Military musings.

Ugh. So the surge. THE SURGE. It has already sparked debate in my household... I agree with the plan (this would be the "shitting" portion of my previously held position of "shit or get off the pot") generally speaking... even though I know as well as most of you what this surge means... and I hate the price that we will have to pay for success.

It means extended tours. It means increasing the OpTempo once again. It means tapping into a well that is already running dry. And worst of all, it means that my friends, my military family (and possibly Swiss and I), will have to pay the price... paid with fear, worry, trepidation, loneliness, holidays spent alone, a year without their loved ones, living with the omnipresent cloud of a loved one at war... every day. It will be paid with blood, sweat and tears. It will be paid with lives lost too soon. It will be paid with young widows and children who will never grow up with two parents.

I shudder to think about all of the other families getting ready for this surge. The ones who will leave yet this month... the ones who are getting the calls to ready for deployment. The ones who's hearts sunk when the final word broke today- knowing full well their families would be the ones bearing the burden. The ones who's lives will be put through the ringer (wringer?) in every imaginable way. The ones who will live this next year on the edge of their seats... afraid of the news, the phone ringing, the unfamiliar sedan in front of the house... the ones who will live in fear of the ringing of their doorbell.

But more than anything... watching the CBS News and hearing the reporter say that these troops would be there for "just one year"... my temper flared, my voice rose two octaves and I was using my outside voice inside. JUST ONE YEAR? Just. One. Year. *gasp* I've lived that year. I'm still living it. There is no "just" in one year. That is every holiday spent alone. That is 360-ish nights alone in your large bed meant for two. That is a full year of mowing the lawn, raking every leaf, shoveling every last snowfall alone. That is a full year of involuntary single parenthood. That is countless missed birthdays... missed first steps... missed first anniversaries... missed nights spent like any other normal couple across this country. There is no "just" in a year.

Inevitably, my rant turned into my least favorite (and admittedly touchiest) subject. "They signed up for this." And you know who said it? My parents. My blood began to boil. My rationality went out the window. I KNOW he chose this. But in no way, shape or form does that make this easy or fun or not horrible. And then I was told that "that isn't what I meant, it isn't personal". How could it not be personal? These are real people who have to enact this surge... families torn apart... IT IS, AT IT'S VERY ROOT, PERSONAL. It couldn't not be personal, if for no other reason, because this surge could lead to Swiss's retirement paperwork being denied. Which means he will be part of this surge. Another war. Another deployment. Another round of God Please Just Bring Him Home, every night, every day. How much more personal could it be?

I don't think I will ever get over how disconnected the American public is from this military lifestyle and all it entails. I understand that living it gives one a unique understanding an outsider could never match (Maude knows I didn't get it until I lived it). But I don't see how the general public can be so flippant about it. "Its their job." "Its about time." "They should send more" ... I want to shout that there aren't more to send.... they can't keep this up... this is taking its toll in ways you can't even begin to fathom!!! But I know, no matter how I say it, it will fall on deaf ears... because it isn't their spouse. It isn't their kid. It isn't their sibling. And it isn't their concern. It's just another talking point... another way to grade a President... another game to armchair quarterback. And it isn't personal.

So, to all of you who are or will be touched by this: May your loved ones come home safely, may this conflict end swiftly and without loss, and may your family, friends and whomever you pray to give you the comfort, support, love and reassurance you need. And know that I will be here for you.

Honor.

I was going to write a post today about my stepson and brother in law and how family can be a pain in your behind. But then I stopped by Soldiers's Angels Germany's blog and got not only a reality check, but also a healthy dose of all that is right with our country. If only every fallen soldier got a homecoming like this. I cried like a baby (at work, no less) and felt so much pride, so much honor, so in debt to this man and his family... we, as a country, can never repay or replace what they have lost, but the very least we can do is honor them.

Rest is Peace Sgt 1st Class John C. Beale
Riverdale, Georgia, Georgia Army National Guard 48th Infantry Brigade Combat Team.
May we never forget you or the sacrifice you made for us.

WARNING: This video is long, about 12:35, but worth every second. And it WILL make you weep openly, if it doesn't you are a lost cause. It is also worth noting that all of these people came out to honor this soldier after only a small notice was posted in the local newspaper listing the route and approximate time. It makes me so hopeful and thankful that people do still care. Especially when it counts the most.

On kindness and asking for help.

So, a couple of weeks ago Swiss mentioned that the guys he is stationed with (he is the only one from his unit, all the other guys are from another unit) are BORED. Not necessarily with work, but mostly when not at work. See, they are in a remote JSS without much for services or entertainment. Nothing to do when work isn't calling, nothing to read. He said they were sorely lacking any and all reading materials... I thought, Hey! I can fix that! So I set out to buy a ton of magazines to send the guys.

Then I realized that at around $3.95 a pop (if not more), it would take more to $100 to fill up a box, plus postage. We aren't poor, but that's a lot of loot! So I sat and stewed on this. How could I procure reading materials at little to no cost without having to run around town and beg grocery stores/bookstores/etc for their unsold wares? I was loathe to ask folks I know for help, please don't ask me why because surely I don't have a good reason. But finally I sent out the only slightly begging e-mail to some select co-workers. I asked if they had any old Dude Magazines (remember: Infantry) that they would be willing to give up, so that I could send them to Swiss and his fellow soldiers.

I was nervous about sending this e-mail. I didn't want to sound like I couldn't fix this myself. I didn't want to inconvenience anyone. I didn't want to sound like I, or the guys, needed pity. Lame, I know.

But happily, 6 folks (only 2 of which have actually met Swiss), brought in armloads of magazines to share... everything from Bowhunter (Swiss will LOVE these) to National Geographic to Men's Health to Outside to Sports Illustrated. I got enough to fill two flat rate (the big kind!) boxes, both of which I am sending out today with big bags of Starbursts and Twizzlers. And it made me all fuzzy and warm inside, I might have even teared up a little. I also brought in a card, thinking that perhaps the folks who donated these magazines would want to say something to the guys. Then I thought better of it, what if they thought that was lame? What if they were only doing it because they knew me and felt obligated? What if they didn't have anything to say? But again, I was so wrong. They wrote the kindest, sweetest most grateful comments. And once again, I got all warm and fuzzy inside.

I am SO glad I asked for help, because they helped me accomplish something that I wouldn't have been able to do on my own. And together, we fixed a simple problem, we made life a tiny bit better for the guys over there. It feels good.

So the moral of the story is that, while we assume folks don't care because they don't talk about it or don't act as advocates/supporters of our troops, when push comes to shove... some of them do. Some of them will lug 5 pounds of magazines to work so that your husband and his co-workers have something to read. They will write kind sentiments that you never knew they felt, and they will help when you need it, as long as you are willing to ask.

That, my friends, is a wonderful thing.