Just as I was carefully negotiating a trade with a German
soldier for one of his field ready meals, word was getting around that there
was a group of soldiers manning a satellite phone station about a mile outside
our camp. I had been overseas for about three months, this was early in the
Southwest Asia campaign, we were positioned somewhere in North Eastern Saudi
Arabia along the rail line North of the Kuwaiti border, we had a pallet of
mango juice boxes, little water, and more sand than many of us had ever seen,
not exactly the way I thought I’d be spending Saturday nights before being
deployed. I thought I’d be hanging out with my girlfriend, maybe cruising in my
old Mercury and making out in the park near her home.
Instead she’s at home wondering where I am. It would be
appropriate here to note that back then we didn’t have cellular phones, the
media was not embedded and we as soldiers at times had even less information as
to what was happening in country than the rest of the nation. We didn’t get to
watch the news updates, read any newspapers and didn’t even know that the North
Stars were leaving Minnesota. So when I had heard of this little satellite
phone operation, I was in. Me and few others snuck out and made our way, and
there tucked in between a couple large sand dunes was the camo netting covered
satellite station. Darkness as far as you can see, a deep cobalt blue sky above
us with no light filtration other than from the stars’ themselves, sometimes at
night I would lie back atop my Humvee and stare into the night sky, it seemed
as though I could almost stand up and immerse myself in millions of tiny little
specs of bright light. Eventually the line of other soldiers’ waned and I had
my turn. When I heard her voice on the other end I had realized then how much I
missed my girlfriend, her sweet voice echoing in my ear. It meant the world to
me that I could talk with her, even just to listen and tell her I was ok. And
just as we figured out the timing of the delay so we weren’t talking over each
other the line went dead and there was only silence except for the whining of
the Scud missile alarms. I quickly closed my eyes tightly trying to lock in the
sound of her voice before it was gone, and then it was gone. And as much as it
pained me to be cut off like that, I have to think that it must have been even
more difficult for her, I would drop back into survival mode, my training
taking over and while everything else is shelved for the time being. But back
home, in her living room, my girl, Angie still holds that phone against her
ear, hoping my voice will return, praying that I will be all right, as tears
begin to stream down her cheeks.
This isn’t an uncommon event, this happens all the time
wherever our soldiers are deployed, leaving their families behind to wait and
wonder. To pray and hope. Even with all of the media at our disposal today and
the cel phones and such, there is still the pain that finds itself imbedded in
the pit of your stomach as you deploy knowing that back home your wife,
husband, son or daughter has that same pain in their stomach as well. I think
that the families/military families of soldiers do not get enough credit for
the success of their soldier, nor do they get recognized enough for the support
they provide. The military family has a tough life, much like their soldier,
the spouses/partners and their children are often having to leave friendships
they’ve built because they’ve been relocated, moved on to another station. And
then they are left to begin again, find and build new friendships, not easy to
do.
The spouse/partner of their soldier is often the one to take
care of their home, their children, correspondence with kid’s schools and
health care providers, any extra-curricular activities, and that’s on top of
emotional and physical support of their soldier. And that’s just an average
day, not to mention what they are left to take care when their soldier has been
deployed on a mission, especially and extended one. And sometimes upon
completion of a deployment, especially after an active conflict over seas, the
soldier comes home and has to re-acclimate to their family and the down time,
this can be especially nerve racking and difficult for family members as well
as the soldier to work through, but there is no opting out just then, and to be
a successful partnership both parties have to come together and work through
it; adapt and overcome. This is where the soldier’s family members and
spouse/partner’s shine, and once all is said and done at the end of the day,
who will support them, the spouse and partner? After the sun has gone down, the
kids are tucked away, their soldier has come home safe, it’s time for that
spouse and/or partner to take stock and take care of themselves.
In the end, I knew my girlfriend would be there when I
returned, but I would not return the same person as when I had left, however she
would stand behind me, she would be there for me and would learn what it meant
to be the partner of a soldier. Then she would realize the dedication and the sacrifices
she would have to make. It wouldn’t be easy, but she would prevail, she would successfully
navigate those waters and form a relationship that only a soldier’s partner
would know, one to be proud of, one that would change her life forever.
When we say thank you to a soldier, let us not forget that soldier’s
partner, their family and spouse, and remember that behind every great soldier
there exists a logistically complex support system; they deserve an earnest
thank you as well, our respect and gratitude for their sacrifices’.
Thank you.
