The End- The Beginning

Today was the day that I had been anticipating for the past twelve months. The call came through to my cell, land line, text message, and email (the Army really didn’t want me to miss THIS one) that “my soldier’s flight is tentatively scheduled to arrive within 72 hours to Ft Hood.” The message took my breath away.

When the call came through, I was just playing a board game with the kids at my parent’s ranch, all four of us sprawled out on the bedroom carpet like cats basking in the sun. It was a Sunday afternoon, and the sky was crystal clear—not a cloud marred the Texas horizon, and I suddenly remembered noticing the very same sky twelve months ago when he hoisted that duffle bag onto his shoulder and walked out of our lives. Twelve months. Seven thousand miles. Heartaches. Life lessons. Growth. Pain. So much had changed-- heck, there are days when I barely recognize the reflection in the mirror—but the view of life, whether it is through a bedroom window in South Texas or through the window to my soul, remained unchanged. We had survived—maybe broken and bleeding, but we were both still standing.

I wish I could say I hung up the phone and did cartwheels around the room while whooping it up, but that’s not how it happened. I quietly hung up the phone, walked silently to the bathroom, turned the faucet on high, lowered myself to the edge of the tub, and cried. A year of heartache was finally over, and with it came tears of joy, relief, gratitude, and grief over all we had lost and all we were forced to gain.

I am not the same woman that he left. I no longer believe in ‘Happily Ever After’, my heart bleeds for the wounded soldiers, and I no longer bring a casserole to the grieving widows home (I come armed with vodka). I say things as I see them, I refuse to kiss anyone’s ass—regardless if there is a clover leaf pinned on their shoulder or not—and I no longer ever apologize for being me.

Twelve months ago, I was forced to learn how to stand on my own two feet again—like a baby learning to walk, I had to learn how to carry my family through this war. And I did. I went back to school, I learned how to be two places at once, I held my children close during their nightmares, and I allowed my friends to hold me upright when the fear threatened to drown me. I learned that true strength has nothing to do with how many burdens you can shoulder, but rather how you can still live a life of purpose and joy while juggling the weight of the world. Sometimes, the secret to strength is looking fear straight into the eye, smiling like a bad ass, and faking bravery really well.

Jim returns to us in 72 short hours, but it will be a new life that we will have to navigate together. The journey of a deployment does not end with the homecoming—that’s only the beginning. And thank God, I am blessed enough to have my soldier return home unharmed. In 72 hours, I will be standing on the tarmac waiting for the troops to arrive, just watching the other spouses of the 3rd ACR. I may not know many by name, but I will be able to pick them out instantly in the crowd. THEY are the ones stronger then steel. THEY are the ones tougher than a hungry street fighter. THEY are the ones braver than a condemned saint. THEY are the ones who can break a Reeses Peanut butter Cup into three pieces, and eat only one. And I am not surprised one bit—after all, it takes ALL of that to be an Army Wife… and more.

("Between the wish and the thing called life, lies waiting.")