Tag: Family

Let No One Sit Alone

On By eternalflight2019In Strongest Generation, Veteran Voices6 Comments

Shoulders slightly hunched, grey slacks, a simple button-down shirt, and a face hidden by a mask. One lone voice danced with the solitary music of a piano, so crisp compared to the many voices of a choir. The sunlight held him, softened by its journey through the stained glass windows that surrounded the sanctuary. He sat alone in the pew.

For the first time since March 2020, our family attend Mass in-person. The service looked different with masks and many of the pews roped-off. But what I felt was profound, soul-gripping, and tangible. I felt the power of the Church — a community joined by Faith.

I’ve sat alone before.

Looking at that man across the aisle, I was reminded of times when I sat alone in Church. We met in a wooden hut when I was stationed in Honduras. In Iraq, it was a trailer and in Afghanistan, a dusty, green tent. Often, there was no priest, so we simply gathered to pray. Rank fell away, the mission stopped, and what was left was us — no longer alone.

Loneliness is hard to count.

We are reminded many times each day to give 6 feet, but I wonder how many people are painfully aware of just how far that distance is. We will not see a number scrolling across the bottom of our TV screen. There will be no positivity rate, testing center, or quantifiable metric to track. What does it mean to “quarantine,” to the man who already sits alone?

I am thankful for community.

This Thanksgiving, I am thankful that I have not been alone. Since March, it has been hard to say if I have ever been alone. There are no quiet places in a house with small children. We work, educate, play, and live within the walls of our home. I have complained about many things since March 2020, but never about being alone.

Community is family.

Over the last year, my definition of family expanded to more than my relatives. This year, family became those with whom I’ve weathered the COVID storm. We met on walks, under trees, on porches, and in driveways. Just like when I was deployed, the places we met became our sacred Church. And the spiritual power, came from the people gathered rather than the place.

As we celebrate our meal this week, there will likely be many changes. But space and place are no barrier to love. It could be just a waive. Perhaps a quick text or email. Or even a beer on a back porch.

This Thanksgiving, let’s all find the man alone in the pew.

Sharing Our Best with America

On By eternalflight2019In Strongest Generation, Veteran VoicesLeave a comment

Grinning youthful faces, covered in dust, wearing sunglasses, armed…

My social media fills with memories on Veterans Day when my friends and family uploaded pictures. The pictures take me way back — to places with sand, rooms made of plywood, and the howl of a UH60 main transmission. We lived for hot meals and real eggs. We went on missions that bored us, then scared us, then bored us again. We worked out a lot.  We played video games. We had some heavy days…

Decades later, the faces on my phone, remind me of the joy I had living, and serving with America’s very best.

On Veterans Day, my family or non-Veteran friends will often thank me for my service. I usually find this awkward, and mumble some response while walking away as fast as possible. How could they be thanking me? These were some of the most awesome years of my life. The grimy, grinning faces on my phone fill my soul with as much love as my kids’ baby pictures or photos from my wedding day.

Thank you America – you gave us the very best!

This year on Veterans Day, it can be hard to find joy in America. Anxiety and apprehension weight the air like humidity on a summer afternoon. Wounds of division remain raw. Neighbors, friends, and family are than more likely to tell negative stories, lament case counts, and opine about lock-downs.

The eyes always to the phones…

On one single day — Veterans Day — images of smiling youthful faces drowned out the dismal social media feed in my hands. Those dusty smiles reminded me of my incredible military family. These men and women were at war – yet still they smiled. Buoyed by their strength, I raised my eyes and moved forward.

Each face has a story.

Our Veteran stories open a window to a world where we pushed the dark of war away with love and laughter. We had belly-splitting laughs, epic missions, and a few days of deep sorrow. Swipe by swipe, the faces gave me the strength to pull away from consuming negativity — using memories of a time when America’s very best came together during the very worst.

Share America’s best with America.

This year, I vow to change the message on Veterans Day. Rather than awkwardly slinking away when a stranger says “thank you for your service” – I will share the best of America with America. That stranger just gave me an opening to change the narrative of the day. Some stories are here on Veteran’s Voices but there are many more. As a Veteran community, we have seen the very best of America. Let’s share that with America.

Statue in the image: Prince of Swords, Nicole Eisenman (2013), Carnegie Museum of Art Pittsburg PA

Extended

On By eternalflight2019In Strongest Generation, Veteran Voices1 Comment

I expected it would happen…but held out hope that it wouldn’t.

In 2007, when I was getting on a plane to Iraq for my first deployment, the US military was in a surge. It was in the news. It was all we talked about. Everyone in our unit knew of units that had been extended. The unit we were to replace was finishing up 3 extra months in country, making their 12 month deployment 15 months.

I expected it to happen but hoped—by some miracle, or oversight—that our little unit would slip through the cracks and just do 12 months.

I got my extension notice within 24 hours of setting foot in Iraq.

Today, I again feel like I am getting on a plane and hoping for the best. As COVID cases increase across the Country, I get that feeling that timelines are about to shift on me again. I thought I had a general idea of when things would end and I could get back to normal. Maybe my timeline was linked to the seasons, or school schedules, or the holidays…but as I sit trying to make plans for Thanksgiving and Christmas, I start to wonder if my deployment is about to be extended.

How long will this last…

It is easy to focus on all the things I am missing. Deployed to Iraq, I missed weddings, reunions, ski trips, and going out on the weekend. Every day felt like the one before and like the one after. My life was on pause and everyone else was moving one without me.

The timeline isn’t mine.

As 2020 starts to look like 2021, it’s easy to focus on the bad news of what could come. I can refresh my news feeds, flip the channels, or frantically pour through dashboard data. I can look to other cities, states, and countries to try to see what could be next. I piece together stories, charts, and maps – all in an effort to project when this will end.

Bring on the extension.

Unlike Iraq, the COVID deployment won’t take me away from my family, into a foreign country, or expose me to war. I watch movies with my husband, play with the kids, and call my mom every single day. I go to Costco, get meals delivered to my door, and explore the natural beauty of our Country through some incredible parks.

If 2021 brings more time with my family; if I can sit under a tree, watch the leaves fall, and have a beer; if back deck dinners are becoming fire pit evenings…than maybe deployment isn’t all that bad.

Behind the Door

On By eternalflight2019In Strongest Generation, Veteran Voices2 Comments

I stood in front of the door because I could not bring myself to go in. School doors are locked to protect the children, but it wasn’t the lock that was holding me back. I’d picked up my kids through this door countless times before today. To my left, a box with the intercom button that would buzz me right in. I was unable to press the button.

How do I go through this door? How do I tell them?

The kids knew the second they saw me. Picking up children from school is usually a flurry of bags and coats and art projects. But once the tornado of construction paper and backpacks slowed — they knew. The teachers could tell something was up too. All eyes turned to me, to us, and watched.

It was probably my eyes that gave it away. It is always the eyes.

We walked 20 feet to a bench just outside the doors of the school and sat down. I told them the facts of what had happened. Unlike the movies, there was no wailing or screaming or even questions. Their tears were so quiet, silently falling on the red bricks at our feet. One question came…

What do we do now?

We drove to the hospital to see Dad. As we walked inside, I was thrown back to the events of the morning — entering a hospital I’d driven by a hundred times but never been inside. Wondering what I would hear when the ER doctor emerged. Bracing as he pulled the curtain back.

Later, with my children, the automatic doors opened and unfamiliar lobby space reminded me, again, that I did not know what I’d find upstairs. My wounded family entered this foreign land, which was far more terrifying than any battle or war I’ve ever fought.

We must walk through the door.

This week, we had more frustrations thanks to the COVID pandemic. What upset me most today, was again bringing bad news to the kids. I braced for the disappointment I’d become familiar with seeing in their eyes. Explaining why our neighbors crossed to the other side of the street rather than say “Hi,” as tears of confusion and hurt fell. Birthdays that would be celebrated without friends, mourned with silent tears. When the tiny screen of what has become school, ruthlessly closes on the world they left behind and little hearts break all over again.

I have to break their hearts again.

This morning, I again delivered a message of disappointment thanks to COVID. I braced. But this time — nothing— they simply asked, “What’s next.”

We chose to move forward with our typical COVID day — some school, gardening, art, and riding bikes. The future changed again, but today had not. As the kids logged into school and resumed their work, I realized that they had just walked through a door.

Thinking back to the hospital many years ago, I remember guiding them to the elevator and up to Dad’s room. We did not linger outside the door. We walked in to face what was the most terrible unknown a child could face. Dad was hurt badly. It was scary. But Dad got better and eventually, he walked through the door of our home again.

Each day threatens to bring a new change or new challenge. It is paralyzing to wait for the unknown to happen. I don’t try to predict or anticipate what is to come from COVID anymore. There will be more doors ahead and I will have to decide to walk through. But we have walked through some pretty terrible doors already, touched the face of despair, and found our joy once again. When I look into the eyes of my children, I know I am strong enough to lead them through whatever happens. And they are strong enough to follow.

Photo Credit: Dad

Finding Our Stride

On By eternalflight2019In Strongest Generation, Veteran VoicesLeave a comment

The first month of deployment felt like running the 100-yd dash — in boots. For 18-hours a day, I went non-stop, fueled by coffee and energy drinks. My unit was busy inventorying gear, getting familiar with our mission, flying orientation flights, and doing last minute training. We held a daily update brief on the status of our critical tasks as we prepared to conduct a transfer of authority with the unit we were replacing.

A big change from home-life to deployed-life was that there were no cars. Where I used to drive from my hangar to meetings at battalion, I now found myself sprinting multiple times a day to the TOC. We had one van but it was usually fetching supplies or being used to coordinate inventories. Some of the bigger bases had bus routes, but the buses smelled like a high school locker room and broke down all the time.

On deployment, I walked everywhere and I walked fast.

After about 30 days, things started to slow down. The daily battle update briefings went to probably half the participants and were over in 30 minutes. In another month, the briefing would be held once a week with people only dialing-in if they needed something. Inventories became less frequent, soldiers starting working shifts, and I found myself walking to the gym as frequently as I walked to the TOC.

I was finding my stride.

My family has been through the “first 30 days” of our COVID deployment. Today feels a little more like yesterday and tomorrow doesn’t seem as scary. We try to keep a daily schedule, but we make allowances for an impromptu snuggle or the moments when someone just needs a little space. We’ve figured out how to have virtual workouts, playdates, happy hours, or anything else we used to do in person. My husband and I even have hand-and-arm signals to indicate “on a call” or not.

My household is finding its stride.

America will find its stride too. Changes to our lives that came rapidly, now seem to be a little more spread out. We are still watching the news but no longer glued to our TVs. We are putting our phones down and starting to pick up books. We still watch Netflix at night, but not every night. America is catching its breath, slowing down, and finding its stride.

Veteran Voices: Make it to Chow

On By eternalflight2019In Veteran VoicesLeave a comment

455 days deployed in Iraq. Single parenting for months while my spouse was deployed. 8 weeks of Beast Barracks wondering why I signed-up for this while all my friends spent their summers partying.

My military experiences were not very difficult nor really all that unique. We all went through a basic training, attended a few hard schools, went on really long deployments, and then I even got to experience deployment again as a spouse. There were always times when the stress seemed like it would never end. I often thought I would never get through it. The time to the end seemed overwhelmingly big and far away.

A big world is a terrifying world.

COVID makes my world big again. Fear, uncertainty, and non-stop changes to my daily routine threaten to unseat me at each day. Taking a walk, getting groceries, or chatting with a neighbor from a distance, now bring about thoughts of fear or even shame. School, work, fitness – every part of daily life has moved online. My world feels like it is moving further away from everything I knew and the people I depended on when times got tough.

“Make it to chow.”

That is what I used to say to myself during Beast Barracks or at a really hard school. I knew that the cadre had to feed me. If I could just make it to chow, then I wouldn’t quit. During deployment, hot chow was something to look forward to during the endless days. Midnight chow is still the greatest meal of all time. When life was busy with my spouse deployed, meals became a time to for my family put down our hectic day — catch our breath — and listen to each other.

Meals kept my world small when it felt too big.

The world is getting pretty big again. Any illusion of planning for future events seems futile. Those things we use to mark our days such as school, work, sports, and parties are all gone. The support I didn’t know I needed from parents, teachers, and coworkers has evaporated. I cannot even travel to see my family or dearest of friends.

If we can make it to chow, we will be alright.

Each day, my family needs to eat. My kids are probably not going to always like what we cook. We will certainly spill some milk. But multiple times a day, we now get the chance to sit, stop, and listen over a shared meal. In these few minutes together, we share our joy and our fears. And the world gets a little bit smaller.

With meals, we can use love to close the gap between social distance and fear.

I have no idea when this will end. But that is okay because today, I will just focus on making it to chow.

Veteran Voices: Shared Bunkers

On By eternalflight2019In Veteran VoicesLeave a comment

The nighttime dash to the concrete bunker was a blur. The alarms were new to me, so I woke confused. I think I put on socks. I figured real shoes would be better than flip flops. Then I had to find the nearest bunker — my path frustratingly blocked by some ill-placed stairs. I was in the bunker probably within a minute of hearing the alarm.

Once inside, I half-sat/half-squatted with my back against the cold concrete. I was wearing every single piece of body armor issued to me. Nape strap, deltoid protectors, groin protector – even had my side plates in. I was so new that my chin strap smelled pretty fresh and my helmet fit tightly.

How long will it be like this?

Should call my call or text my husband? What do I do if we get hit? Will I be able to help someone else? Will they overrun the base? Will I feel it? Will I hear it coming? Then looked at the guy at the end of the bunker.

He was in a bathrobe, smoking a cigarette.

What the hell was he thinking! What kind of example was he being for all the young soldiers in here? If we get hit, we will need this guy as part of our fighting force. If we get overrun – and where the hell was his weapon!

Reckless, lazy, complacent….

As an officer, I needed to order this selfish Soldier to get it together. He needed to be better! In that bunker, I vowed, after this all calmed down, to find out his name and unit, order him to wear his body armor, track down his weapon, and have a talk with his first sergeant!

We are all in a bunker. Getting bombed. Together.

Bathrobe guy was here, in Afghanistan, hiding in a shitty concrete bunker, sitting on a chunk of rock just like me. He must be afraid, even if he looked casual. I started to ask myself some questions. How did he get this way? How long had he been here? Was he even a Soldier—or was he media or a contractor?

Living in fear is exhausting.

It starts with your sleep. Illusive, restless, and soon what was sleep just becomes dozing. Turns out, you can live on very little sleep. Then you struggle to be awake. I became hyper-aware of everything. I watched for signs of what could come – vainly struggling to find hints of the threat unseen but always present.

Living in fear is not sustainable.

I am afraid of COIVD-19. We all are. I am afraid of what could happen. I am afraid for the future — tomorrow, next week, next month…when will it end? These fears are shared across our country, but play out differently in the corners of our minds.

Fear is not unique, but it is personalized.

I am afraid for my family and friends. I am concerned about the economy, school, jobs, where I will get groceries, what happens if my kid gets strep throat, and how will I sustain our current routine? As I lay down and struggle to sleep, COVID-19 haunts my thoughts in all the unique ways my family is impacted.

We share the bunker.

Some of us will put on body armor. Some will smoke cigarettes in a bathrobe. All of us are afraid. Rather than yelling the man in the bathrobe or mocking the person in body armor, let’s try to see each other. I face the same threat you do. I sit here, waiting for the COVID mortar round to strike, hiding in my bunker, and wondering what will happen next.

I see your fear and I get it.

Today, I vow to look into the eyes of those walking down the sidewalk, with their heads down because they fear the virus will pass with a look. I will waive to the elderly man in the mask who crosses the street when he sees me because his fear is fatal — yet he just wants to hear the birds and feel the sun. I will waive to the exhausted parent herding a group of kids on bikes while wondering how to work from home and teach elementary school at the same time.

We share the bunker.