Fighting Fear

I've had a post percolating in my head for days, but something else has grabbed my attention, and I feel an overwhelming need to share it. Thus, the original post will come within the next few days, I expect.

My husband was in the military. He joined about eight months after we got married, and he loved it more than I could ever explain; probably more than I could ever even understand. It had been his dream to serve since he was about five years old, thanks to a long family history of valiant service and an almost obsessive love of military history (and worshipful admiration of WWII paratroops). My love has had his share of health problems in his life, and successful entrance into the military was certainly never guaranteed, and, in fact, when it finally did happen it seemed almost surprising, probably because our inner pessimists took over and assumed that, given our questionable luck, it would never work out. But, luckily, it did, and it led to a time in our lives that was equal parts bliss and torture. We were apart so much, obviously, which was so painful, especially when I would have my inevitable health crises and often land in the hospital, with no way for my husband to be near me. In some ways I think that was harder for him than for me - I am truly blessed in how much my husband loves me and wants to protect me and take care of me - since he felt absolutely powerless. Before, every hospital stay included him sleeping in a chair or sofa in my hospital room with me, sometimes for weeks at a time. His sudden absence was definitely jarring for both of us.

Even so, he gave me so much hope: hope that things can work out the way you dream they will, hope that maybe there are enough good people and things in this world to make a difference. I had peace in my heart knowing that he was doing the one thing he really wanted to do, and that he was there for all of the right reasons. We certainly aren't always politically aligned with the administration in power or the conflicts or assignments that our military faces, but my husband was there because he wanted to do whatever he could to give back to the country that gave him so much, and to keep me and the rest of his family (and really the rest of the country) safe. These reasons seem trite, idealistic, and naive now that I'm typing them out, but they're true, and even after some of his "bubbles" about the military have been burst, he still feels the same way. Being the long-time peace-nik that I am, I broached ideas of serving in a different way - working for an NGO, teaching, joining the foreign service, etc., but DH taught me that just as I had always dreamed of serving by working for an NGO, this was his dream. It didn't have anything to do with violence or war, but instead with love of his country and a desire to help others. The more I got to know him, the more I knew that this particular path was right for him, and I knew that I had to put my own reservations aside.

His job was one with a relatively high casualty rate; not the most dangerous but definitely not the least, either, and I confess that I worried every second of every day. For the most part I still functioned quite well, but if you looked closely at my life you would have seen me avoiding shows with military content, and especially anything relating to funerals. I had nightmares of him being taken away from me, and once I really got worked up, it took an eternity for me to calm down again. And of course, as any military spouse knows, you basically have to just deal with those fears yourself - your main job is to stay positive and supportive for your soldier.

Recently, though, my beloved husband suffered an injury that made him incompatible with the demands of military life, at least in the eyes of the powers-that-be. So he came home, grateful for the chance to serve, but heartbroken at the loss of that service, and feeling completely aimless. One would think that this would have ended my fears about losing him, but somehow, they haven't quite gone away. In addition to the absolute heartache I feel knowing that he's in pain, I still can't watch anything resembling a military funeral, and newspaper articles about military widows are enough to send me into uncontrollable fits of sobbing and hyperventilation. Somehow, this fear has gotten inside of my heart, and while my mind knows that he's home and he's safe, my heart hasn't quite gotten the message. And I would really like it to.

There's an HBO film coming out in about a week called "Taking Chance," a true story of a Marine Corps officer who volunteered to escort a fallen PFC on his final journey home. My dear husband called me into our office this afternoon, with tears in his eyes, and asked me to watch the trailer for this film. The result was predictable - both of us dissolved into puddles of tears. I don't know if I'm ready, if I'm able, really, to watch something like this yet, but I would like to be able to. I would like to continue to honor the unbelievable people who serve, and their phenomenal families, by, if nothing else, bearing witness to their pain, and offering up another voice into the chorus of support. I would like to do that much, at the very least. Someday I hope these wounds will heal; as our charming First Lady has done I would love to make the needs of military families and veterans my priorities, but I know that I can't, not yet. It's still too real, and too raw, and it still feels too much like looking into the face of a fate that I escaped by the width of my pinkie. I feel guilty, too, guilty that there are so many women being asked to suffer the unspeakable, when I have the one that I love right here next to me, safe and sound.

For now all I can do is this: hold my own veteran close and make him understand how much I appreciate everything he has done, and offer up my silent prayers for the safety and peace of everyone still serving.

In another HBO film (or miniseries, really), "Band of Brothers" (which happens to be DH's favorite film of all time), a German general who is surrendering gives a speech to his men, which is translated as such by one of the American paratroops:

"Men, it's been a long war, it's been a tough war. You've fought bravely, proudly, for your country. You're a special group. You've found in one another a bond that exists only in combat, among brothers. You've shared foxholes, held each other in dire moments. You've seen death and suffered together. I'm proud to have served with each and every one of you. You all deserve long and happy lives in peace."

These words could apply to absolutely any soldier, from any country, in any era, and I cannot think of a better way to explain the sacrifice these men and women make. After a career of war and fighting, I can't think of anything better to pray for for these wonderful people than peace.