As a military wife, I used to think I understood the fear that accompanies troop deployments to the war zones.
My life is filled with the faces of those on whom that fear has left its mark. Sometimes it’s etched deeply in lines of new worries furrowing the anxious brows of those recently promoted to command. Other times, it’s a faint quavering tinge in the intrepid voice speaking of duty, honor and country. It’s the wistful shine in a soldier’s glance westward toward the mainland, toward home, as the notes of Retreat marking the day’s end hover in the air. It’s the uncertain wiggling of a child’s pudgy fingers reaching for a parent’s hand as crowded personnel transport vehicles rumble past.
Every morning when I drive my son to preschool on the Marine Corps base, the guards at the front gate stand waiting, rain or shine, their thousand-yard stares examining the oncoming line of cars. They look so young. I wonder how their slender shoulders can bear the weight of the guns they carry. How can a grown man’s courage be trapped in the body of a boy barely old enough to shave? They snap a salute as I pass, but the firm resolve on their smooth-skinned jaws refuses to admit the fear hovering in the depths of their eyes.
I walk my little boy into his classroom and kiss his soft cheek, then he runs off to join his classmates for story time. I hope by the time they are grown there are no more gates needing guards.
In the Commissary, mothers push infants propped in the grocery cart’s seat while another child or two wanders in their wake. Maternal, yet warriors in their own right, they speak in gently nurturing voices at odds with the grim, haunted pinch of their lips. Laden with diapers, cereal bars and juice boxes, their carts are filled with their private burden of fear, the fact they wrestle with so their children won’t have to: Daddy’s not coming home, and nobody knows if — or when — he is.
Although I smile, I can’t look in their eyes as I creep past. My cart is filled with the steaks my husband wants for dinner, and my heart is filled with the comfort of knowing he’ll be home to enjoy them. It’s a strange guilt, being married to a soldier who is home while so many others are not. Sometimes, I wonder whether if he ever feels the same odd guilt, too, but I’ll never ask. I’m afraid that merely speaking of it would set in motion a chain of events that would call him away.
Six months ago, I sat with my husband and his best friend, Tony, while they talked about people they knew in common who’d been sent to Iraq. As both are Army officers solidly in their forties, relief mixed with guilt and colored the edges of their conversation. I thought nothing of it at the time, content to believe my husband’s assurance that his duty position and rank would most likely preclude deployment. I reasoned that the same held true for Tony as well. I should have known better.
We’ve known Tony almost as long as we’ve been married. That entire time, he and my husband shared an office and taught at CGSC and for years, their duties required travelling around the country to train various combat brigades. My daughter played with his sons when we got together for a Saturday BBQ. At my husband’s promotion ceremony it was Tony — who’d been promoted two months earlier — who read the orders. At the party afterward, Tony surprised us all by having their C.O. read orders promoting me… with moment of rank. When our son was born, Tony’s wife was the only person we trusted to watch our baby and it is to her I turned most often for parenting advice. My husband, who has two sisters, had always wanted a brother. He found what he was looking for in Tony. When we moved to Hawaii, Tony and his wife remained in Kansas. Being near them again is one of the reasons we’re moving back.
But Tony won’t be there when we arrive. Tony has been deployed to Iraq. Six months ago, both his and my husband’s retirements seemed imminent, and we talked about deployments like something that happened only to other people. Tony confessed a slight envy that at least soldiers fighting in the war will know they’ve done what soldiers are trained to do. There’s no way to decipher that for non-military folks — it barely makes sense to me. To their fellow soldiers it’s perfectly understandable. Theirs is a warrior’s creed, and warriors are trained for war.
Tony is a warrior now.
I have always known that the fear accompanying deployment is dwarfed by the valor of those who, like the young guards at the gate, greet it with a thousand-yard stare. Tony has valour. But I didn’t get to tell him these things before he left. I didn’t get the chance to tell him “goodbye, I’ll see you soon,” and I pray that I’m granted the chance to see him sitting with my husband again, the two of them talking over cold beers. I hope Tony keeps his head down and I wish him a safe, swift return home.
Please join me in wishing him Godspeed.
Friday, November 5th, 2004, 8:02 pm | 
My Venomous Life | 
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November 6, 2004 at 4:24 am
Having been on the C130 leaving the country, I can tell you the heartpounding that goes on, wondering if you’ll make it home ok…
Once the bird is in the air, your jaw sets firm, your heart hardens, and the thought goes through your head, “Mark this day off”. That’s how you get through it.
Every night when he crawls into his cot, he’ll think something similar to “Mark this day off”. It’s the only way to get through it. Each day marked off is one day closer to home.
We’ll all pray for him, and all the others too.
Mark this day off.
Madame Butterly
November 6, 2004 at 3:27 am
along with the thanks of another grateful American, Godspeed.
November 6, 2004 at 7:57 am
I’m sure Tony would be honored to read that…and likely emotional. ; )
Beautiful job. Godspeed Tony.
November 6, 2004 at 8:32 am
Tony: my prayers go with you.
November 6, 2004 at 9:37 am
Well Said, Ms. Kate!
November 6, 2004 at 2:39 pm
I think Rammer said it best. My prayers go out to him, his family, and you that he comes through this safely.
November 6, 2004 at 7:51 pm
A tear just coursed down my right cheek. For the 1st Gulf War I saw 128 of my soldiers off. But I was not among them. We trained for this. Sweated for this. Laughed and talk of this but I did not go and when they did go not one of them or their families were laughing but I did not go. I was their Top but I did not go. People, well meaning people, ask me, ” When are you going Top?” My duffles were packed but I did not go. They ask and smiled and showed concern, but I did not go. Finally I ask, no I told them, don’t ask me again!
I never did go. I got them all back with all their fingers and toes. I knew that war was not a good thing but I felt some how left out.
I know that stare. I know that feeling. I know that wait. God speed Tony. Top (ret)
November 7, 2004 at 6:10 am
Wow, Kate. Thanks for such a touching piece. Like you, I spent my years as a military wife half guilty with the knowledge that others were away while my husband was safe, and we have so many friends deployed right now. I wish I could write half such a touching tribute to them and their courage. Well said.
November 7, 2004 at 10:33 am
Godspeed Tony.
November 7, 2004 at 4:49 pm
Thanks for your story and thank you for the sacrifices you make for the rest of us! PTH
November 8, 2004 at 12:03 am
It is only since my retirement that this feeling you so aptly describe has struck me. I call friends and learn which units have rotated over or back, and hope for the best. This is almost harder than being deployed.
Sapper Mike
November 8, 2004 at 4:34 am
Beautifully written, Kate. Godspeed to Tony and so many others.
November 8, 2004 at 9:22 am
Godspeed indeed. Godspeed Tony and the rest of our soldiers.
November 8, 2004 at 11:34 am
An excellent post, Kate. When I was a year older than your son, my father left for WW II and was gone for 4 years. I still have a V-Mail he sent to me. At the time I was too young to understand but today I remember mom’s long walks and depression.
My own Service was ’60-’62 before the Vietnam buildup. I do remember students trying to “get into” the Guard and being told there was no room. When I can I visit The Wall, but can’t read the names.
During the first Gulf War, my niece, now a Major was with a Patriot battery in Germany and was on alert causing my sister no end of concern. She and her Lt Col husband have not been sent this time, but we all wonder when their time will come.
Yes, I think I understand your feelings. I will always remember my niece, striking in her uniform, finding me at the ’87 Army-Rutgers game at the Meadowlands in NJ, even thou I was not sitting in the right seats on the 40 with the Commandant.
You will see Tony again. In fact I will say a prayer for him.
November 8, 2004 at 12:01 pm
A touching tribute to friendship, duty, honor. Well done, Kate.
November 9, 2004 at 4:55 am
Damn Kate that was beautiful. I retired frmo active duty last year, I sent your post to my wife thta I married 2 weeks before I retired so that she might get a small understanding of some of the emotions military members and their families feel. Thanks again, Scott Nickell, LCDR, USN(Ret)
November 9, 2004 at 6:09 am
Kate, I posted a comment yesterday, but either I screwed it up or you decided to pull it (your prerogative, absolutely.) Either way, I just want to reiterate my thanks to you for so eloquently putting into words what most military spouses already know and moset non-military family members can never even come close to imagining. Well done.
November 9, 2004 at 4:20 pm
As a fellow military wife and another Kate I felt you were speaking for me. I know that salute with stone-stare at the gate, comparing the contents of my shopping cart with the other wives to see who’s deployed and who’s not, that sad guilt… but most especially when you said you wouldn’t ask your husband about his guilt for fear that it might bring about events to erase that guilt.
Today I have a lighted candle next to our Marine Corps flag for what I thought was to keep in mind the souls of those warriors, but maybe it was for that guilty feeling I just can’t shake. Don’t forget to pray for our sisters, who might not get the chance to live with that guilt any longer.
Thanks kate,
kate
November 10, 2004 at 6:03 am
My prayers are with Tony, his family and the thousands like them doing their duty, however hard. Great post Kate, and hopefully Tony will join you shortly on the good side of the Missouri River.
November 10, 2004 at 7:52 am
What a beautifully written post. I will most definitely keep Tony as well as the other troops in my thoughts and prayers.
November 10, 2004 at 8:37 pm
I almost left without commenting as I don’t think I can put into words what your writings have touched in me. I’m also a military wife~my husband is ARMY, been in for 17 years. Right now we’re on Recruiting Duty and it’s the worst………or is it? A part of the guily factor that goes on in my head. I was in the ARMY during Desert Shield and Desert Storm as was my husband. He’s a soldier not a salesman and this Recruiting has taken a toll on his soul and his face. I know he feel’s the guilt too~the guilt of loving his family so much yet wanting to be over in Iraq with *his soldiers* because he iis a soldier and feels this is his job. Yet he goes to work every day and he gives his all and he busts his ass, he’s good at and get’s the job done…………but it’s not enough and I can see it on his face and in his heart. Those who are not military don’t *get it.* They think I’ve lost my mind and look at my husband like he’s lost his also.
This is the first time that I have been one of the wives who has their husband’s home with them. Any other time there was a deployment he was gone. I’m fotunate in one way~we live in the civilian world…..I’m not around a military base so I can avoid the *in your face* guilt feelings. But they are there. Everytime I turn on the news and see a soldier in uniform holding a weapon standing in the desert or the streets of a city in Iraq…………..I feel it, I feel the worry and I feel the guilt because my first thought is~I can’t wait until my husband get’s home tonight so I can hug him………but you know, I can’t imagine my life any other way. I am an ARMY veteran and an ARMY wife. This is my life. Reading your entry about Tony brought tears to my eyes and tugged at my heart. Godspeed Tony~your homecoming is going to be a special one I am sure!
November 11, 2004 at 2:51 pm
I pray for Tony a warrior’s safe return. I pray that his experiences are rewarding and I pray for you and your husband peace of mind that Tony is getting to do something he wanted to. I would like to sincerely thank Tony and your husband for their service to our great nation. The brotherhood built in the military is something to truly envy. My nephew is in the USAF, just returned from 2nd tour in Iraq. He has met so many wonderful military men and women – all with the common core of decency and respect. Many are glad to call him friend and brother. The wealth of support he has is phenomenal. I’m sure Tony and your husband experience the same. May God Bless and God Speed Tony safely home.
November 12, 2004 at 11:23 am
Allen- I’m glad my Dad isn’t the only one who can visit The Wall but can’t read the names. My parents were driving me to Michigan this past August (my husband and our two boys were already there), when we happened across an airport where the travelling Wall was on display. I BEGGED him to turn around to go see it. He turned around, pulled in, parked, got out of the car- but couldn’t get any farther than the tent out front. I didn’t know any of the names on the Wall, but it brought tears to my eyes to see those who did know the names knealing and crying in front of them. I asked Mom where Dad was- I didn’t even realize he had stopped. She pointed him out, sitting by himself under the tent. I didn’t know what to say. I’ve never seen him like that before- had no idea he would react that way to seeing the miniaturized version of the Wall. It was an amazing sight, all of those names etched in granite. It was so quiet and yet screamed a thousand unheard voices- eery.
Kate, your post was extremely well-written. I fully understand the guilt factor, but from a slightly different angle. I’m in Red Cross, and whenever there’s a big hurricane or flood or tornado or the whole 9/11 response, I feel guilty about not being there. When I go, and then am on the way back home, I feel even more guilty because the job usually isn’t done yet when I leave. It is a strange feeling, one that cannot be explained or understood unless you’ve had the same experience. Mine is on a smaller scale, though, since I’m not putting my life on the line when I get deployed with Red Cross, nor am I gone for the 6-12 months that military folks are. I can only imagine how that would magnify the feeling. My prayers are with you all- deployed or not.
November 12, 2004 at 2:38 pm
Y’know I’m not sure how I stumbled across this site, but I’ve been lurking about since then, mainly intrigued by your lifestyle, the wonderful way you turn a phrase and the hope that there would be further mention of your attributes. However, this is something I never expected. What a brilliant piece of writing. Thank you.
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