Like a Candle in a Hurricane...

                                                                                                                                              July 1^st, 2012

Dear Christopher,

I’m sitting here missing you as tears stream down my face. Today I read through our text messages and found our old facebook thread. It doesn’t even look like it could be real, all the love notes, it looks more like a fairy tale. How could I have been so lucky to have you in my life? Now it feels like I’m the most unlucky person in the world to have lost you. People say it is better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all. Have these people ever known true love? Have they ever actually had to lose it? How can you have the greatest thing in the world and be okay with it leaving?  We didn’t love temporarily, we loved forever. You never hurt me or walked out, you were stolen from me.  Maybe it would have been better if you had ever been a jerk, maybe then I could forgive you for leaving me. But you never were. You were always there and always so wonderful. How can love like that die? How can you just disappear so suddenly with no goodbye?

When I had you, I felt like I was on top of the world. I was so in love. I was so incredibly happy. I was so excited for our future.  I couldn’t wait for you to come home so that we could really start our life together; spend the time together that we’d been missing. 2013 was the year that you were supposed to be home. We were going to take trips, go to weddings, sleep-in together and live the life we’d been waiting for. You were finally going to be here for one of my birthdays, what better gift is there? Instead my world came crashing down around me and I was left with the shattered pieces; just a glimpse of the life I was supposed to live but not enough for me to realize it.  

Time was all that I looked forward to, we were finally going to have time together. Now time feels like my enemy because the more time I have, the more it hurts because you are not here. We will never have that time.  October would have been our 3 year anniversary.  That number seems so small for the love that we had.  That number is too small. Our story is so much bigger than that.  We knew each other for almost 9 years, we were friends for 8, best friends for 7, head-over-heels for 6, destined to be married for 5, promised to each other for 4.  The truth is that you still gave me butterflies. While you were gone, I had this warm light in me, a voice that sang like a record stuck on repeat; it played over and over again saying “I am so in love with him. I am so lucky to have him. I miss him so much. I can’t wait for him to be home.” Those words made me so happy and filled me like a light. I knew that our love was stronger than ever and I was out-of-this-world happy. And then suddenly that light went out, that record stopped playing and my happiness flew away with the butterflies in my stomach. I’m empty now, sad and hurt, exhausted and empty.

Just a few months ago, I remember thinking that I could do anything with you. My house could burn to the ground, but it would be alright as long as you were there. Possessions didn’t mean a thing. Though few people would believe that of me because of the way you’d spoil me and I’d tease you about getting me beautiful things. The truth is, they meant so little to me in the grand scheme of things. Now I find myself terrified of my house burning down or someone breaking in and the only reason is that my life has been reduced to possessions. You aren’t here and all of my memories are contained in material objects; our pictures, your computers, the cards and letters we sent each other, your clothes and now the flag that draped your coffin, your ashes. It’s hot and yet at night I lock the windows and bolt the door, not for my own safety, I could care less about that, but because I can’t bear to lose any more of you.  

This isn’t supposed to be my life! My life was perfect! This is a nightmare! I don’t know who I am without you. You were the better person that I wanted to be! I loved you, I admired you, I was so proud of you! Now I wish that I’d discouraged your dreams; been selfish and kept you all to myself! I should have told the world that you were mine and they couldn’t have you! You would have forgiven me, our love was big enough for that. This deployment wasn’t even your dream and I let you leave and embark on another man’s dreams.  I should have stopped you.  The irony is that I made you wear sunblock so that you wouldn’t get cancer, I wouldn’t let you have a motorcycle for fear that you’d get hurt, I hounded you about getting injuries checked so that you’d be healthy, but I let you go to do the most dangerous job in the world. Who am I?

I always told you that I needed you to come home but I never told you how I’d disintegrate without you. You wouldn’t want me like this.  I thought I was being strong, holding back my anxiety and not talking about the ‘what ifs’ with you.   I didn’t want you to worry about me. Did you think that I didn’t care?  I never thought that you might not come home. Any time the thought crossed my mind I brushed it off.  We weren’t allowed to break promises in our house. It was a rule. You promised that you would come home safe to me. You promised that we would grow old together. You promised that you would always take care of me.

I went from living to surviving. What a world of difference between the two…

It's a boy!

Hey Babe,

It’s me. Just wanted to tell you that Alison had her baby today. Welcome to the world, Emerson Christopher! He’s named after a role model. He has a lot to live up to, but he’s off to a good start. He even beat you at the start at 10 lbs 15 ozs.  Alison is already a heroic mom to deliver him so gracefully.  You’d have been so proud of her.

 I wish you were here. I remember the night you found out that she was pregnant. You were so worried and excited and protective, all at once. You worried about Alison and told me to take care of her while you were gone but that we would both be there for her when you came home. You told me “I’m so excited! We’ll help her and babysit and take care of her and the baby.” And then carried away by the excitement, you said “Can I be the Godfather?  It’s like we’ll have a baby but it won’t be ours!” You were so happy. I was laughing. I remember how proud I was and how lucky I felt to have you as my husband. Not everyone can think so selflessly about others and be so happy about the idea of a brand new life.  Do you also remember saying that you’d knock out anyone that hurt her or broke her heart? I do. The irony is that it was Alison who took care of me during her pregnancy. She watched me topple and caught me before I hit the ground.

I loved the idea that we were going to have kids together one day. You would have been the greatest father. My only worry was that a little girl would have you wrapped around her finger. You were such a softie. I know because you always melted for me. I always managed to get my way. Remember when I  was a brand new nurse and I came to visit you in Florida? You said I could practice starting an IV on you, but then you started getting nervous which made be nervous. When the needle went in you yelled and then I yelled back at you and then burst into tears.  You were so shocked and immediately softened and held me. Up until April 26^th, I think you only saw me cry a handful of times. I normally stood my ground and dug in, matching your own stubbornness, but that day I cried. I hated that I hurt you. You hated that you made a big deal of it and yelled out. I saw the tears in your eyes.

 I told you that I didn’t want to be pregnant when you were deployed because I didn’t want to do it without you. We both knew that I would be a bear when I became pregnant. We always joked about it; the midnight runs that you would do for me to satisfy a craving. We both knew that you would do them. We were always in things together, so this would be no different. We imagined that we had plenty of time for kids later on and wanted to get some us time in first. I guess we waited too long.

Love you much!

Opening Pandora's Box

I received the remainder of Chris’ belongings. 5 large black containers full of items that had been inventoried countless times and sorted into plastic zip-locked bags. The majority of items were tactical gear that he had purchased out of pocket. Instead of reading heartfelt notes, I sorted through memories of countless trips to REI and hours of internet research to find the best gear for both abominable cold and sweltering heat. There is a sterile feeling to the boxes. Everything arrived squeaky clean, purged of Chris’ scent and the living breathing person who wore those t-shirts. Chris’ passports and IDs have been hole-punched to prove they are no longer valid. Just another reminder that this is real and Chris will never return home. The military had painstakingly inventoried every item down to the rubber bands in his pockets, and yet the few items that I’ve waited so desperately for are noticeably absent. Where are the Navy Jack patch that he wore on his right arm with the infamous words “don’t tread on me” and the name patch from the front of his kit? Why is there nothing retrievable from his external hard-drive? The three items that I had waited so anxiously to receive have left me empty.

There are a few personal items; the pictures that his parents and I sent him of family and friends. I recognize 3 pictures of Bailey and I from emails that I sent. He had printed and hung them up despite their poor quality. In his wallet is a valentine that I gave him 5 years ago, a silly, ridiculous card of the variety that school children give out, but at the time I grabbed it and wrote the words “I Love You!”  I never could have imagined at the time that he would carry it with him the rest of his life. Though if I had known, I don’t know that I could have summed up a better message for him.

There was one more item that I knew I would find among his things; my goodbye card. A note that I had put off writing until the day he left. I wrote from the heart, leaving no time for me to fine-tune what I wanted to say or check my grammar. There is nothing poetic or beautiful about my language.  I didn’t want to think about goodbye until I absolutely had to. Instead, I waited until the last minute and hastily transposed my heart on to a piece of stationary and tucked it into a book he would not open until he was on the plane.

There is no closure in these boxes. There is no good-bye from Chris. There is no love letter that begins “if you’re reading this…” Those things only exist in Hollywood. This is reality.  Yet it dawned on me that I’m okay with not receiving a letter. Chris wasn’t planning on dying. Writing a letter would have opened the door to the possibility of him not coming home and that was something Chris refused to accept. Chris did not leave “willing to die for his country” as the cliché goes; he left to serve his country and accepted those risks but he was not “willing to die.” The idea that he was “willing” feels offensive; he loved me far too much for that. Chris left with every intention of coming home to me. Just as Chris had studied furiously to be at the top of his class in EOD School so that he could choose San Diego to be with me, he worked tirelessly to be at the top of his job to come home from this deployment for me. That is the reason we spent countless weekends and holidays together at the mobile unit. It is why we spent free weekends shopping for gear and spent thousands of dollars to make sure he had everything he would need. It is the reason that we never argued over Chris staying late at work or leaving for training exercises. We desperately missed each other but we were both willing to do anything to make Chris better at his job and to keep him alive. To be sure, Chris loved his job and his community but I can’t even begin to count the number of times he told me “I hate being away from home” or “I can’t wait to be home and to finally be able to spend more time with you.”

 If you knew Chris well, maybe you can see the truth in this instead of a self-absorbed girl putting herself above her country. Chris lived on the positive side of life and refused to even talk about the negative. He had overcome so many hurdles through his hard work and perseverance that it was only natural to believe that this deployment was just another road block for us that Chris would overcome with grace and poise. The future was always on Chris’ mind, it’s what brought him through the present. Why else would we have plane tickets and hotel rooms booked for his sister’s wedding in November? He was so excited to be a part of her special day that he would pester her with inquiries, even planning for his tux. Why else would he ask me to mark the calendar for weddings of close friends in February and April of 2013? Why else would he tell me that he wanted me to have nice jewelry so that we could pass it on to our children?  He was 28 years old and investing in family heirlooms for children we didn’t even have yet. Chris had plans for our future; he went to Afghanistan to fight for life.

Family always came first in his life. Chris was an amazing EOD tech and even better officer, but he was so much more than that. He was driven in everything he did and could have done anything he wanted. He was a loving husband, a devoted son and a proud brother.  He was the love of my life but also my best friend, the person I told everything.  He dreamed of a year of relaxing and traveling together and then settling down to have beautiful blue-eyed babies that he would inevitably spoil while I was left with the role of disciplinarian. He was the man who wanted to protect me from any hurt. I am a pediatric nurse and I remember the day a chronic patient of mine, just a baby, passed away. I called Chris, something I tried never to do during work hours. All I had to do was tell him and immediately Chris said “I’m coming home.” He knew I needed him and he came and held me and let me sob. I could feel his pain and compassion and I knew how lucky I was to have those arms around me. His strength gave me strength and I could handle everything through that. This time Chris isn’t here to hold me.

My last letter to Chris:

                                                                                                                            December 28^th, 2011

Chris,

The time has finally come and all the strength I had during training seems to be vanishing. You are my world. I love you so much. I’ll be thinking of you and praying for you every moment of every day that you are gone. I can’t wait until you walk back through our front door. Until then, Bailey and I will hold down the fort. You don’t need to worry about me (I have a wonderful puppy to keep me company.) Worry only about what is important there and come home safe to me. I’d be so lost without you. You have made me so incredibly happy! Though I’ll miss you til it hurts, I am so proud of you and the person you are. Even in the darkest times remember that God is with you and hopefully faith can ease some of the atrocities you will encounter. You are in the prayers of so many people – you will never be alone!

                This will be an incredibly hard 9 months but just think of it as training for the day I get pregnant – that will be the real challenge!

                                                                                                                                You are so loved!

                                                                                                                                               Amanda

Remembering Memorial Day

I am ashamed to say that there was a time in my life that Memorial Day signaled the start of summer, the first weekend at the beach and BBQs. No reflection was given to the actual meaning of this holiday; no tears were shed for the fallen and no thought of the parents, brothers, sisters, children and friends left behind. When I joined the military, I was embarrassed that I and so many others had lost sight of its meaning. In recent years, as the casualties of war hit closer and closer to home, I nurtured a deeper understanding of Memorial Day.  Still I have never truly understood the day as I do this year. This year my husband joins the ranks of those whose memory we are supposed to be honoring on this “holiday”. The truth is every day is now Memorial Day in my life and there is no joy or celebration left in this 3 day weekend.

For our two year anniversary last year, my husband, Chris, and I decided to give each other something we both had been desperately missing, something far more valuable than gold or diamonds. We gave each other time. After a year of frequent separations for training exercises all over the country, Chris and I escaped for a pre-deployment vacation to Hawaii.  The previous year we had celebrated our belated honeymoon in Kauai and Maui and we had fallen in love with the islands. If you don’t know, our honeymoon was delayed by Chris’ first deployment shortly after our wedding and then his participation in RIMPAC shortly after he returned.

Even though Maui was calling our name, the history buff and the American in me longed to visit the Arizona and pay my respects. As with everything, we researched, worked dates into Chris’ schedule and finally booked.  It was not until later that we realized we would be there during the 70^th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Many survivors joined us on the island to remember the event. At the Arizona, we bore witness to both the pain and the strength of these men. We were not the only ones that noticed; everywhere we saw them, people honored and respected these men. It was a touching sight and an honor to be around and a part of this band of brothers. On the plane ride home, I asked Chris the question that had been haunting me, “Do you think our country will ever remember and respect the veterans and the fallen from this war like they do those from WWII?” Chris replied with the answer that I already knew in my heart, “No.”  I never imagined that Chris would be gone within 5 months of that day.

We haven’t even finished this war and already people have forgotten that we still have men and women fighting and dying for our country.  A week after Chris’ death I was rudely reminded of this reality while at a military medical facility. When the nurse there was informed that my husband was killed in Afghanistan, the first words out of her mouth were “I didn’t think we still had troops there.” I was flabbergasted but managed to reply that yes we still had many troops there. She persisted that the news had told her that we were coming home. After a series of increasingly uncomfortable questions including asking me “is there a body to come home?” I came to the realization that if someone employed by the US Navy could be so in the dark, then there are probably many Americans that have already checked out on this war.  We have grown complacent; war no longer interrupts most of our daily lives like it did in WWII. People at home are not rationing flour or turning in metal to make bullets. We do not proudly wrap yellow ribbon around the old oak tree.  The media brushes over Afghanistan coverage between pieces on Kim Kardashian and interparty quarrelling.  We are a society that flew the flags at half-mast for a celebrity that overdosed on drugs. When this is what the media focuses on, it is easy to forget that there are still many Americans fighting for our flag on foreign soil. It does not matter your politics, or whether or not you agree with the war. You can be sure most of those troops do not want to be there, away from family, friends and the luxuries of the modern world, but they continue to go for you and for each other.

 I’ve heard the criticisms. The military is made up of the dumb, the poor, the jail-avoiders. I am an Ivy League graduate from a well-off family. My husband was a dual degree business and engineering honor student. Despite what many think, we don’t owe you an explanation for being in the military and we are not a minority or rarity in it. Most of the greatest people I have ever met, I have met through the military. Not just the service members themselves but also their husbands, wives and children.  It takes something special to join those ranks.

Even as I sit next to a grave, I know this day isn’t about me and it’s not about the dead either, they are gone. Our story is already written. It’s about the living. It’s about remembering each and every day that there are men and women that are sacrificing for us, even while the news reports that all their efforts are in vain. We can never take them for granted or fail to show our appreciation. Every day I think of the team that Chris left behind in Afghanistan. I think of his former roommate who volunteered to leave early and take Chris’ place. I think of all their families who wait anxiously for their safe return. Each and every one of them has a piece of my heart and they are in my thoughts and prayers.