I have been so critical of you and your career. When you come for support, you get me telling you what to do and telling you what you're doing wrong. I am sorry for that. I want to be your biggest cheerleader, and I think I leave you sometimes feeling like I'm your biggest basher. 

I know it's hard being married to me sometimes. I know it's hard being married to you sometimes. I know it's hard when you want me to be sorry, but I'm not. I know my standards are astronomically high, and very difficult to live up to. I know I'm much better on paper, than I am in reality, sometimes. I know I'm an over achieving perfectionist who gets so caught up in results that I completely forget about the details. I know yesterday was awful. I know we went to sleep with prison walls between us, and we both felt it.

Temptations have been plaguing me. And I'm learning that temptation is so much more than cheating. It's selfishness, resentment, bitterness, anger, ineffective communication, criticism, disrespect, rudeness, laziness. Temptation is building these prison walls and pitting us against each other. Temptation is making every conversation seem so much more difficult than it really is.

We're in a battle. They warned us about this, and here it is.

So link arms with me. Watch my back and I'll watch yours. Help me remember to keep my Armor on and I'll help you. Let's speak to each other in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs. Let's build each other up. Let's remember who we're fighting against, and stop the friendly fire. 

With all of the mess that I am, I love you Chief. 

I've been sitting here staring at this damned computer for the past twenty minutes. The blinking of the cursor and the monotonous emptiness of my brain is distressing. I'm a pianist with no piano. So I sit and I click, and I write words with a keyboard.

Somewhere between the distance from there to here is some semblance of who I have painted myself to be. I wonder who the hell I really am underneath the layers of facades and images: spouse, Army Wife, Christian, Mom...

I don't feel like being very supportive. I don't feel very kind or friendly or silly or loving lately. I feel incredibly alone. I feel incredibly unappreciated. I feel intensely used. I feel overwhelmingly exhausted. I feel like giving up.

All of those feelings are immensely irrelevant, but yet completely relevant all at the same time. Feelings are images and snapshots of subconscious occasions that I don't have the intellectual fortitude to psychoanalyze, categorize, and humanize. So I suppress and eventually my brain digresses into a miserable state. It's the way it cures itself. I am essentially forced to grieve what I don't necessarily understand.

Is it possible to love someone more than you love yourself? I mean, with every single freaking fiber of your being, to love them that much? And then on the flip side of that equation, to hate them with such an intensity that you don't know how to describe? I mean, what would you really be hating? The love? The failures? The disappointments? The unfulfilled expectations? The happiness that only they are capable of providing?

Gosh there is so much to grieve I don't know where to begin. And the phone calls into the abyss seem to yield little results. I simply don't know how to stop playing along with my own masterpiece.

I hate the memories that fill my brain of experiences I have lived. I hate the nightmares that haunt my sleep. I hate the complete incapability I have to prevent any of the horrors that have come, and will come again. I hate the guilt that refuses to let me go. I hate the guilt that I don't bear, but probably should. I hate understanding so much more than I should. I hate being unable to let anyone take care of me, but the one damned person who is literally incapable of doing it. I hate that he's incapable of doing it. I hate that his attempts are not good enough. I hate that I'm not good enough.

I hate walking through the shadow of death. I hate that knowing You're with me doesn't bring me the comfort I want.

Hell

War is hell.

I find it strange that the people who say that the most often are the ones who know nothing of its horrors. Isn't that interesting?

I sat next to my husband while he quite literally bawled his eyes out. I'd never seen him cry like that. It took nearly eight years for it to come, but when it did... It was ugly. "I miss him."

War is hell.

There I sat, with one of my dearest friends, while she said goodbye to her husband. I sat there while they handed her a flag and said "On behalf of a grateful nation... His boots. His helmet... Never coming back.

War is hell.

We dropped him off and hugged and cuddled. Then it was time for us to let him go and say goodbye. She screamed as hard as her little four year old body could. "GET ME OUT OF HERE MOMMY!!!! GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!! I DON'T WANT MY DADDY TO GO! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

War is hell.

Five times I have said goodbye to the love of my life, sent him off to a horrible place, and had no idea if he would die there. Three times I have done it with our children hurting, being scared, and wishing it away just as much as I was.

Three times I have sat beside personal friends whose husbands died in that horrible place. I have been to more funerals than I care to remember. I've heard more 21 gun salutes than I've wished to have ever heard. I have heard their names, and the lingering silence of no response, haunting my mind.

War is hell.

There is nothing to compare to the grief of those two men showing up at your house to tell you the finality of goodbye. No amount of deployments, or sending him aways, or tears, or heartaches that I have endured, compares to the finality of death; to the finality of their goodbye.

War is hell.

And even I have no idea how much it really is...