Its Four in the Morning...

It was four in the morning when she rolled over and couldn’t seem to fall back to sleep. The window was open slightly and it was cold out but she liked the feel and smell of the fresh late fall air. She laid there on her back and watched the ceiling fan slowly spin around and around listened to her husband sleeping soundly next to her, she watched him for a while then decided to forfeit and get out of bed.

She stopped to peek in at her kids before making her way to the kitchen for a drink of water, and then she crossed the dining room to find a spot and curl up on the couch under a cozy throw and watch the clouds slowly pass in front of the moon out the front window.

This happens every now and again, she’ll watch the sky until it begins to turn from black to cobalt blue to shades of orange and yellow as it rises above the park across the street. She won’t turn on the TV, and she won’t read a book. She’ll just sit there and stare out the window at the sky, her throat will turn dry, her palms will begin to sweat and her heart begins to race. She isn’t sick, and she isn’t necessarily a morning person. She is one of the 1.4% of all American women who’ve served in the United States military. She is one of the 5.2% of the United States population who’ve served our country in times of war and conflict.

Those are small numbers; hell, it’s not easy for someone to make the sacrifice that she has made, not even she knew full well what she was in for when she signed up. The morning of the day she made that decision she did what all veterans find themselves doing before they swear in, they look at themselves and take full inventory, for her it was in the bathroom mirror, it was partially fogged over but she looked in her eyes through the reflection nonetheless. She looked at her cheekbones she got from her father, and her nose and chin she got from her mother. She looked at the color in her eyes and the deep seeded need to protect those less fortunate from her grandfather.

She stood there and thought about all that she loved in the world, she thought about her brothers and sisters and the little neighbor boys across the street and how sweet they were to her every time she walked past them to her car to go to work. Their dirty little faces as they played in the puddles in the street. She didn’t have a boyfriend then, nor did she have kids of her own.

She looked in that mirror and thought about all those around the world being oppressed and tortured and killed and brought up hiding in their homes from the fighting in the streets and she made a decision. She decided then and there to do something about it, she looked into her eyes and prayed to her God and with resolution determined the full value of her own life. She decided that her life and blood was worth sacrificing for the good of the young boys across the street, for the freedom of those whose faces she looked at in the news each night. She knows the statistics, she knows that the freedoms granted to the majority are fought for and maintained by the absolute minority. She knows Freedom isn’t free, that there is a price on it and someone has to pay that forward.

What she didn’t realize is that the sacrifices our veterans make doesn’t end when they leave the military, when they are done with their tours of duty. That sacrifice is echoed in their daily lives when they go to the grocery store and find it difficult to determine which box of cereal to choose from knowing there are many whom don’t have that liberty. It is echoed, when they fall awake in the early morning hours just before dawn, and they spend hours looking out at the moon waiting for the safety of the noise of the day to begin, when quiet and stillness is frightening and constantly threatens to spill over your brow in sweat as you relive moments of bloody conflict and turmoil in your sleep.

7.3% of all living Americans have served in the military at some point in their lives. Please say thank you, whether or not you agree with their ideals, they made a conscious decision to sacrifice themselves for the rest of us, and that deserves recognition.

Like a Brick Upside the Head

I have been in dire straits; I have been trapped between the enemy and hell itself. I have looked into the eyes of men that wanted nothing more than my very own life. I know physical pain and mental anguish and having to make choices for the sole purpose of survival of the greater majority despite risking my own.  Now you might think I have cached quite a bit of knowledge, skill and bravery that would serve me appropriately in just about any situation going forward, well I am here to tell you that no matter the experiences a man may live through and the skills he has learned by them, there are still things in this world that will bring him to tears and fear at the drop of a hat.

I was married for 23 years and thought I knew what love was, what it entailed and what my future held, but in a matter of just a few of those years it all came to a fumbling, crashing and immensely sad end. People change throughout life and partners need to be in tune with each other in order to change with one another, otherwise their paths begin to lead away and separate. That’s not to say that their individual lives need always be connected at the hip, we are all different people but keeping connected even when we change though difficult at times is essential. When that doesn’t happen, and you lose sight of each other through the distance between your paths, it may be too late in the day and too hard to find your way back to close that expanse.

When that happened and I found myself waking up one day looking at someone I don’t recognize in the mirror, even though it felt like there was something ugly rotting away inside of me, logically I realized at some point that the pain would eventually subside and I’d be able to move on. But when it involves children things get really convoluted and messy. At that point it’s no longer about you but how you can move forward without destroying the lives and innocence of them. In my case my ex and I decided to base all of our decisions and relationship going forward on the needs of the kids despite sacrificing the marriage.

That is far easier said than done. Severing all emotional communication and sticking to the business aspect of the separation and divorce especially when neither of you is in a financial state that serves either of you appropriately is seemingly impossible. With the taste of bitterness and anger on my tongue and regret and shame in my pocket I tried to push on into the unknown and muddled future. But nearly every day I have to correspond with my ex, these days we text and email which is probably a good thing since for some God forsaken reason hearing a partner’s voice over the phone after 23 years is still hard to swallow. And even though there are valid reasons why we are divorced, reasons I held true to myself and my emotional survival, reasons I would still not change I can’t help but feel all fucked up inside at times when I see her, why is that the case, it hits me now and again like a brick upside the head. Just when I think I have it clear in my mind and I can deal with the interaction for the benefit of the kids, it’s always there to remind me of a love that I cherished for many years and I guess maybe you just can’t rid that from your heart no matter the reasons for its end.

So why can I rely on the training I received as a young soldier even today and my ability to determine danger ahead but when dealing with the fragments of a two decade old relationship I can’t see the impending menace as it circles me? It literally sucks the strength from my middle aged frame right through my pores. It washes through my mind like a creeping fog in a dark forest and I end up pulling shame over me like a thick robe. I get my kids every other weekend, but because I had to take a second job to pay for my own way since my ex gets the majority of my check I still have to work when I have them and on the day they leave they go before I come home from work. I find myself standing at the room in my apartment they have to share crying and feeling like someone just ripped a hole right through me. I enjoy them while they are there and feel devastated when they are away. And it just doesn’t seem to get any better.

It is all reminiscent of when I came back from overseas and I couldn’t complete simple tasks because I didn’t have to do them under fire. Today I make excuses to chat with them over the phone or through text and email, but I always feel like I’m trying to get back to them through a raging storm and I just can’t gain any ground.

I don’t know how much this admition to my blog will make sense to any of you, but I am gambling that there are many men and women soldiers and divorcees that can relate, sometimes I think tossing out a flag to see if we really are the only ones in the boat or not is part of our need to survive and connect. I am still early on in my journey through this, still trying to find my way through the pouring fear and wading through all the thick puddles of embarrassment and humiliation. But like any good soldier I will keep moving forward regardless of the weight of my pack.

Thanks for reading.

Today is a day to reflect

It’s a difficult thing to consider; the loss of a family after a divorce. The familial structure a man has been a part of for 22 years before it broke apart. You miss living with your children, not seeing them at breakfast before school, nor after work, and missing out on carrying their limp little bodies to bed after they’d fallen asleep in your lap. Knowing you won’t be there when they fall playing outside in the snow, and when they come home from school or cross country after besting their record time with a huge smile on their faces. And you aren’t there at dinner, when everyone prays aloud, then asking each other what the best part of their day was. You think of those things as you sit at a table with a bunch of empty chairs, it’s quiet and lonely.

When I got up this morning I looked out across the fresh snow in my yard and I didn’t see my nation’s Colors furling in the wind. I tried to picture standing in my old house while my children slept in their beds, looking out the front window at the garden wherein lies the flag pole I erected in the memory of my father and all those who’ve paid the definitive sacrifice. When I reflect on my own service, I remember thinking of my niece, my family, my wife, asleep in their beds back home as I cleared bunkers and shelled out buildings in South West Asia, I’d picture them dreaming good dreams as I clutched my rifle, praying that I would return home and could join them, hold my niece, and lie with my sleeping wife.  It’s a difficult thing to consider today, how many times I prayed I would return home, not to leave again, to be safe.

My heart aches for those whom didn’t get to come home to the arms of their loved ones. I feel for those left at home alone when their loved ones did not return. Today I stand here looking at an empty yard, my children someplace different, my wife no longer mine to hold. My world has changed and I will change with it, I will adapt and overcome. I will move on as I should, there will be more days spent with my children. But today is a day to reflect, and reflect I will. I will be sad. I will be hurt. I will remember and I will be proud.

Is it our job, is it our place?

I was sitting at the table in the cafeteria at work where a number of my co-workers and me enjoy conversation while we eat our sack lunches. Though it always seems too short it’s our only respite for the day. In the cafeteria in one corner there hangs a television which is almost always tuned to CNN. And on the scroll along the bottom of the screen are highlights of the trouble ensuing between the Iraqis’ and the fanatical IS militants.

As the conversation turns to Iraq, there are a number of folks at the table whom voice their steady opinion that we (Americans) shouldn’t be over there, that we ought to let them take care of each other and eventually we won’t have to worry about it. I believe that if my co-workers were able to let their machismo relax a little and actually think about their statement they’d see the fault in it. But that never seems to happen here, the conversation wells up and the energy turns critical and as it usually happens, being the only veteran at the table the looks and the question seems to land in my lap; “What do you think, should we go over there and kick some ass or should we just let them all duke it out?”

Now I doubt any one of the men at this table might actually “go over there and kick some ass…” if they’d be given the chance, and I don’t think those are our only choices either. And to be honest I don’t really think it is our business at the moment, however we have invested ourselves in that country the last twenty years and it would be a shame if we stepped out on them now, leaving them to the much more heavily armed IS. That being the case I explained to my co-horts that if I stood on my front porch at my home, looking out over the neighborhood and happened to watch as some small group of men pushed their way into one of my neighbors house, I could not ignore it. “What would be in it for you?” A co-worker blurted out. I looked at him and told him that I could stand there and watch those men take over my neighbor’s house and property, I could let them push my neighbor out into the street and I might even offer him my couch if he had no other place to go. I don’t really know him very well though; in fact I wouldn’t even say we were friends. And his property doesn’t butt up against mine; it’s at the end of the block, so I really have nothing to gain from it.

However, as the following days pass I feel a little less comfortable with allowing my children to play outside if I am not around. I close my garage door when I am not standing at it and make certain my doors and windows are secure, I mean you just never know right? The group of men who’ve pushed their way into my neighbor’s house have their right to believe what they want and it’s not my job to persecute them for it or for their behavior. I am not a cop and it’s not happened in my back yard. Then I began to think, If those men believed it OK to do what they did, might more men believe that that behavior is all right, what if more men like them come around and see that they can get away with the same behavior, might they not try the same thing to another neighbor of mine and eventually what is happening at the end of the street might now be happening next door?

Suddenly it appears that my very own home and property is at risk, my way of life is threatened by those men at the end of the block. And by the time they move to the house next door to mine there will be many of them. The tables will be turned and life as I know it will be in danger. It will be too late. The time for action will have passed long ago. What I might have gained or retained; peace of mind, a feeling of security, freedom to live as I have for so long will have been erased before I had a chance to preserve it. The time to have done something will have been apparently erased. And I begin to think that I should have done something when I first saw them enter my neighbor’s home. I should have gone knocking, when there weren’t as many of them, I would have gathered my friends and protected my neighbor, standing up to those men in the beginning. Sure they have a right to believe whatever they want to, but they can seek another place to practice their beliefs. And it’s not just about my home; it’s about having a conscience and heart, it’s about looking out for those whom are vulnerable, and showing those whom seek to take advantage of others that they will be opposed, that they cannot walk in and take what they want. It’s about preserving innocence and freedom.

The folks that the IS militants are persecuting over there; the Yazidis’ have been practicing their simple religion for over three thousand years. The militants speak of a belief and a religion they want to cover the region in is just a few months old and is being built upon the persecution of others and utter violence as retribution for non-belief. Yeah we have been there before haven’t we, and we will be there again. But as Americans we know the power and value of freedom, we know what it means to be persecuted after all that’s who we are, the down trodden, the persecuted and the banished from around the world. We have built a life for ourselves here and for those seeking solace and comfort. No it’s not our job to take care of the rest of the world. But it is our duty as Americans to stand up for the little guy, for those who can’t stand up for themselves. That’s what I believe. That’s what I stand for.

It’s not a job for everyone, that’s why we volunteer, that’s why we don’t require every girl and boy to serve. It’s your right to protest, it’s your right to hope and pray and wish for peace. And it’s our job as American soldiers to step in and confront the bullies and eliminate those forces that threaten our way of life here and abroad, and by doing so, giving peace a chance to grow. When we have protected our shores then those who choose to carry a more passive torch, can step up and feed the hungry, pray with the needy and bandage the hurt. And together we can hope to make our world a better place for everybody.