I'm across the country, and if you have kept up on her blog, then you know that the current situation has been all but desirable. I spent every available hour trying to get things done: leave arranged, housing, transportation, travel, each one requiring five more pieces of paper that someone else needs to sign.
Now, I like to think I'm a pretty robust individual. I am a soldier, after all. But I have a limit. It's a distant limit, to be sure, but I found it, all the same. I can deal with losing our nice house, having to accept a rather significant downgrade. I can deal with miles of B.S., red tape, hoops and signatures. I can do that. I can deal with time being decidedly against me. (Thanks to DHL for that one.) But if it affects my wife...I lose it. I can't handle that. Call me weak if you like, but if she feels the stress and the pain, she let's me know. If I'm feeling it, I rarely say a thing.
Except that this time, I broke down. There were about 10 other soldiers in the next room, all of which could hear me crying, and I didn't care. Finally, a good soldier I had befriended decided to come and check on me. He recommended going to see the chaplain. I needed to do something, so on that lunch break, I peeked in the chaplain's office, and knocked timidly. He turned around and asked what he could do for me. I didn't say anything, I just started to well up on the spot. He lovingly said, "shut the door behind you, and have a seat. I know what you need." I shut the door, sat down, and lost control. I cried so hard my lungs charlie-horsed. My lips went dry and cracked, there was a wavy line from each eye to each side of my jaw that chapped. I cried so hard my blood sounded it's protest loudly in my ears. And this rough-looking, yet gentle soldier cried with me. "It's not easy being a soldier, is it?" It wasn't a question. I simply nodded through my tears. It was after I calmed down that I told him that I simply needed a place to cry. He told me his door is always open. And will always close, should I require it. I'm grateful to those that understand what it means to truly be a soldier, to put the lives of others first, to place yourself between the enemy and those that refuse to admit that there is an enemy. People that, when the attack comes, they scream for protection, defense, and swift, brutal, justice. And then, when we give the people what they want, they hate us for it, or they will not accept responsibilty for the nearly unanimous outcry for bloodshed. And we, the soldiers, take it. We will be the bridge this country may tread on for safety. I give you all full permission to shove me in harms way, so that you may raise your children "in peace."
Sorry for the tangent. We're going to be ok. All good things come with sacrifice. I'll sacrifice it all to be with her again.
Except that this time, I broke down. There were about 10 other soldiers in the next room, all of which could hear me crying, and I didn't care. Finally, a good soldier I had befriended decided to come and check on me. He recommended going to see the chaplain. I needed to do something, so on that lunch break, I peeked in the chaplain's office, and knocked timidly. He turned around and asked what he could do for me. I didn't say anything, I just started to well up on the spot. He lovingly said, "shut the door behind you, and have a seat. I know what you need." I shut the door, sat down, and lost control. I cried so hard my lungs charlie-horsed. My lips went dry and cracked, there was a wavy line from each eye to each side of my jaw that chapped. I cried so hard my blood sounded it's protest loudly in my ears. And this rough-looking, yet gentle soldier cried with me. "It's not easy being a soldier, is it?" It wasn't a question. I simply nodded through my tears. It was after I calmed down that I told him that I simply needed a place to cry. He told me his door is always open. And will always close, should I require it. I'm grateful to those that understand what it means to truly be a soldier, to put the lives of others first, to place yourself between the enemy and those that refuse to admit that there is an enemy. People that, when the attack comes, they scream for protection, defense, and swift, brutal, justice. And then, when we give the people what they want, they hate us for it, or they will not accept responsibilty for the nearly unanimous outcry for bloodshed. And we, the soldiers, take it. We will be the bridge this country may tread on for safety. I give you all full permission to shove me in harms way, so that you may raise your children "in peace."
Sorry for the tangent. We're going to be ok. All good things come with sacrifice. I'll sacrifice it all to be with her again.
