Him

I recently read an article written by a soldier who had been home from Iraq for a year. The article from www.esquire.com was called I Miss Iraq. I Miss My Gun. I Miss My War. It's been on my mind all day. The soldier's perspective was so interesting, so open, so painfully familiar. Not familiar in a sense that I could relate his experience to anything I have ever encountered or that I could even pretend to process what being in a war zone is like, but familiar in that I've watched my husband describe and almost re-live the same experiences.
The author of the articles speaks of the heightened senses a soldier has in a war zone. A soldier is fully aware of his surroundings, because at any given time he can be under attack. In a way, I understand it to be like a constant adrenaline rush, and when the actual attack happens, complete adrenaline dump. A soldier is used to carrying his gun everywhere. He is with his team day in and day out, and each member knows the other so well that they can predict one another’s next move. The transition from heightened awareness and being locked and loaded 24/7 in the Sandbox to monotonous living at home will definitely affect a person.
People often used to say to me, and sometimes still say, "I don't know how you did it..." referring to how I "survived" emotionally while the man I loved was risking his life every day in a foreign land. Truth be told, I vacuumed. A lot. I watched MSNBC and CNN a lot. It was a necessary evil. Letters from Iraq took weeks to arrive, so hearing from my soldier was both comforting and painful. He was okay the day he wrote the letter, but was he okay today? In the wake of the almost decade-long war, news reports would give the number of casualties our troops suffered every day. Feelings of guilt set in as I was able to enjoy the comforts of home every day. A nice, long shower, home-cooked meals, cool, fresh drinking water, plumbing, clean linens and fluffy pillows. Meanwhile, boys were being sent to the desert only to return as men - men forever changed with perspectives of life that most of us will never gain. At first, showers were few and far between, only to be replaced by baby wipes. MREs (meals ready to eat) substituted Mom’s homemade lasagna. Water was rationed, and our soldiers slept on cots covered by mosquito netting or on the hard ground in a sleeping bag. Sand covered every surface while a decent restroom was a distant memory. Factor in the suffocating heat with pounds upon pounds of heavy protective gear, daily firefights and IED attacks, and living conditions “over there” were nothing short of abysmal.
It was not me that "survived" emotionally or physically from the experience. It was him. My husband. My soldier. My hero. My love. I have watched a man deal with things, major things, that I think would have broken me long ago. His strength amazes me. His perseverance astonishes me. His successes in life make me more proud than words can describe. I appreciate him. I watch him with our children and thank God every day for getting him home safely to me. I thank Him for the life we have been able to build together and for the memories made and for the tomorrows to come. However, as scary and negative as war seems, and is, I still look at my husband’s experience as a positive one. It has shaped him into the man he is today. I know he misses Iraq. I know he misses his gun. And I know he misses his war. But from those things, he has made lifelong friends and gained experience and skills he has carried over to his civilian job. And years from now, I’ll be baking cookies for our grandchildren while they are gathered around him, listening to the stories that I know were years ago, but will still seem like yesterday to him.