Invisible Ribbon Gala: One Canadian Military Family Story
(UPDATE: The following is a loose transcript of the speech that I gave at the Invisible Ribbon Gala at CFB Trenton on May 3rd, 2014. I was asked to speak on why military families still needed support following the end of Canada’s major contribution to the war in Afghanistan. As life would have it, my husband deployed for a different war 5 months later, making the point I was trying to emphasis that much clearer.
It is my opinion and my story, nothing more. And there are so many more out there with stories to share, mine is not any more unique or special.
It is my opinion and my story, nothing more. And there are so many more out there with stories to share, mine is not any more unique or special.
I am so appreciative of how well it was received, I am blown away by your response and grateful I could make a small difference for the evening. Thank you.)
If I have learned one thing in the time that it has been my privilege to write and speak as a military spouse, it is the vast diversity of our community.
That diversity is seen when a Combat Arms family moves from Edmonton to a logistics base in Kingston. The first time Dh left in civilian clothes and a rolling suitcase, I was worried he was just leaving us. Apparently he told me, suitcases and hotel rooms are how the Air Force rolls. He was being snarky, but I was thinking he had picked the wrong gig then!
It is seen when I find myself explaining the difference between a LAV and a Tank to the spouse who has just corrected my use of the word ‘boat’ to describe her husband’s ship.
And it is seen here today, as my husband sits in his scarlets and spurs at this Air Force museum.
It perhaps hit me the hardest several years ago when a new neighbour moved in. On her 6th move in 7 years (or something equally as consistent), she had her home painted and her things unpacked, sorted and put away within 48 hours of arrival. Meanwhile, I couldn’t imagine how she did it. I had little experience with moves.
What I did have at that time, pregnant with my 3rd in the middle of my husband’s 3rd deployment, was experience saying ‘see you later’ for the war. That I could do. I know what combat deployments look like from the home front.
But a couple years later, as she prepared for her first deployment and I prepared to move across the country, we were both in over our heads. We were both military spouses, both even army spouses, but we were not the same and neither were our experiences.
Asked to find one strength that defines us all would be hard.
So I begin with a movie I saw called Battle: LA.
In it, the marines have a battle cry – Retreat, Hell!
It’s very motivating, by the end even I wanted to fight the aliens.
In Dh’s unit, they also have a motto.
Perseverance.
So…. maybe it’s no Retreat, Hell.
I’m sure it has an impressive battle story.
I’m sure it has an impressive battle story.
But if we are looking for the strength shared by military families, we just might find it here.
Because it is in these families that I see Perseverance lived out.
It is in B, who has moved 9 times since saying I Do, enduring 5 deployments all while homeschooling her kids.
It is M, postponing her wedding for the 3rd time to accommodate military schedules that just changed.
Again.
Again.
It’s K, putting aside her own fear to open her door at all hours for the spouses of those serving under her husband when the war hit the hardest and the casualties were of our own.
It’s J, with only quick goodbyes on voice-mail that don’t even get to tell her where he’s going, explaining to her children why he won’t be home for dinner.
And it’s more than moves and deployments. More than attending kids graduations alone, more than acting as ‘dad’ on Father’s Day or ‘mom’ on Mother’s Day. Even more than giving birth with your spouse on speaker phone.
Sometimes it’s L, holding her home and family together until her husband can see the end of the tunnel he has been trapped in since he got back.
It’s J, lying awake to the sound of his nightmares, praying that he finds his peaceful night.
It’s S, learning to change dressings and modifying a home for a wheelchair, ensuring he knows her love has always been unconditional.
And as much as it has broken my heart, sometimes it’s M, who took a folded flag with more dignity than I can imagine and accepted the challenge of learning what it meant to be a soldier’s widow.
We all have stories, each one with it’s own unique victories and challenges.
And we all persevere.
And it is certainly not all hardships and rough times. In fact, it’s held together mostly by pride. Chance for new experiences. And let’s be honest, family days and ‘bring dad or mom to school days’ that a kid can brag about on the playground. Not many kids parent’s can bring a Tac Vest, a Coyote or a helicopter to school, or visit their parent at work to ride a tank.
When people ask me how I do what I do, I often tell Dh that he is lucky that I married young. I don’t know a life any different than this life that I have, and because tonight I am the one with the mic, it’s that life I share here.
Shorty after I turned 20 I left college to marry a 19 year old Armoured Reconnaissance Soldier and have babies. Shockingly, no one ever asks me to speak on career day.
I knew nothing of the military, and my young Trooper, he was preparing for run of the mill exercises and routine Bosnia deployments.
But 6 months later 3 planes changed everything it meant to be a military spouse. I feel like I blinked and all of a sudden I was standing 2 months pregnant, watching the bus pull away to take him to Kandahar.
I learned that he had arrived when I saw him on the news. Phone calls were a rare luxury for a Coyote crew living outside camp, real paper letters (remember those?) were our primary source of communication. When I sent my ultrasound photos, it took them 9 weeks to arrive. Then on April 17th, a new reality closed in and the first 4 casualties in Afghanistan seemed to catch us all unprepared. I spent a sleepless night between when the media announced their loss and when the families were notified, waiting to see if it would be my doorbell to ring. And when morning came and it had not, learning for the first of far too many times what it feels like when relief is crushed by the guilt of knowing not all doorbells were silent.
It is through that experience, pregnant, scared and with no friends or family nearby, that I began to learn the greatest lesson of my life this far:
I cannot do military life alone.
That deployment I was blessed with a phone call that invited me to a Partner Support Group where I met women who supported me and continue to, even to this day.
Over the years to follow, I have seen communities change. Instead of spouses of those deployed buying the yellow ribbon and walking for hours tying them for reunions, there are volunteers who do that for us. Instead of confusion from hospital staff to the woman going through labour alone, there are computers in case there can be video calls for delivery. Instead of reaching the end of their rope in a new city with no respite, there is deployment childcare. Instead of confused couples post reunion who think maybe they might be the only ones struggling to work together again, there are reintegration seminars.
But now, Canada’s major contribution to Afghanistan’s war has come to an end.
And as I started this talk with a movie I was *dragged* to by my husband, I will end with one as well.
Last month, I saw Lone Survivor.
In that movie, Marcus Lutrell, when asked about cursed operations as the battle seems to go completely wrong around him, says “There are no curses. This is just Afghanistan.”
And while my husband does not have the experiences of an American Navy Seal, one thing was clear as this movie came to an end: It’s been a long 12 years.
I know, because as the credits rolled it took me a long time to get up. And when I did, I grabbed my jacket from the chair, dropped it and turned to hug Dh just long enough to be a distraction to those around us.
I know even more so because instead of being embarrassed, he just tucked my head under his chin and held on.
I feel like my heart is full of stories that will never need to be told.
Because we are just your average, run of the mill, war-weary military family.
With a soldier who has almost 2 years in Afghanistan, who came home each time unbroken and not wounded. Who was never captured or beaten, or took a bullet. Who has friends marked by the stones that stand here in this foyer, who never made it back. Just like every combat soldier who has ever made it to the other side of the battlefield that claimed his brothers, survivors guilt will always tug at his heart. But he came home
And children, who have all been born since the war began and are all used to a world where every time dad’s away, he’s fighting. Even when he’s in Wainwright. Who count camouflaged teddies as prized possessions and can tell you the difference between a Leopard and a Coyote. And neither are animals.
And this wife.
This wife who watched the war begin before her first anniversary. Who knows what weeks without contact looks like and prefers it to an unexpected knock at the door. A wife who never, even now with the threat gone, goes to bed without cleaning the front room of her house in an irrational fear of notification parties that will somehow only come if she’s not prepared for them.
A wife who watched in the movie when the Taliban soldier took the wedding band from the Seal he had wounded, and when he went to put it on his own finger, a wife who’s eyes filled with tears at the strength it took to hold back the scream that said “DON’T YOU TOUCH THAT!”
It has been a long 12 years and as the war seems to melt in the rear view of our Country, I know I’m not yet ready to reflect.
Because some days it feels like fear of what comes next. Dh used to say ‘Better the Devil I know” as he left for his 3rd time to the same place. But now this fight is no longer ours and the world is not short on devils. Some days it feels like uncertainty in our lives that have always been always awaiting the next deployment. Our life like so many others, has been a constant routine of predeployment, deployment, reintegration. What does it look like now?
And some days it looks possessive. Like somehow those years were ours and no one else gets to have an opinion as to whether or not the part of our lives that we gave was worth our family’s sacrifice.
But as the movie ended, and I saw the look on Dh’s face as he saw the Afghan sunrise, a look that was both reminiscent and longing, I know that one thing is certain –
He is still a soldier, awaiting his next mission.
We are the same as hundreds of other Canadian families, and we don’t expect, or feel entitled, or want sympathy or special treatment.
But the end of this chapter does not close the book on what it means to be us. As a wise spouse once told me, at a memorial where we laid to rest those who had given the ultimate sacrifice in a war our husband’s were still off fighting, it is best to understand as early as possible that being a soldier isn’t what he does.
It’s who he is.
If there is anything that I hope you remember at the end of this night, it is that no matter the politics, news reports or opinion columns that you will see in the coming days, weeks and years, there is this –
It was just Afghanistan.
And it changed our family, our community, our country.
And we are all still here. And we still stand ready.
And we still so appreciate your support.
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24 COMMENTS
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Karen | 5th May 14
Thank you. Thank you for this speech, for being a voice for military spouses. I wish I could have been there to hear it in person.
reccewife | 13th May 14
I wish you were there so I could meet you in person! Thanks, Karen 🙂
Rhonda | 5th May 14
Oh wow. Just wow. I feel like I say that a lot when I read your posts. But this "wow" is different somehow. I think it is likely because it is sometimes so easy to come up with the right words for our blogs. But, to speak it, wow. Just, wow.
reccewife | 13th May 14
You're so sweet, Rhonda, thank you!
Anonymous | 6th May 14
I give you a standing ovation! Since moving to the area I have often said that "I have new found respect for the our troops and their families", you have just re-iterated why! Thank you for all you do and give so that the rest of us can live free!
reccewife | 13th May 14
Thanks!
Laura Keller | 6th May 14
I thought I was the only one who tidied up the front hallway … and yes, it was a long 12 years …
reccewife | 13th May 14
I've met many of us who do 🙂
Anonymous | 6th May 14
Every military wife should read your speech..to know that they really are not alone. Support has greatly improved over the past 47 years but the wives have remained the same…..steady, loving, supportive double-hatted and all waiting for the door to open to see her loved one home and safe once more. Well done!
reccewife | 13th May 14
Thank you!
Anonymous | 6th May 14
Well said!! As not only a military wife myself but also a military member with 39+ years in the CF and as an Afghanistan Vet, I salute all types of family support. They deserve so much!!
reccewife | 13th May 14
Thank you!
Cat G-C | 6th May 14
Thank you for being such an amazing voice for military families . We are not alone .
reccewife | 13th May 14
Thank you Cat!
jenna | 6th May 14
This made me cry! It's like you wrote about my life as a military spouse.
Thank you for the support.
reccewife | 13th May 14
Thank you for reading!
brianforbescolgate | 6th May 14
She is fierce wrote, “… we don't expect … special treatment.”
Military wives who survive have been of a special breed throughout the generations. Some can't handle the demands and cut and run early, simply not able to deal with the life of their partners. For those who know what it takes, those who stick it out have gained the most respect of anyone … at times even more than that high regard gained by their soldier partners. BZ.
reccewife | 13th May 14
Thank you!
Anonymous | 6th May 14
Thank you, thank you, thank you. For your words, opinions, humor, and perspective.
reccewife | 13th May 14
Thanks 🙂
Anonymous | 7th May 14
I am not a military spouse; have always thought about how hard it must be; now there is a greater respect.
reccewife | 13th May 14
Thank you for taking the time to read!
Kim Barnes | 7th May 14
I have been on both sides – a military spouse and a deployed soldier. Thank you for this eloquent speech and the feeling behind it. I have felt fear and heartache for my beloved husband while he was away and for my children when I had to leave them. I could never say it with such dignity and humour. Thank you
reccewife | 13th May 14
Thank you for reading, Kim 🙂