The First Time

I lay facing his back; his soft breath is the only sound in the room.  The sun just barely penetrates the blinds and filters through the dark curtains.  Slowly and very lightly, I trace my finger in the space between his shoulder blades.  My mind drifts back…..

Now the room is well lit as the sun pours in the sliding glass doors of the balcony.  They both lay naked on the futon in the living room.  There is laughter….. so much laughter.

“I don't know!”  Her voice is raised but the smile on her lips betrays her feigned irritation.

“You have to try harder.  Here, I will go slower.”

He draws his index finger slowly across her back; very deliberate and over exaggerated.

“How about that?”

“Nooooooo!  I don't want to do this, I suck at this game.”

“Don’t say that.  Here, you can do it to me.”

Her expression changes from pouty to devious as she rolls out from under him and turns to face him. 

“Alright.”

He smiles at her and plants a kiss full on her lips.  She returns the kiss with passion that matches his and then pulls away quickly.

“Your turn!”

She pushes him face down on the futon and pulls herself to a sitting position. 

“Are you ready?”

“Go for it.”

Her finger moves slowly across his back in long, smooth movements.  When she is finished, she pauses for a reaction.

“Is that it?”

“But what did I write?”

He pauses and then replies, “Do it one more time.”

She laughs and this time she draws just a little more quickly.

“I don't know.  Try something else.”

She laughs out loud.  This is so much more fun when he isn’t any good at it either.

Again, she glides her finger across his back.  This time when he claims not to know, she jabs her finger into his ribs.  He jerks to the side, “UGH!”

“Ok, ok.  One more time but you have to hold still.”

“Then no more tickling.”  

Behind his back, the smile on her lips broadens and her eyes light up.

Without thought, she quickly traces out one symbol and two letters.

She sits back and waits.  There is no immediate reaction and the pause only adds to her giddiness.

“How do you know?”

The smile immediately fades as her heart drops into her stomach.

 “W-what?”

He flips over to face her and grabs her arms to keep her from pulling away.

“How do you know?”

She stares at him as if his words are incomprehensible. 

“You have never been ok with saying that before, how do you know now?”

He knew.  He knew all along what she had been writing.  He only pretended not to, to see if she would let her guard down.  It had work.

I can smell the sweet scent of his skin; warm to the touch.  And I had done those 13 years ago, I trace out that same phrase between his shoulder blades.

I ♥ U 

This time there is no reaction.  His breathing remains unchanged.  I lean forward the gently kiss over where I have traced.  He pulls away and rolls closer to the edge of the bed, still sleeping.  I try not to take it as rejection, but it's a struggle.  I scoot closer and kiss him one more time.  This time he has no where left to move without rolling onto the floor.

I close my eyes and recite the prayer I have said at least a million times in the past 6 years.

"Father please give me the strength and courage to be what he needs me to be.  Please help me to help him.  Please heal him as you are the only one who can.  Please bless and watch over him."

A vague and cryptic start

This morning, I lay in bed and wrote my blog; not typed words that can be spell checked…… the ones that crowd my head; overrun my mind.  I must have written 6 or 7 pages.  It wasn't chronological; in fact there was no order to it whatsoever.  More like random thoughts from the past 13 years.  I got up when the tears had soaked my pillow. 

I thought it would be easier to do this if I held complete anonymity.  I have thought about what I would write for the better part of 2 hours this morning and either I am at a loss for where to begin or I’m stalling.  Maybe a little of both.

I keep reading blogs written by other military wives hoping to find the courage to share.  My story isn’t special or unique.  The more I read, the more I am beginning to think it’s not even worth sharing.  Who the Hell am I to complain about anything?!  My husband came home.  He came home with few scars and all his limbs.  He hasn’t beaten me and is never angry.

I have a friend who is married to a veteran of the Air Force.  She tells me that I am a selfish brat. 

“Stop making this about you.  This is about him and what he has been through.  It is NOT about you.”

“It doesn't matter.”  This is what I used to tell myself when he hurt me.  In the beginning, I didn't have to say it much and it was easy to believe.  I would say it when I felt rejected, when he was indifferent or condescending.  Then I would have to say it on the way to work in the morning so I could focus on my job.  Eventually, I had to say it every morning just so I could get out of bed and every night so I could sleep. 

It doesn't matter.  It doesn't matter.  It doesn't matter.

Only………. It does.  If it didn't, I wouldn't have to say it, I wouldn't even think about it……..

It.  Just. Wouldn't.  Matter.

What it is to me.....

The War in Iraq

There hasn't been a single day since March 2003, in which the people of the United States have not been bombarded with information from the media on the war in Iraq. And though they claim to report from an unbiased platform, it becomes increasingly more difficult to find reports which do not, in some way, attempt to sway the American people either for or against this war. Take into consideration that the average American believes a large percentage of what is either on TV or the Internet, and now we have a nation of people who form their opinions based solely on biased reporting. As the wife of a Marine, my views on this war have been formed on an altogether different set of criteria.

Initially, the war was the period of time I went without seeing my husband. It was a glass of wine, a letter a night and endless tears. However, once I discovered our Unit’s need for Family Readiness volunteers, it became an opportunity to help others; to focus on something more constructive than my own pain. The war became a series of answers about deployment, benefits, legal issues, dates, and shipping regulations; a phone call from a concerned mom on how best to get money to her son or an email from an emotional wife about the small things that overwhelm us when we’re alone. And from there it expanded into Predeployment meetings, quarterly news letters, briefings with the CO & NCO’s and Return & Reunions.

When my husband returned home, the war became more real. No longer was it about what I had to do without, but what he had endured. It was listening a lot and questioning very carefully. The war had become the small lines around his eyes and the weary look deep inside them. It was the bonds of friendship, the pain of loss and everything in between that went unsaid. The war had come home and was now an occupying force in our small, Midwest home.

A few years and another deployment later; this war remains in the forefront of my thoughts. But when I watch the news or read an article about it, I have a difficult time applying the information to what I have experienced. For me, this war has never been political; never about oil, Republican vs. Democrat, capital gains, or even a question of right and wrong. The war in Iraq simply is and will continue to be an evolving entity in my life, both personally and professionally. Only now the focus is a little broader than before.

Today, the war in Iraq is about creating training programs for my managers so they can supervise employees who have experienced combat stress. It’s about communicating with coworkers who are veterans, getting to knowing them and understanding what they need to function in a civilian position. And more importantly, it’s about what I can do to support those who have given so much of themselves for our country.

April 14, 2010
Writing sample submitted with my application to the CIA
(one of 600 rejected government applications)

The Dream

Sleep faded from her slowly, like the fog burning off in the early hours of dawn. She shifted and slid her naked body, searching to connect with something. Aware of his presence before actually feeling the warmth of his body.  She breathed him in. There was a heat that filled her within, not entirely sexual. Touching him made her feel whole. She felt as though she had come home after a long absence.

The sheets were cool, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. Contact started with her feet, slowly entwining her legs with his. She gently pulled her hips and breasts to him, revering the effect his naked body could have on hers. Slowly caressing his bare chest, she softly kissed his shoulder. “Mmmmm, you’re here baby.” She spoke in a whisper as if to not wake him. He turned on his side and wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest. “Of course I am.” His response was spoken as if uttered from a distant dream. He did not open his eyes, but the corners of his mouth turned slightly upward and his lips brushed her forehead.

The early morning light beamed through the shear curtains that hung loosely around the bedroom window and warmed her bare skin. She realized that she was alone. She felt for him, reaching for him, but his side of the bed was cool and empty.

Had she fallen back asleep? Her eyes fluttered open and slowly focused. She found him standing at the window, gazing out at the rising sun. Her heart soared and calmed the panic that had begun to seize her. He was naked, the sun bathing his beautiful body in an almost unnatural light. His arms were crossed over his broad chest and his perfectly round ass facing her.

“I had a dream you were home, my love.” This time it was her who smiled. He turned to her and the light kept her from really seeing his features. “But it wasn’t a dream, was it? You are home.” Her heart ached at the thought she might have been alone again. He didn’t speak but stepped toward the bed and reached one hand toward her arm which was stretched across  the bed. Her skin tingled with the anticipation of his touch. It had been so long…………..

But the touch never came and as the morning pulled her out of her slumber and back to the painful reality, she felt the emptiness of the room reflected in her heart. She knew it was a dream. For a moment it had been as real as anything she had ever felt. She even tried to force herself back to sleep. But it was too late, the euphoria stolen away by the cruel sun. Her arm was still stretched out to his side of the bed. She moved her head to his pillow and inhaled. But it no longer smelled of him. It hadn’t for some time and not even the vividness of the dream brought that back.

Second Deployment
Dec 13, 2008
0600