I'll get my cape, and
you get your rifle. Let's
give 'em a run for
their money, honey! you and
me leaping roof
top to roof
top. When we're
done saving the
world let's
get tall
tall ice cream cones. Bubble
gum for me, mint
chocolate chip for
you. We'll
walk, a
cape and a rifle, laughing into
our ice cream. Let's buy
balloons so we can
let them
go, watching
them curtsey and
bow at each
other, growing
smaller and
smaller above the
utility wires, until
we have to
squint to make
out 2 tiny
black dots that
have forgotten us. Then
let's
turn and skip away
from the rubble that's
gathered in
our wake; a cape,
and a rifle,
smiling.

So, if I was at mile 5 before, I'm now at like mile 16... where you think "oh shit, this is starting to hurt, and I have 10 more miles! I'm not sure if I can make it." I'm trying to battle those thoughts. The last 5 weeks I have gotten up every morning -alone- to be greeted by a stack of bills I can't pay, and two little boys that need to be educated, loved, and made to feel safe and secure. I've done a damn good job, and those bills are getting paid on Monday!!!!!

For over a month I rallied myself up, sallied forth with my "widow list" I made piles of clean clothes in my bed room, drank out of the milk carton, rented the movies I wanted, read a book, started doing yoga, and blogged more. I've even begun to eat the perfectly balanced diet. I cut out sugars and gluten, and replaced them with fruit and rice. I've done everything I've always wanted to do. Then I started hanging up all of my clothes after I took them off, drinking milk out of a glass, and stopped blogging. To be honest it's gotten really old.

Now, I need a new list. I've done everything on the old one. Unfortunately, and quickly, my brain has compiled this list: I want to smell his BO, I want to leave the toilet paper roll just out of his reach, and hear him say, "damnit Annie". I want to be annoyed by finding a random toenail he forgot to pick up. I want to bitch about wiskers in the sink. I want some one else to discipline the kids, pick out the movie, do the dishes. I want a hug from him. I want to fight with him for leg space on the couch, blankets in bed. I want to hear his voice, it's been a solid two weeks. I feel guilty and thankless when this list invites itself into my head, but that doesn't make me want him less. I can't stand pictures of him today.

My comfort comes from bits of information I glean from his letters, in 5 weeks he's aquired a leadership role, Company Squad leader, and his squad is #1. He's a hoss. I smile when I think of the contortion of his face as he strains to win the challenges he faces... "Affix bayonettes, Company Charge!" I see him leading the way (he won) and I get a moment of relief. I imagine him, chest out, leading the A group on their runs, and I fill with pride. I am so incredibly happy for him. I think about what it says that he's written me at least 3 times a week, and feel incredibly INCREDIBLY signifigant. I try not to think about the distance I feel in what he isn't saying, but I do and it eats at me (I'm not sure how to translate this into a universal language). In every letter he DOES make a point to let me know how he feels about me. That is pretty awesome.

So much like the race, I've got to take it one step at a time... one moment at a time and try not to think too much. I've got to just let it happen. I most definitely need to screen my crowd of spectators. My stride will not easily bounce back from a Cornelius Horan or Jock Semple right now, and I've got to keep on trudgin forward.

Father's Shadow

Our sons'
spongy spines, flanked by
tiny scapula and little sinewy
blossoms,
promise manhood.

They stand straighter,
shoulders grow wider, when speaking
of you. You are the
pride that inflates
their chests.

They see your face in
freshly plowed roadside
snow. Hear your name in
the Cadence of my
swift steps, as
I hunt down
my strength.

Your shadow suggests
a gait. Their backs will
grow tall; thick
spines reaching
great heights, because
Where ever they may
go, they will chose
to walk like you.

The babies

While the letters have helped me, I anticipate the day that I receive a phone call from him so much that every ring of the phone springs my spine to attention! The letter's have not had the same effect on all of us.

Cooper has broken down, sobbing over the last few days. He see's his dad's face in roadside snow. In the drips on the wind sheild. He is seeing his father's "ghost". Last night he wrote this in his journal.






This morning he could barely finish his work during our school time. I've tried to be an example of how to handle this severing in a healthy manner. "We will not feel sorry for ourselves for any length of time". We have to get up and get on, and deal with our feelings in ways we can control. He was mourning the fact that his dad wasn't here to build him a tunnel in the snow banks, like every other big snow winter.

I bundled Cooper and Willem up in their snow clothes and sent them out to play. Not five minutes later Cooper comes in crying. He is heart sick. Little brother follows close behind, "Coopah, I am biwding a tunnoh foh you. Tum out heoh and hep me wiff it." A few slow gasps and, "Okay, fine."

Those two boys spent 2 hours in the Michigan cold building themselves a tunnel. An homage to a far away father, and to their strength. They were so proud of themselves, pouring prideful "big fish" stories into their hot cocoa afterward. THAT is what their dad's wants of them, pro-activeness. It is what I want of them.

The letter's I have received have validated my belief that the sacrifice my family is making is WORTH IT! Some days feel as though my sorrow will leave in a puddle on the floor, and I regret that I ever agreed to this, that I ever urged him on. His letters make it all worth it, "It's hard telling how much our long arguments and late hour conversations are helping these GI's". We ARE still the team we have always been.

There are reminders of him everywhere. I know that if we are to remain the unit we were when he left the boys and I must continue to honor the value system that has been built by the both of us. This is hard to do if you are feeling sorry for yourself, if you are bemoaning your loss. Most days I feel like sitting on my sad ass doing nothing, but that is not the value system that my husband and I have based our marriage or parenting style on. If we are to remain the family we have always been I HAVE to take care of me first. Get up, get in that workout and show those boys that doing what you feel like doing is usually NOT the route that will lead to fulfillment or happiness. So, as I have for 10 years I will take care of my responsibilities, myself and my sons with an insane work ethic and a tender heart. Even I'd rather eat myself into a coma. I have obviously instilled it in at least one of them already. Thank you Willie, for keeping it real!

sleeping possessed (military wife)

I had a
dream you were
dead.
Bestial cries ravaged
my throat rendering
the flesh pink &
ready for
butcher.
The earthquake in
my chest forced my
ribs to crack & pull
apart leaving my
heart exposed, ripe,
begging to be
plucked up &
squished between the
fingers of some
giant, diapered curiosity like a
cherry tomato on
a desertous lawn.
"take it please"

I awake. Finally, after
long days, Relief sprinkles
gently, untieing every
muscle in my
tight body.
Breath comes
joyously now,
this nightmare harvesting my
ache for you.
You are still alive.

I bought minutes for my phone today, so that I could forward calls from the home phone so that I won't miss any calls from Casey. Priorities. On the date of my last posting, an acquaintance from home lost her husband, a medic in the Army, due to an IED. He was 24. They'd been married for two years. He would send her flowers even while deployed, just so that she could have a living piece of his affection in his absence. Now, he can't even do that. She can call herself an Army Wife. Of course I want a world without war. However, that is a fictional world, a world of civility and rational action, not our world.

Mail Call

I received a Shut-Off notice in the mail yesterday, not to mention that yesterday marked the official 30 days past due on our mortgage, and was reminded as to the precipitous conditions of Casey's departure. It took the threat of financial doom to liberate him from the belief that to join the Army was to compromise his intellect. He could've "saved us" by going back to Chicago with his company and continuing to work in Corporate sales, but instead WE decided to put finances on hold so that he could get back in shape, after all he had been sitting behind a desk for 3 years, to best serve his country. Once a National Champion Track Athlete, I worried as to how the Army would utilize his talents, I didn't want him to get hurt. The decision, though stress inducing was a great one because he was recruited into the Dive Program, "the most physically demanding school in the Army". Neither of us even knew the Army had Divers until he was assigned the MOS. He wanted to join the Army in high school and was reprimanded by family. His recruiting letter from West Point went into a shoe box, only to be discovered by him 15 years later.


He simply seized the opportunity to fulfill a calling he had felt for a long time. He wanted to do this 15 years ago, but came to be ashamed of his desire and locked it away until the moment that he could vindicate his decision (to his own family and friends) with the excuse of economic hardship. What does this say about us, that civic servitude/pride and intellectualism have been polarized?

To be honest I am a bit jealous of him. That he has been able to finally realize his desire despite the criticism and opposition. I feel a bit left behind to man this island and care for it's inhabitants. I do NOT want to be mistaken for a mousey housewife holding down the fort in the absence of it's real protector. I am the one that makes the servitude a possible.