We're coming up on Memorial Day, which leads to a heightened awareness, especially in a primarily military community such as this, of soldiers who have died or been injured in action, and those who are currently deployed overseas. This leads to people saying a variety of stupidly mean and/or stupid but kindly meant things. Usually, but not always, it's political. Frequently it's a simple "Thank your husband for serving." Or "Thank you both for your service." I kind of like the second one; it acknowledges, in a low-key way, that, yeah, I'm sacrificing things, too, in the name of the Army.
There's one sentence I hear a lot that I both love and hate: "Wow, you must be so proud of your soldier." I'm sure others hear it, too; spouses, parents, grandparents, siblings... whatever.
Obviously, I can't speak for everybody, but for me... Well, yeah. I kind of am proud of him. He's choosing to do something very difficult, yet very important. On some level, our soldiers over there, attempting to take a stand against intolerance, small-mindedness...they're doing some important work. Granted, I think we should have all our human-rights ducks in a row before we start pushing that off on other people, but it's a start, right?
So, yeah, I'm proud of him, but at the same time... At the same time, I'm kind of not. I'm kind of angry, in fact. Angry at him. Angry at myself.
We both knew what was coming when he decided to reenlist some years after 9/11. We knew there was no way he'd be able to avoid deploying multiple times; we knew there'd be a lot of times I'd be left at home holding down the fort, keeping things together for the kids & giving him something to come back to. We knew there'd be a lot of moving, a lot of friends coming and going through our lives, some to simple ETS/PCS moves, some to divorce, some -- sadly and irreparably -- to death.
We've had our share and our fill of all three in the past seven years. It has been a long, hard road, and in this instance, it does NOT get easier with time and experience. If anything, it has gotten harder; part of me cannot help but see that my husband has gotten older, he's slowly having health issues and his body is not holding up to the over-rigorous use the military puts on it. I am resentful that he's put me in this position, where I have to watch his body fall apart a little more each year, in ways that so many other soldiers' do, in response to the stressors they are put through even without the bullets flying and bombs exploding.
I admit I'm not great at statistics, but I do know that the more often he goes over, and the more dangerous the places he goes to, eventually his luck may run out. He may get killed; it's more likely he'll get injured or suffer debilitating PTSD. I am angry that I might be in the position of having to care for him, a man in the prime of his life, because he CHOSE a profession with an inherent risk or permanent damage. I am furious that he chose a career that murders marriages, putting stress on those bonds that sometimes even the strongest can't withstand. I am incensed when I consider that I may one day have to explain to my children that Daddy is never coming home, or that he is coming home but deeply, profoundly wounded physically and/or mentally.
I hate passionately the fact that simply living my life normally takes up so very much of my energy that it's hard to find enough for 'extras' like taking my kids to the beach. There is only one of me to go around, so my kids don't get nearly enough one-on-one time, and I don't share certain interests with them, like fishing, so they don't get that special bonding time. It's hard to do spur-of-the-moment when you don't have someone you can turn to and say, "Hey, DinoBoy is having a really hard time coping with his best friend moving away; he really needs some special time. Do you want to take him out, or do you think it would be better for me to do it while you watch the others?" Instead, you have to hope you can impress on the others that right now, you need them to amuse themselves and not be asking you questions so that you can spend the next hour and a half on the sofa with a rigidly curled up eight-year-old, trying to calm him down enough so that he can talk semi-coherently.
So, yeah, I'm not so proud sometimes. Fearful, angry, sad, and a lot of other 'negative' emotions, but not always proud.
On the other hand? I am very proud of my soldier. I could not keep going in the face of what he goes through. And I love him and know WHY he's doing it all, and THAT is something I can be proud of.
No comments:
Post a Comment