Nothing Will Ever be the Same Again

It has been nearly 5 months since my boy has returned from his deployment. The time he spent away, the months leading up to it, and even the months since, have changed me in ways I never anticipated. Everyone talks about how deployment and time in war changes the service member. At the extreme end of things there is PTSD, but even if they are not plagued by PTSD, almost all of them are changed in some ways. Usually they have shorter tempers, they are more diligent and observant, they are easy to anger, easy to frighten, withdrawn, suffer from nightmares, feel distant, feel isolated, etc. etc. The list is exhaustive. Everyone talks about these things. They are unfortunate realities of war. But what no one talks about is the lasting effects for those left behind. Everyone knows the family suffers while their loved one is deployed, but no one talks about it lasting past their return. For me, this was not the case. The boy's deployment has changed me in a lot of ways. Many of them for the worst.

Even though the boy is not deployable for a few more months, I find myself constantly anxious about a potential re-deployment. We have no knowledge of another deployment planned. There is no reason he should go again in the next year. But still, every day, I am terrified they are going to send him back. I know they can send him back with only a few days warning. I know it is incredibly unlikely, but it can happen. I find myself worrying about it constantly.

Even though the boy has been back for months, I find myself worrying about him and being scared exactly the same way I was when he was deployed. While I know he is not deployed, I know he is at his base safe and sound, I worry that I will never fully believe that he is safe again. Even when I am with him, holding him in my arms, I feel like he is in danger. I feel like he may be shot at or blown up any minute. I find myself constantly anxious and scared and worried. Always. It is exhausting.

Even though I know the news will not bear my boys name I have to change the channel at the first mention or image of war. Even history documentaries about war. I can't handle them. On campus there is a war memorial in our student union. My boy's best friend is named on that memorial, as he attended this university before joining the military. Before being killed in action in Afghanistan. Even before the addition of his name to the wall, but even more so since then, I cannot walk through that entrance without tearing up. It is too real. Too scary. I never want my boy's name added to that wall. I never want his name added to any wall. He does not belong on a memorial. None of them do. None of them should have died. Ever.

I can't see someone in uniform without being convinced that they are going to deploy. That their loved ones are going to cry every night. That they might be injured. That they might be killed. That if they return, they will never be the same again. That their families' lives will never be the same again. That nothing will ever be the same again. That nothing will ever be beautiful or happy or shiny again. I can't see an American flag without picturing it folded into a triangle, being handed to a spouse, or a parent, or a child. I can't get these images from haunting me. Constantly. I know I need to not think about them, and I've done a lot of things to try to get these images out of my mind, but when I wake up again, when I come home again, when I lie in an empty bed again, when I come back to life, as I inevitably must, the images come flooding back in. Even five months later, these thoughts have not stopped. They have not slowed down. They do not stop when I hold him in my arms. Will they ever stop? I only hope. I am tired of crying.

A Year in Review

I can easily say 2011 was the worst year of my life. I know I had some amazing opportunities in studying abroad and seeing the world, but I also had some of the darkest times of my life. I started off the year by sending my fiance to Afghanistan to do the most dangerous job in the world. Over a quarter of Air Force war casualties do my boy's job. Keep in mind only about 1000 people in the Air Force do it at all. They are a small, tight-knit community of heroes. I dealt with it okay for the first half of the deployment while I was abroad. Then I came home, and everything fell apart. The same day I got back to the States my friend's brother committed suicide. I was stuck in an airport and couldn't be there for her. I got home, there was a funeral, there were tears, and there were times trying to cope. It was hard. It was tragic. Only a few days after his funeral, my boy's best friend was killed in Afghanistan. It was tragic and sad and scary. It made me realize exactly what we were facing. Exactly what could happen. It was hard. I attended his funeral about a week later. It was the first military service I had attended since my grandpa died when I was 10. It was beautiful and tragic and heartbreaking. The worst moment was when his wife broke into tears and had to run out of the reception sobbing. It was so unbelievably sad and my heart broke for her. I was heartbroken and scared and weak. I tried to be there for my boy, but he buried it. He was okay for the remainder of the deployment. I went home for the summer, worked part time, and thought too much. I tried hard to stay strong for the last half of deployment. When the boy finally got back to his base in Germany I let myself feel everything I hadn't felt during his deployment. I fell apart. I had nightmares every night. I cried. I was scared. I finally processed what we had just been through. My boy started processing his friend's death and he fell apart. We were both weak and scared and apart. I could not go see my boy when he got back from Afghanistan because I was starting my third and final year of college. It was very hard for both of us and all we wanted to do was be together, but it wasn't possible.

During my time abroad I remembered a tragedy that had happened to me my first year of college. I had disassociated in the moment, and had buried it until I was in a better place to deal with it. Apparently my mind thought my supposedly stress-free semester abroad was that time. I remembered this terrible thing that happened to me and became scared, stressed, lonely, and weak. It was hard. As soon as I got back to the States I started going to therapy to deal with everything. I decided that I could not continue at school for two more years and decided to switch my academic plan to just a major and a minor, as opposed to the double major I was originally planning. This switch made it possible for me to graduate in three years. I started my final year at school and my boy left Afghanistan. He was finally able to come home in October, making it a total ten months apart. We spent a month together, and took a vacation to Florida over Thanksgiving. It was great. But of course it ended and he had to move to his next base. He found us an apartment and I went out there after Christmas. It was wonderful. It was home. For the first time in nearly a year I felt like I belonged somewhere. I felt safe. I felt at home. It was perfect. But then I had to leave. Yesterday I came back to school for my final semester. It is awful here. It is lonely here. And scary. I can only hope that the next four months fly. I want to be back at home with my boy. I want to be safe again.

There have been so many tragedies, fears, and traumas during 2011. I only hope that 2012 brings better things. Right now the only good thing I can say about 2011 is that I survived it. But at least I can say that.