Carpenter - One army wifes tale

One Army Wife'sTale

By Jenn Carpenter

Copyright 2012 JennCarpenter

SmashwordsEdition

Smashwords Edition License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personalenjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away toother people. If you would like to share this book with anotherperson, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Ifyoure reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was notpurchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.comand purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard workof this author.

~~~~~~~~

For My Husband

To Infinity AndBeyond ....

~~~~~~~~

And now these three remain:faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these islove.

(1 Corinthians13:13)

~~~~~~~~

~One Army WifesTale~

Table of Contents

Prologue

Despite what movies, books and television havebeen telling us for years, there is nothing romantic about a womansending her husband off to war. I know, because I did it. Sure, theletters from the other side of the world and the flowers he ordersoverseas and has delivered to you at work 'just because' arewonderful. But they don't make up for all the nights alone, tearscried, or time lost. The post-deployment reunion between a soldierand his family is a beautiful thing, don't get me wrong, but itdoesn't erase the pain of the heartbreaking goodbye andexcruciating months apart that precede it.

I had no idea what to expect when Imarried the man of my dreams just two months before he left forIraq, but what I did know was that it was going to be one of themost difficult challenges I'd ever faced. And it was. There weredays that I was sure he wasn't going to make it home alive, andnights when I worried that even if he did survive, our marriagewouldn't.

This is the true story of my life asthe wife of a deployed United States Soldier, told through excerptsfrom the daily deployment journal I kept while he was away. Ifyou're reading this looking for answers, I don't have them. Ifyou're worried about your soldier's upcoming deployment and lookingfor someone to tell you it's all going to be okay, I can't. Becauseit isn't. It's going to be awful. But what I can tell you is this:There is no right or wrong way to get through a deployment. It's aconstant grieving process, and it's something everyone handlesdifferently. During my husband's deployment, I saw some marriagesgrow stronger while others fell apart. Some of the wives seemed tohandle things relatively well, while others, like me, foundthemselves on the verge of insanity.

At the beginning of a deployment,people will tell you that the first couple weeks are the hardest,and then it gets easier. They'll tell you that the time will passfaster than you think. None of that's true. At least, it wasn't forme. I worried every day. I cried every day. I hardly slept duringthe entire six months that my husband was deployed, and I stillhave nightmares about him being in Iraq. No matter how much otherstry to downplay it, war is war. And it leaves its scars on everyoneit touches, be they physical or emotional.

There are hundreds of thousands ofactive duty military families in our country today. Hundreds ofthousands of incredible stories to be told. This ismine.

And So It Begins

So this is it. The dayI've been dreading for months. This morning I woke up to theknowledge that my husband is in another country, one he'll be infor the next 365-ish days. And not a fun country like Greece orItaly or France or any of the other hundreds of places I've neverbeen. He's in Iraq. Or maybe still on his way to Iraq. I'm notreally sure which. I haven't talked to him since just before aplane chartered by the United States Army to transport him andhundreds of other soldiers overseas left the country lastnight.

I know I'm not alone. Since thebeginning of our nation's history, men and women have been leavingtheir families to go fight for our country's freedom, othercountries' freedom, and whatever else our government has seen fitto have our troops fight for. But right now, lying in our big emptybed with my cell phone in one hand and my husband's favoritet-shirt, which still smells like him, in the other, I feelcompletely alone. A thousand miles away, I know there are hundredsof other wives waking up this morning with the same ache in theirchests, the same unmoving knot in their throats, and the samesinking feeling in their stomachs. The families of the othersoldiers in my husband's battalion, based out of Fort Hood, Texas,are all going through the exact same thing that I'm going throughright now. But they have something I don't. They have each other.They have people they can lean on and talk to who know exactly howthey're feeling and what they're going through. They can vent toeach other, cry together, laugh together, and wait together. Myfriends, my family, even my own children can only feel sorry forme. They see how badly I'm hurting, and I know how much they wantto be able to do or say the right thing to make me feel at least alittle better, but there is no "right thing." All they can do isempathize, because they've never been through this.

I'm blessed beyond measure to have mybeautiful children, a loving family, incredible friends, a goodjob, an entire life that's going to go on whether I'm ready for itto or not. For years, that was enough. I keep telling myself thatfor now, at least, it's going to have to be enough again. But Iknow it's not. What I want, what I NEED, is him. I need him to holdme in his arms and tell me that everything's going to be okay,because if he says it, then I know it's true. I need to be able tolay my head against his chest and listen to his heart beating as hetells me stories about people I don't know and places I've neverbeen, and talks about weapons and vehicles that I'll probably neverbe able to tell the difference between. But I listen, because it'snever what he's talking about that keeps me captivated. It's theway he runs his fingers through my hair as he talks, smiling at mylatest adventure in hair color. (Right now, it's bright purplehighlights against jet black locks. Not the most appropriate lookfor a 30-something wife and mother, but he never says anythingother than "It looks cute, babe.") It's the way his blue eyessparkle when he talks about his job, which I know he loves, despitethe fact that it's the reason we spend the majority of our timeapart. It's the way he touches me, like I'm this delicate creaturethat he just wants to protect and take care of, even though I'vetaken care of myself my entire adult life. I try to remind myselfthat I'm used to waking up without him next to me, so it shouldn'tbe this hard. Our entire relationship has been long distance, himin Texas, me in Michigan. We spend more time apart than we dotogether, this is no different. Except it is different. Even whenwe we're apart, I've always known where he was, and that he wassafe. I've always been able to call him, just to say "I love you"or "I miss you" or "Where do you think I might have left my keysthis morning?" That's no longer the case.

I check my phone again, making surethe volume is turned up as high as it will go. I check my computerfor any communication from him or anyone in his company. Nothing.This is the part that I know is going to drive me crazy. Thewaiting. I've been waiting since the wee hours of the morning for aphone call or a text message or an email telling me that he made itto Iraq safely. Safe in Iraq. What an oxymoron. And yet, that'swhat I have to pin my hopes on. My sanity, my happiness, ourfuture...it all hinges on him being safe in Iraq. This realizationbrings on yet another panic attack, which has been happening moreand more frequently lately. I've always thrown the term aroundloosely; if I was running late, if the kids were stressing me out,if work got too hectic, I had a "panic attack." But this isdifferent. This feels like all the wind has been knocked out of meand the lump in my throat has metastasized to the point of chokingme. I struggle to catch my breath while trying to ignore theoverwhelming urge I have to vomit. A couple of tears spill overonto my cheeks and I quickly wipe them away as my pulse slows justenough to reassure me that my heart isn't actually going to explodeout of my chest. And then I remember that I have to be strong.Strong for my husband, strong for my children, who aren't sure howto feel about the step-dad that they were just getting to know andlove leaving for an entire year, and strong for myself. Becausethere's no one else here who can be that for me now.