Our Journey #7: Wounded

Once more, we crammed in all the quality family time we could during Braden's surprise leave. Some friends and family came from out of town to visit and play, and we had an early Easter celebration so Braden could be there for at least that one holiday. The weather was wonderful and I felt whole again with my other half by my side. The kids were also pleased to see their daddy. Our daughter recognized him right away, though she was confused for a bit that he was here in person and not just on the TV in home movies or in a picture on her pillowcase. Our baby boy was simply content to have yet another person to play with him and give him attention.


One hitch in all the happiness was the injury Braden had received a few months before in Iraq during a patrol. Braden had done a wonderful job lying to me during this year, telling me he spent most of his time on base defense, sitting "safely" in the base towers keeping a look-out. The truth was, he took his turn on patrols just like everyone else, encountered IEDs (Improvised Explosive Devices), RPGs (Rocket Propelled Grenades), and other kind of attacks regularly. On the way back from one of the patrols, an     Al Qaeda sniper opened fire on the truck Braden and his comrades were riding in. The driver got them to base as fast as he could, and, upon reentry into the base, ran over a tank track speed bump. At the speed they were going, the guys in the back were thrown into the air as they went over the bump. Braden landed hard on the wooden seat, dislocating his tailbone, throwing out his SI joint, and compressing a couple of the discs in his neck.

This happened the previous December, and all Braden knew at the time was that he had extreme hip and back pain. He went to the base doctor who gave him some ibuprofen and sent him back out on duty. When Braden came home from leave, we took him to a civilian doctor who discovered the tailbone and hip injuries. We found the neck injuries soon after his deployment ended. Because so much time had passed without proper treatment, the injuries became a permanent chronic pain fixture for Braden.

While his injuries were a bummer (pun intended), we focused less on his injuries and more on the fact that we were together again for a moment, and this time saying goodbye was much easier. We knew we would be together for good in just a few weeks, and after what we had endured already. a few weeks was nothing.

Post Script:
With Memorial Day weekend upon us, we would like to send out a salute to all the fallen soldiers who have given their lives for our freedom. Braden frequently says, "I'm not a hero. The heroes are the ones who did not come home." Our condolences also to those who have lost loved ones to war. We honor you as well.

Our Journey #6: Surprise!

The months trudged on and on. We made it through a Thanksgiving, a Christmas, birthdays, and an anniversary via phone calls, emails, limited video chatting, and packages. The soldiers were allowed one two-week leave to come home during their deployment, and Braden had already taken his emergency leave, so we most likely would not get the opportunity to see him in person again until they returned from Iraq. Since his emergency leave was only about a month after he left, he tried to get permission for another leave, but his commanding officers had a whole battalion to organize leave for, and those who already had leave were not high on the priority list. We braced ourselves for the inevitability of not being able to be together again until the whole unit returned, which meant Braden would miss nearly the entire first year of our son's life.

It's difficult to explain what it feels like to not see your husband for almost a year. Not only did half of my heart feel like it was missing, but part of my identity was confused as well. I was a single mother, but not. I was learning to be an independent woman, proud of my growing abilities to take care of myself and my kids alone, but also feeling an enormous need for my husband there. I was discovering how many things I actually could succeed in on my own, and yearning to not have to accomplish those things without him.

And our kids. Our beautiful babies. Those first years are so crucial for forming bonds between parent and child. Would they know their daddy at all when he got home? Would they be afraid of him and cry when he tried to hold them close, or would they somehow connect the photographs and sound of his voice to the man I told them was Daddy? I started praying for a miracle. I knew it was so unlikely and there was no plausible reason it could happen, but I began to pray daily that Braden would come home, some way, somehow. I couldn't get it out of my head and heart that he would be home soon. We needed him home. I had to see his face and smell him and hold him or I knew I would lose my mind. I ignored all logical reasoning and focused on the idea that Braden would be home soon. God had performed bigger miracles than this for us and I pleaded with Him to do this one other thing for me. I had faith it would happen.

But phone call after phone call Braden told me his commanders could not allow him to take another leave. It was nearing the cutoff date for the soldiers to be able to take leave at all, and Braden told me the remaining spots were filled. I felt my hope deflating, but continued praying for a miracle.

During one phone call, Braden told me we wouldn't be able to talk for a few days because his duties would take him off the grid for a while. I was so disappointed. I lived for our every-other-day phone calls and email chats. But I took it like a good soldier's wife and told him to call when he could and I'd talk to him soon, then hung up the phone and kept myself busy to numb away the fear and disappointment.

Frequently, during the hardest times, my neighbors and family would rally around us to show support and help us through. After a few days with no contact from Braden, my mother-in-law and sister-in-law showed up at my door with a plate of cookies and to chat. I was very happy to have them there for yet another distraction, and we were a few minutes into our visit when someone else knocked at the door. My little brother opened it and stood there silently for a second, then opened the door wider.

Braden stood on the doorstep, dressed in his soldier's uniform, breathtakingly handsome, and slightly unsure whether to just step inside or wait to be invited. I sat on that couch for about one millisecond registering who this visitor was, and the next second I had launched myself into his arms, nearly knocking him off of his feet. This was a dream. It had to be a dream. I had dreamed about this moment so many times I was temporarily disoriented, checking myself and my reality to make sure that this was, in fact, real. And it was, he was. I was holding him, smelling him, kissing him, and he was REAL. Really here, really home, really mine. And we were really together once again.

I was laughing and crying, everyone else was laughing and crying, and someone choked out, "I've never seen her move so fast!" And thus began two weeks of heaven on earth.

Our Journey #5: Being Real Some More

We had a beautiful two weeks together with Daddy home. We felt so happy to be together with our brand new baby boy and sweet little girl. I was recuperating, so we spent a lot of down time together just hanging out, while still fitting in time with family as well. The two week leave had to come to an end, however, and eventually, we once again said goodbye.

From Micki's journal, August 2005:
We took Braden to the airport [this morning.] It was the hardest goodbye yet. We all hugged him and took pictures. Then we left everyone else in the terminal and walked over to the security check. I did really well until he went through the checkpoint, then I turned around and started bawling and didn't stop until the plane was long gone. After Braden got on the plane he put his hand up against the window and I just watched it until I couldn't see him any more.

I just had to share this other journal entry of mine because it made me laugh to read it and shows some of the reality of my post-pregnancy, hormone adjusting, husband-missing self:

From Micki's journal, September 2005:
What a rotten day. I'm sick, my girl is sick, and now my boy is getting sick, too. [At this point, I go on a bit of a rant about how irritated I am at my siblings for bringing germs home from school, and it's quite mean and insulting, so I'll refrain from sharing here.] My daughter decided to take off her poopy diaper and run around the room with crap hanging off her butt and falling on the floor. And I've been messing with my stupid insurance all morning trying to get my ultrasound payed for that happened in MARCH!!! Nobody around there knows what's going on with it and neither does the hospital. My husband is risking his life and missing a year and a half with his family and they can't even pay for my ultrasound!!!! Which they claim is not medically necessary. If I was a swearing person...!&#@!!!#!!!!!!!!. I started to cry about it all and my little girl was very concerned. She said, "Mama, ky?" (Mama cry?) and then started saying "nose." It took me a second to figure out she was talking about getting me a tissue. She climbed off the bed and got the box of Kleenex and brought it to me. My little sweetie. She never does mean to be naughty. I miss my Braden so much. I just want him here for just a minute to hold me and tell me it will be okay.

Great. My daughter just took off her diaper again and peed on the floor. I think I'll go bang my head against the wall, now.

Ahhh, memories. So glad that's all they are now.

Our Journey #4: Being Real, and Having a Baby

While I worked hard to have a good attitude and gratitude, I had many days where I felt very done with it all. It became increasingly difficult to look on the bright side. As my belly grew, I began more and more to "look forward" to having my son without my husband by my side. While soldiers are permitted to go home for life-threatening emergencies, children's births are unpredictable and most soldiers aren't able to make it home. I started to get a little panicky at the prospect of having a child alone. Yes, my mom and other family members were there, but it wasn't the same.

The birth of our daughter was fairly traumatic. Preeclampsia hit me very hard and very quickly, and I had to be induced a month early. Braden was such a rock during that time. He was my support, advocate, and protector. I didn't know how I would manage having our son without Braden there. My patience wore out the closer it got to my due date, and my sweet family had to put up with the wrath of witch-woman more than once.

I again developed preeclampsia, but this time we were watching for it. Since we caught it early enough, I was put on bed rest and didn't have to be induced as early as with our daughter. I don't know how I would have survived without being able to live with my family. My 19-month-old daughter was such a whirlwind, and she was kept busy and out of my way by my wonderful family so I could rest and care for her little brother and myself. But still, I was so frustrated I had to deal with this while the other half of my heart was in Iraq.

I've learned, however, that hardships are frequently blessings in disguise, and my sickness ended up being one of the greatest blessings of my life. We discovered that preeclampsia was considered life-threatening, so the Red Cross would fly Braden home and he would be able to be there for the birth!

I cried and prayed and gushed gratitude to my Heavenly Father for this miracle, and on August 13, 2005, after a five-day journey, Braden was home. Very soon after, our baby boy came into the world to meet his daddy, mommy and big sister all together, as it was meant to be.

Our Journey #3: To Iraq

Once again, we squeezed every moment of quality time we could into the ten days we had with Braden before he left overseas. The day his unit left, we gathered with family at the armory, along with all the other soldiers and their loved ones. We sat in the gym, visiting and trying to ignore the clock as it ticked ever closer to the time we would officially say goodbye. Braden gave special attention to our baby girl, who was feeling slightly fussy and wanted us all to go home. Oh how I understood and agreed with her.

The buses pulled up and the soldiers began loading their duffle bags. Braden and I both felt so weary of goodbyes. We weren't sure if our hearts could handle any more, but, as always, we did what had to be done. All the soldiers hugged and kissed their loved ones and loaded the bus. I remember watching Braden's every movement as he loaded his bag and walked around the front of the bus. I remember squinting through the tinted bus windows, trying to make him out through the muted, identical shapes of buzz cut heads. The buses left with a fanfare of firetrucks and police cars with sirens wailing. I know it was meant to be a salute, but it felt so morose and I couldn't help thinking of the events those sounds are usually connected with: disaster, destruction, and death.

We watched until the buses turned the corner out of sight, then loaded ourselves into our vehicles and headed home. We talked very little, and, though I felt like my soul was being ripped in two with one half of me heading clear around the world, I was also so grateful I was going home to a place where loved ones surrounded me to support and lift me up. So many spouses were heading home alone, or with a brood of children to care for all on their own. I had no reason to complain or feel sorry for myself. Thousands of wives had done this same thing, some of them multiple times, and I very likely had more resources and support than most of them. If they could do this, I certainly could. And I could do it with a happy heart, a smile on my face, and the knowledge that someday, this would all just be a memory to look back on and learn from. I knew that someday, God-willing, Braden would be home again in my arms and the war would be over.

Armed with this attitude, my faith, and the support of so many around me, I faced this challenge head-on, striving to fight my daily battles with as much courage as my soldier did on the other side of the world. "One day closer" became my motto. I chose not to look at how many more days of separation lay ahead of us, but how many we had put behind us. I involved Daddy in our lives as much as possible, talking about him to our little girl and helping her remember him in her life and her prayers each day, Every week, I sent him a care package filled with goodies, pictures, and a DVD burned from our video camera of the mundane, regular, silly-life things that I knew he would be missing.

We spoke on the phone about every other day, and were frequently able to get online and chat between phone calls. It was another gratitude-inducing experience to appreciate modern technologies and realize how much more difficult it had been in previous years without the advantage of long-distance phone calls, email chats, and Skype.

We moved on like this, one day at a time, looking for the good things, making plans to look forward to, awaiting the day we could be together again.

Our Journey #2: Togetherness

From the other blog

posted THURSDAY, AUGUST 21, 2008

Saying Goodbye

The first time we said goodbye was the easiest. We didn't know what to expect and we knew we'd be seeing each other again in the next couple of months after Braden was done with his training and before the deployment to Iraq. We drove to the airport, hugged, kissed, cried, took pictures, and away he flew, into the unknown.


We talked daily. While Braden was in the states training he had a cell phone and easy access to pay phones, so things weren't that bad at the beginning. I sent him pics of our growing girl and my growing belly, along with lengthy emails detailing our days and how he was missed. Not too much of the missing stuff, though, as it helped none of us to dwell on that. We purchased a video camera right before he left and I documented with that as well.

Just a month and a half after Braden left, we had the opportunity to fly out to a city near his base and visit on one of his weekends off. Plane ticket prices were atrocious, but it was worth every penny and more to see him, hold him, and laugh with him again, just for a couple of days. In the days before we flew out, I went back and forth quite a bit, trying to decide if I should take my one year old with me or not. I decided to take her in the end and am so glad I did. She was such an angel the whole trip, sleeping most of the time every plane ride, and behaving so well all the rest of the time. She was so excited to see her daddy when he met us at the hotel and ran straight into his arms. We saw all the sights we could cram into the weekend and enjoyed ourselves immensely. Then came time to say good bye once again. This time was much, much harder. We now knew the loneliness, the aching, the changes we would be parting for, and we did not want it, but, like I said before, someone had to do it and it was a sacrifice we had to make.

My heart seemed to be ripping apart as we drove away to catch our flight the last morning of our trip. Braden stood at the curb of the hotel, his hand raised in farewell, visibly fighting back the tears. I cannot explain the emotions, they were too overwhelming to be able to put into words. All I can say is that I never wanted to feel them again. But there were more goodbyes to come, more new emotions to feel and learn from in the ensuing months.

The cab driver was friendly and tried to make conversation when we first began our drive, but I didn't trust myself to speak, or even think. I just sat staring out the window, my baby girl in my arms, struggling with tears and realizing Braden wouldn't hold his baby girl again for many more weeks. After that, who knew how long it would be before he felt her chubby little arms around his neck and heard her sweet little voice saying his name.

After we arrived at the airport it was easier. My mind was busy with checking luggage, finding our gate and entertaining a baby. Addy made a friend at the airport, a little boy about 3 years old who loved her bright green shirt and followed her all around the terminal. His parents ended up being retired from the Navy and they sympathized with my plight. I was ever grateful for someone who understood what it was like and gave such words of encouragement and hope. I needed it then and would rely on others more than ever as my true journey as a soldier's wife began.

Posted SATURDAY, OCTOBER 11, 2008

Together Again for A Moment

The next time we saw each other was a few weeks later in California. Braden's unit was there, finishing up their training, so another wife and I got together and drove out to pick our soldiers up, instead of waiting another day for them to drive home. One thing to be understood about these kinds of situtations is that every moment is precious. If one more hour, one more moment can be had, we take it, no matter the cost!

I was nervous to make the drive. I had been able to avoid ever driving anywhere more than a few miles outside of my hometown, and I would be driving a borrowed vehicle in California traffic! Things went fairly smoothly, though, and I wasn't required to drive through any big cities, other than Vegas. That in itself is an adventure, but we survived! We did have one situation where we had to pull over to the side of the road and take care of some kid issues. Finally, we arrived at the base safe and mostly sound, went through the checkpoint, and searched for our soldiers. There they were, walking along the side of the road, handsome in their uniforms, eyes lit up as they recognized us.

It's a funny thing to be reunited after weeks or months of separation. I felt kind of shy, like a first date feeling, though I was carrying his child, had given birth to another, and we had been married for 2 1/2 years! The shy feeling was quickly overcome as he held me tightly in his arms and we remembered each other again.

We were able to book a room at the hotel on base. This was another little miracle because we had called rather late and at first nothing was available, then only smoking rooms were available (me being pregnant, that wasn't going to work), then, at last, after a few more phone calls, a suitable room opened up. I'm wondering if the front desk just kicked someone out of a room so the crazy pregnant lady would quit calling!

After we checked in to our rooms, the guys took us on a tour of the base. It was a fairly depressing place and I felt for the soldiers who had to spend weeks and months there, training and looking forward to nothing but more of the same or worse after getting to Iraq. They had a small movie theater and a couple of fast food restaurants as well as a small shopping center to buy odds and ends. The soldiers whose families couldn't come pick them up stayed outside in large tents filled with bunk beds. There were outhouses scattered every few hundred yards outside the tents and a few small kiddie pools where soldiers sat on folding chairs, cooling their tired feet. I almost wished I hadn't come and seen how Braden had been living. If it was like this training in the US, how would it be overseas in the middle east?

"Tank Crossing"

Our Journey #1.3: Forging Bonds

These posts also from the "other blog."

Forging Bonds

The next few weeks we tried to cram in every bit of "quality time" we could. We had a weekend away just the two of us up to a nearby ski resort where we had access to a condo. It was wonderful just being together out there in the near-wilderness, pretending life away and imagining that we would never be parted. Much of the rest of those few weeks are a bit hazy for me. I remember get-togethers with family and friends, an early Easter celebration, a few glitches with the guard and hoping he wouldn't have to go, finding out he did have to go (all over again!), and feeling very uptight, anxious and ornery. I'll blame some of that last bit on the pregnancy hormones, though I'm sure the thought of my husband leaving for a year and a half had something to do with it.

Through all this I remained fairly calm and collected, (besides the hormonal episodes, which were few and far between if I do say so myself). My heart ached most when I looked at my one year old daughter and realized how much she had grown in so little time, how much her daddy would be missing, and how much she would be missing him. She was, and still is, her daddy's girl through and through. From the moment she came into this world his is the first face she focused on and the first fingers she touched (after the doctor and nurses were done with her).

Our little girl was a preemie and I was very sick and weak bringing her into this world. I remember the moment I first saw her and stroked her little, slimy, beautiful head. Then she was whisked away to her incubator in the nursery and I slept for many hours, but her daddy was by her side every minute he could be. I believe a bond was forged in those first precious moments between them of the kind that cannot be understood but by those who are part of it.

Many times over the course of our separation while Daddy was in Iraq, I saw a connection between them that was unexplainable and extraordinary. When Daddy was having a bad day, thousands of miles across the world, a little two year old girl would whine and cry for no apparent reason and need her daddy, for no one else could comfort her. When his phone call would come the next day and he told of his struggles, I would finally understand what had been wrong with my little girl! More than a few times she felt her daddy's pain and wanted so badly to comfort him on those hardest days. We watched our home videos of Daddy over and over again. I finally printed a small picture of him that she could have of her very own to carry around with her and keep in her crib at night. It's crumpled face and torn edges quickly attested to how much it - he - was loved by her.

SUNDAY, JULY 6, 2008

A True Patriot

This post is out of order of my "novel". I just want to write a bit about what it means for me to be a soldier's wife and a little bit about what I feel that title really means. My husband has been home from Iraq for 2 years, now. With the 4th of July just passed, I have been reflecting a lot on our country and what it means to be a part of it.

Today I watched my husband struggle to fight off the demons that are tormenting him inside. He is suffering from many issues that surfaced for him during his tour of duty in Iraq. I felt so helpless, at a loss for what to do, what to say, so I prayed. Heavenly Father heard my prayer and blessed me with a knowledge of how to heal, how to help. The answer was love. So is it worth it? What's the point of all of this? These wars, these politics, his service. My answer is yes, it's worth it. And the reason is love. This country and its government were founded by God. It was set apart by Him because of His great love for us, to be a place of freedom for those who were/are oppressed. For those very first pilgrims who traveled here from so far away, it was a place to truly love and serve God as He would have them do. America is still that place today, and will be forever more, as long as we continue to love and serve Him as he would have us do. The key, as always, is love.

So we sacrifice and serve to keep this country free. We sacrifice and serve because we love our country and the God who founded it. We sacrifice and serve because we love our families, friends, the Iraqi people and all people who suffer from oppression. We sacrifice and serve because it is our duty. And we pay a price, yet it is still worth it. The pain my husband suffers is not in vain. It is pain that shows he is human, that he feels, that he cares about what happens to his fellow men, American or not. He saw so much misery, so much hate, so much destruction that now it haunts him day and night. Is it worth it? Perhaps not to those who do not love. But when asked the question "Is it worth it?", my husband and I will answer, without hesitation: "Yes." Because of Love.