Looking Back

In my mind, it happened just recently.  Time does not seem to carry the same meaning any longer.  Apparent days go by and I cannot recall anything that happened.  For me it is the same thing repeatedly.  Each day I wake up, take care of our son; try to remember to take care of myself, and then its time to try to get some sleep again.  I tend to think of time in larger sections.  The memory making moments, not all memories are good. 

That night is etched in my memory.  The look on my best friend’s face as she walked into the room… she saw them walking up to the door before they knocked and all she could say was “some one’s here.”  Then came the knock.  As I rounded the corner, I saw them… the brass buttons seemed to flash in warning against the dark green uniforms.  That pit in my stomach rose quickly to my throat and I could only let them in silently.  My mind was racing with thoughts of what they would say… it had to be a mistake.  The Captain just stood there for a moment, I could tell it was hard for him to speak and it was only mere seconds but it felt like minutes.  Anger took over and I blurted something out like, “just say it already.”  He spoke those words all too familiar to military widows, “I regret to inform you that your husband was killed today.”  It stops there for me as things begin to get a little muddled.  I remember it but it has is hazy.  It is that out of body experience where you are going through the motions, too much to take in all at once. 

As my friends and I sat around the table, a table at which I never sat, the irony of the day came flooding back to me.  I had wanted to have my friends over for dinner and so I had cleaned the house and cleared off the table.  I had even put out some Christmas decorations to fill my slightly festive mood earlier in the morning.  Now I was sitting face to face with a captain and a chaplain at the very same table.  I could not have prepared myself for that moment.  I never had that “oh no” feeling that some people get before they get the news.  Why would I think that my husband would not be coming home to our son and I?  They had just gotten there; it had barely been two months. 

Two months since our son was born and we were a family for those 2 days.  Yes, two days.  That deployment day was more difficult than I knew.  Our son was still in the hospital needing photo-light therapy as a precaution so we did not get any of those quiet family moments at home together.  No, instead, we could barely hold our son since he was supposed to be under the lights as much as possible 24/7.  Only taking him out to feed and change diapers.  I am so grateful I had that last minute thought, “I need a picture of you with your son.”  It turns out it is the only picture I have of my son with his father.  The last time he held his son.

My mind could barely focus on the conversation I seemed to be having with these soldiers at my table.  I went through the motions.  Then a phone rang and everything seemed to pause.  My best friends husband was calling her.  He was injured in the IED attack but allowed to call as he came out of surgery.  There had been three soldiers killed; I realized my husband was not the only one.  It was then that my friend handed me the phone.  Her husband wanted to talk to me.  All I remember him saying was, “Oh my god.  Are you OK?” and then repeating, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”  I tried to assure him I was all right.  I wasn’t.  He did not need to hear that though, he was already dealing with the trauma of knowing two close friends had just been killed.  Speaking with him, we then knew one of the other soldiers killed.  A “single” soldier. The soldiers at my table snapped me back to the present by “needing to answer a few questions if I felt comfortable.”  They dismissed themselves after a brief time and assured me that a Casualty Affairs Officer would be in contact.  I did not even let them out; I did not care what they did at that point.  They were the messengers.  They had done their job and for all I cared, I could go the rest of my life without seeing their faces again.

My mindset switched to that of fear for every wife I knew in the Company.  Who else was going thru this horror with me?  I called my closest friends and anxiously asked how they were. When each one responded that they were “fine” and “no they had not heard anything” from their husband, I felt relieved and devastated at the sane time.  I told them briefly what had happened and then hurriedly excused myself to hang up. 

It became clear to me that I was “alone” in this.  I had things to do, people to call.  The sound of my mom’s voice on the other end of the line was when it hit me.  I melted when she asked how I was.  I could barely get the words out.  “Brennan was killed,” were the only words that I could muster.  I told her I needed her to come to AK to help me.  Help me with, what, I did not know yet, just that I needed her to be with me.  I called Brennan’s father, it was late there and I was fearful that my call would wake him but I couldn’t bear the thought of him hearing the news in the same manner I had experienced just moments before.  I am not sure if it was the shock of my news but he “took it well” and I assured him, I was “ok” and would talk to him the next day.  I had to call Brennan’s mom.  I made that call last, not because it was the last thing on my list but more like the most difficult.  When she answered, I asked where his dad was because something in my mind told me they had to be in the same room.  I gave her the news and her ear-piercing scream was all I heard as she dropped the phone.  His dad picked up the phone and I repeated my words and then abruptly told him I was “ok” and to go and take care of his wife. 
I still do not know why I kept telling everyone I was “ok” but it may have been that at moment I was “ok.”  Yes, my world had just crumbled but my out of body experience dampened the true awareness of the events in front of me.