We went through the cycle of getting the call, him leaving, and him returning 3 more times in a week before March 19, 2003 - the day America set boots on the ground in Iraq.
When you're stationed overseas the Morale Welfare and Recreation (MWR) people provide US programming on a limited number of channels for your television so you can understand what you're seeing and get a piece of home. Those channels are on a system called Armed Forces Network (AFN). When we were there, there was AFN News, AFN Europe, and AFN Pacific. AFN News rotated (at the time) between CNN, Fox News, and MSNBC. There were planned "times" each would be on and then after the "prime" news sections were over, it went to other programming.
I curled up in front of the tv from early in the morning on March 19, 2003 knowing there were embedded journalists and wanting to give my husband the very best idea of what he was in for if our unit ever got the authorization to leave. I watched hours of the news taking notes on where they were, how far we'd gotten, and what was going on.
When AFN has "commercials" they aren't like US commercials for rather obvious reasons. Instead you see bulletins of what's going on in the various communities, reminders to bring your passport, and tips on living overseas successfully. I had a "love/hate" relationship with these "commercials". Sometimes they were informational and helpful. Other times they were annoying and once you'd memorized all of them you just craved when something new would come out.
Halfway through that first day of watching the tv a new commercial arrived. It was an announcement I would later hear from my husband. It was a list of planned protests, their dates, and their locations as well as protests already occurring and the pertinent information. These protests weren't for Americans by Americans. These protests were against Americans and the invasion of Iraq.
Two days later came the news. I can't leave our tiny housing area encompassing less than 5 city blocks without checking that list. Ever. And if there are protests in our community, well, tough. You're stuck. If there are protests in the community I wanted to travel to that day, well, tough. You're not going.
At first I didn't understand why and then the reports began to come back. A tourist beaten in the streets. A soldier at a bar beaten nearly to death for being an American.
You become torn between living your life and fear. Sure, you can avoid the planned protests, but what about the unplanned ones? How do you live? How do you survive?
When I did leave our housing complex the writing on the sidewalks got worse. My rather "American" car (a Saturn) was easy to spot among the far more common European style vehicles on the road not to mention my license plates said right on them USA. I'd drive down the road and children and adults alike would yell insults and spit on my car. I couldn't bear to look at them.
This change came over about a week, but it came so fast and it was so hard to adapt to. To go from being free to being chained, from living in peace to living in fear. And yet again...it happened in the blink of an eye.
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fear. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Monday, July 15, 2013
The Call that Came...
(for previous articles in the series you may have missed, click here)
And then the day came. The night before he came home and held me so tight I could barely breathe and he didn't have to say a word, I knew what that hug meant. He was leaving.
I had the option to go with him to send him off or leave him at home. Knowing my pregnancy and emotions we decided it would be best for both of us and my safety if we had me stay at home. I helped him finish packing the backpack he would take with him. His duffel and gear was already loaded up and in with everyone else's gear which they would get when they got to a safe place down range (inside Iraq).
After he fell asleep that night I snuck a note in his bag down where I hoped he would find it when he needed it most telling him how much I loved him and all the things I just couldn't bear to say to his face. I sat there and prayed in front of the backpack while he slept and asked God to please keep him safe if he could but to give me peace in my heart.
The next morning I woke with him and we barely talked. I remember constantly running to the bathroom under the guise of "pregnancy needs" but really was just giving myself a minute to let the tears out and then washing my face off so he couldn't tell. A deep breath and back out I would go until I couldn't hold it in much longer.
One last hug and whispered "I love you"s and he left. I watched him walk out that door and heard him get into the car. As I heard the engine start I knew it could be the last time I heard that noise from the old VW we'd picked up to get around easier and the tears began to fall. I called my mom and cried my eyes out and she cried with me. I don't even remember words - just tears and sobs for over an hour and knowing she was there.
I couldn't lean on my neighbors, their husbands weren't in the Cavalry so they weren't leaving yet. Just mine. I felt so alone as I sat there in that apartment with the dog and cat both vying to be close to mom. They knew I needed the comfort and so they sat with me and were content to just be there.
The day went on and I muddled through lunch. I didn't really want to eat but I somehow managed to choke something down. I cried myself to sleep sometime in the afternoon and then I heard the door creaking.
Why was the door creaking? No one had a key! WHO IS BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE!??!?!?!?
I tried to come up with a game plan for a 6 month pregnant woman to take down an intruder (and in hindsight none of them were very good ideas...) and then as I sat there shaking my bedroom door opened.
Sweaty and exhausted there stood my husband.
I didn't know a 6 month pregnant woman could get out of a waterbed that fast!
I flew into his arms. They had been cancelled for leaving today. I would worry about the rest tomorrow. For now, I had him back and that was all I needed in the world.
And then the day came. The night before he came home and held me so tight I could barely breathe and he didn't have to say a word, I knew what that hug meant. He was leaving.
I had the option to go with him to send him off or leave him at home. Knowing my pregnancy and emotions we decided it would be best for both of us and my safety if we had me stay at home. I helped him finish packing the backpack he would take with him. His duffel and gear was already loaded up and in with everyone else's gear which they would get when they got to a safe place down range (inside Iraq).
After he fell asleep that night I snuck a note in his bag down where I hoped he would find it when he needed it most telling him how much I loved him and all the things I just couldn't bear to say to his face. I sat there and prayed in front of the backpack while he slept and asked God to please keep him safe if he could but to give me peace in my heart.
The next morning I woke with him and we barely talked. I remember constantly running to the bathroom under the guise of "pregnancy needs" but really was just giving myself a minute to let the tears out and then washing my face off so he couldn't tell. A deep breath and back out I would go until I couldn't hold it in much longer.
One last hug and whispered "I love you"s and he left. I watched him walk out that door and heard him get into the car. As I heard the engine start I knew it could be the last time I heard that noise from the old VW we'd picked up to get around easier and the tears began to fall. I called my mom and cried my eyes out and she cried with me. I don't even remember words - just tears and sobs for over an hour and knowing she was there.
I couldn't lean on my neighbors, their husbands weren't in the Cavalry so they weren't leaving yet. Just mine. I felt so alone as I sat there in that apartment with the dog and cat both vying to be close to mom. They knew I needed the comfort and so they sat with me and were content to just be there.
The day went on and I muddled through lunch. I didn't really want to eat but I somehow managed to choke something down. I cried myself to sleep sometime in the afternoon and then I heard the door creaking.
Why was the door creaking? No one had a key! WHO IS BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE!??!?!?!?
I tried to come up with a game plan for a 6 month pregnant woman to take down an intruder (and in hindsight none of them were very good ideas...) and then as I sat there shaking my bedroom door opened.
Sweaty and exhausted there stood my husband.
I didn't know a 6 month pregnant woman could get out of a waterbed that fast!
I flew into his arms. They had been cancelled for leaving today. I would worry about the rest tomorrow. For now, I had him back and that was all I needed in the world.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
The Pre-Deployment Days
(to catch yourself up to now, please stop here first.)
To clarify for a moment, I was 22 years old, 5 months pregnant, and he's going to IRAQ???? We aren't in Iraq, we're in Afghanistan. What the heck is going on!??!!?!
Yup. Iraq.
I went straight to bed. I didn't even get undressed, I just flopped there and passed out. I was so overwhelmed in every way possible that I couldn't even think. Deployment. A war. Invading forces. If I'd had the energy I would have been wide awake, but I just couldn't make it.
The next morning I woke up and stretched. He'd already gone to start the process of getting signed into post and I was just taking my time. Slowly the tail end of the day before came back to memory and I didn't even want to get out of bed. I got up anyway, walked to the commissary (military grocery store) and picked up some food to eat for a few meals. At lunch he came home with a box of "cooking gear" we could use to cook and eat until ours arrived on the big boat.
I wanted to ask a million questions but he asked one first. "So, do you want to stay?"
I only knew one thing. If my husband was going to war in 1 day, 1 week, or 1 month, I was going to spend EVERY second with him I could find. "I'll stay."
The rest of the day was meetings in the housing office and scheduling further appointments. We were told housing was tight but it was unlikely that we would be able to get something we really liked/wanted and that being picky was not really an option.
10 days later we moved into our new apartment 24 miles from base but still on old military housing from a base that was shut down.
1 day after that my husband walked in the door carrying a HUGE duffel bag. As he slowly took the gear out of it to take the tags off and prepare everything I sat in silence. If I could give him strength I would be there. I would not cry. I would just sit there. I took laundry downstairs, took piles of tags off gear. I found the dog tags with a notch. You never want to see those with someone you love's name on them. That means they're expecting large numbers of casualties. That means there's a good chance they aren't coming home.
By the grace of God alone I held it together. There's no other earthly way I could have done it.
Until he was trying to put on his flak vest (bulletproof vest) and couldn't get it laced up tight enough on his own and I had to help. My hands were shaking as I bent down and began pulling on the strings making jokes about how my former time as a Renaissance reenactor was finally coming in handy. As I stood back up he put his hands on my shoulders and said, "I love you."
I smiled back and said, "You better."
The next day he was off for the weekend and they were expected to leave early the next week. It would likely be our last time together for many months. We walked off the installation and into town and as we passed the school he asked me to translate the graffiti.
I refused. He didn't need to know the horrid things they were saying about him right there on the sidewalk, written in chalk by the children of the neighborhood. Some things were better left unsaid. I told him I couldn't translate it because I didn't know the words.
He knew I was lying.
To clarify for a moment, I was 22 years old, 5 months pregnant, and he's going to IRAQ???? We aren't in Iraq, we're in Afghanistan. What the heck is going on!??!!?!
Yup. Iraq.
I went straight to bed. I didn't even get undressed, I just flopped there and passed out. I was so overwhelmed in every way possible that I couldn't even think. Deployment. A war. Invading forces. If I'd had the energy I would have been wide awake, but I just couldn't make it.
The next morning I woke up and stretched. He'd already gone to start the process of getting signed into post and I was just taking my time. Slowly the tail end of the day before came back to memory and I didn't even want to get out of bed. I got up anyway, walked to the commissary (military grocery store) and picked up some food to eat for a few meals. At lunch he came home with a box of "cooking gear" we could use to cook and eat until ours arrived on the big boat.
I wanted to ask a million questions but he asked one first. "So, do you want to stay?"
I only knew one thing. If my husband was going to war in 1 day, 1 week, or 1 month, I was going to spend EVERY second with him I could find. "I'll stay."
The rest of the day was meetings in the housing office and scheduling further appointments. We were told housing was tight but it was unlikely that we would be able to get something we really liked/wanted and that being picky was not really an option.
10 days later we moved into our new apartment 24 miles from base but still on old military housing from a base that was shut down.
1 day after that my husband walked in the door carrying a HUGE duffel bag. As he slowly took the gear out of it to take the tags off and prepare everything I sat in silence. If I could give him strength I would be there. I would not cry. I would just sit there. I took laundry downstairs, took piles of tags off gear. I found the dog tags with a notch. You never want to see those with someone you love's name on them. That means they're expecting large numbers of casualties. That means there's a good chance they aren't coming home.
By the grace of God alone I held it together. There's no other earthly way I could have done it.
Until he was trying to put on his flak vest (bulletproof vest) and couldn't get it laced up tight enough on his own and I had to help. My hands were shaking as I bent down and began pulling on the strings making jokes about how my former time as a Renaissance reenactor was finally coming in handy. As I stood back up he put his hands on my shoulders and said, "I love you."
I smiled back and said, "You better."
The next day he was off for the weekend and they were expected to leave early the next week. It would likely be our last time together for many months. We walked off the installation and into town and as we passed the school he asked me to translate the graffiti.
I refused. He didn't need to know the horrid things they were saying about him right there on the sidewalk, written in chalk by the children of the neighborhood. Some things were better left unsaid. I told him I couldn't translate it because I didn't know the words.
He knew I was lying.
Tuesday, July 2, 2013
A Glimpse of the Past
10 years ago my family lived in Germany where we were stationed for 3 years while my husband was serving in the US Army. I have often heard people lately talking about how we "are headed down the path of Europe" and surmise what may become of the USA. They talk about how fast it can happen, how quickly it all can change. How we are "on the brink".
I've lived in that brink. 10 years ago I was right in the center of what would eventually become the chaos we now see in that region of the world. 10 years ago the chaos in the Middle East looked similar to what we see today in Europe, just to give you a timeline "perspective". I don't have all the answers, I don't know all the right things to say, but I feel like I'm being led to share with you some true glimpses into what my daily life looked like during that time.
I moved to Germany pregnant with our firstborn son. I had been to the country once before in my life and my husband had been stationed at the same base previously so he had a good lay of the land. I had taken German in high school and college so I had a basic grasp of the language, but certainly nothing highly impressive. I could "muddle through" at best, but I refused to let that stop me from embracing this lifetime of an opportunity.
When we reached our military base we were to be stationed on we were immediately put into a classroom despite it being rather late in the evening. We received instructions on how to stay safe, what areas to avoid, and what areas we were explicitly not allowed to go into. We were told when classes would be available to help us learn how to live in that country. We were even advised on the best choices of how to dress, act, and behave in public - all in under 60 minutes. It was "Germany in 60 Minutes or Less" and it didn't do much to prepare one for the realities we were about to face.
At that time, the US was just a few weeks from invading Iraq and that choice would take the brief class I'd taken and the knowledge I had gained through friends and push it to the brink. Over the next few weeks, I will share more of these stories of what it was really like to live in that time in a foreign country and how it felt to attempt to have a normal life while also keeping my family safe. Bear with me as I'm also vacationing, but it's been laid on my heart to share this with you, and I feel it is necessary for you to understand precisely what can happen in the blink of an eye.
I've lived in that brink. 10 years ago I was right in the center of what would eventually become the chaos we now see in that region of the world. 10 years ago the chaos in the Middle East looked similar to what we see today in Europe, just to give you a timeline "perspective". I don't have all the answers, I don't know all the right things to say, but I feel like I'm being led to share with you some true glimpses into what my daily life looked like during that time.
I moved to Germany pregnant with our firstborn son. I had been to the country once before in my life and my husband had been stationed at the same base previously so he had a good lay of the land. I had taken German in high school and college so I had a basic grasp of the language, but certainly nothing highly impressive. I could "muddle through" at best, but I refused to let that stop me from embracing this lifetime of an opportunity.
When we reached our military base we were to be stationed on we were immediately put into a classroom despite it being rather late in the evening. We received instructions on how to stay safe, what areas to avoid, and what areas we were explicitly not allowed to go into. We were told when classes would be available to help us learn how to live in that country. We were even advised on the best choices of how to dress, act, and behave in public - all in under 60 minutes. It was "Germany in 60 Minutes or Less" and it didn't do much to prepare one for the realities we were about to face.
At that time, the US was just a few weeks from invading Iraq and that choice would take the brief class I'd taken and the knowledge I had gained through friends and push it to the brink. Over the next few weeks, I will share more of these stories of what it was really like to live in that time in a foreign country and how it felt to attempt to have a normal life while also keeping my family safe. Bear with me as I'm also vacationing, but it's been laid on my heart to share this with you, and I feel it is necessary for you to understand precisely what can happen in the blink of an eye.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)