Osama’s death marked a turning point in America’s history. The devil was dead, shot twice in the face and dumped in the ocean for all eternity. America rejoiced. People ran to the streets to celebrate waving flags and chanting the Star Spangled Banner. Make shift memorials suddenly reappeared at Ground Zero, proclaiming “We never forgot…” And here at home, my phone blew up instantly with friends and family all celebrating the end of tyranny. Messages like: “Pick up the phone and let’s do a shot!” and “Sleep easy tonight Amy, Evil is dead” all flooded my inbox. But was it really dead and gone, or were the flames of hatred stoked even farther? Would the death of Osama Bin Laden, the Hitler of our generation, forever haunt the Army families on the home front? As I looked at my husband, who was only four days out from having to return to the front lines, it became crystal clear. Bin Laden is dead. But unfortunately, Bin Ladenism is very much alive—and as the world celebrated the death of a monster, I was bracing myself to send my husband back into the Devil’s backyard.
Don’t me get me wrong, I was overjoyed that the world contained one less immoral demon, but I also knew that Bin Laden was sitting in Hell enjoying the last laugh. The war wasn’t over—not by a long shot. And I, the sassy mouthed Army Wife from South Texas, was left helpless and out of options. There was no way I could battle a ghost. My husband was returning to a war zone, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to change that. No amount of praying, hoping, or wishing would keep him home with us. Somehow the world needed him more than I did, and with reluctance, I finally accepted that maybe the key to peace truly is selfless sacrifice. I learned that night that Karma was still breathing life lessons into my heart. I knew she was telling me that I had to let him go… but I desperately wished someone would teach me how. A crystal ball would have been perfect. Heck, by that point I would have settled for a pithy fortune cookie and an Ambien. I prayed for peace. I prayed for sleep. I prayed that someone—preferably an all-seeing oracle-- would hold me tight and whisper that it was going to be ok. All I wanted was the insurance that somehow this chaos-loving war would find a way to pass over my family. We would escape unharmed. I could shed my armor of toughness and strength and become the woman that I had always imagined I would be-- a mother, a lover, a writer. A women who fell slowly in love and had all the time in the world to breathe life into her dreams.
But, four short days later, I was forced to say good bye once more. In a fog, I dropped off the kids to school, and came home to a husband that was sitting quietly at the kitchen table. He was once again dressed in those all too familiar BDUs, a rucksack by his feet, and quietly mumbled, “It’s time.” Time. The one thing the universe keeps denying us. The one gift that 98% of my friends take for granted. I nodded slowly, closed my eyes, and conjured up the needed strength to prepare for my duty again. The mission of an Army Wife-- the protector of the children, the consoler of the grieving widow, the sturdy foundation to the broken spirited, and the one-woman Army for all those left to battle alone.
As I turned my eyes to Jim, I knew he had already mentally left me. His eyes were focused on Iraq, and his soul was with his troops. He was heading back into a land where Osama was now a wicked memory. My husband—like every other man and woman who has served this great nation—deserves every accolade for this monumental accomplishment. Osama is dead—the US has won a strategic battle. But I know I speak for so many other Army Wives when I pray that someday there will be an end to this War on Terror,and everyone that our hearts have ached for over the past ten years, will start the journey home to us. Our husbands, wives, fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers can march home embracing their victory, and proclaiming the ultimate win. The only triumph that Karma teaches us is worth fighting for. The only win that I can justify another five months apart from my husband. Peace.
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