Reflections on Independence Day

Mother’s Day. Memorial Day. Father’s Day. Independence Day.


We’ve had a good stretch of holidays in the recent past, holidays which are now so inflected with new personal meaning to me for two reasons: (1)  we have a daughter, and (2) M is deployed.  I started Honor Project thinking that I would write regularly, or at least at milestones, or at least when the honor-spirit moved me...


but I have to admit...


I got very BUSY (with work, life, and mommyhood)


then


l
  a
     z
       y


and then at times, I was feeling  a little too


s    a    d....


Then I was worried about dragging others down with me by posting something too honest, that this is hard stuff, or on the flip side, if I was feeling a bit too inspired and would come across as some sort of arrogant Pollyana.  On more than one occasion I’ve found myself in social exchanges with well-intentioned people where, after announcing my current situation, I felt awkward and not knowing what to say, so I didn’t come across as being too positive or too depressing.


The truth is, these string of holidays, which once represented an escape from work and an excuse to party (albeit around a theme or a tradition), have always been fun, but they have also been sad.  And I think lately the sadness has been more tied to the fact that sometimes it’s still hard, no matter what you tell people to convince them not to worry about you, that you’re making it through the days/weeks/months. And sometimes people stop asking, which they should, because you have gotten pretty good at this alternate version of your life, that you are resilient, and that you are finding new joys. But you never stop missing the part of your family that makes your family a whole lot bigger than the sum of its parts.  You never stop pining for the pre-deployment, and hoping for the post-deployment. You choose to keep slogging on, because it never really was a choice, just a burden handed to you.


But then, just when you’re kinda feeling like you’re the sole parade float left on the street, and everybody already packed up their picnic chairs and coolers and went home, and you’re there to roll on down that empty Main Street, USA, something really cool and thoughtful and touching happens...

Like a bunch of four and five-year olds send you a book they made with letters and drawings thanking your husband for fighting for their freedom....

and upon receiving a note of thanks from your husband, along with a bunch of American flag pencils, they make a bulletin board display at their school displaying the thank you letter.
 

That makes me proud, too.


So, happy 4th of July, family, friends, and nation!  We’re not perfect, we have a lot of problems, but we became a country 236 years ago, and I’m thankful for our independence, bravery, country fairs with deep-fried ice cream, migraine-inducing amusement parks, beer cozies, and big cars. I’m thankful for the honor we show in trying to stand up for what we think is right and just. I’m thankful that even though we make a lot of mistakes, we seem to eventually own up to them and  try to keep fixing them. I’m thankful for the evangelicals and the atheists.  I’m thankful for the donkeys, and the elephants, too.  I’m thankful that all of us crazies can (mostly) inhabit this stretch of land in peace, as neighbors, coworkers, and fellow citizens. I’m thankful that I met my husband in this fantastical land, and that we had our daughter here, too, and I’m thankful that whether it be right coast or left coast, this will always be home.


And I appreciate Independence Day, mostly because of the infinite number of choices we have all been granted, just by being American, and I appreciate and honor those that continue to serve and protect those choices.


And on that note, G wishes you all a happy 4th, too!


{ctrl-v gratuitously cute toddler pic}

the bearable heaviness of deployment

I am a mom. I am a scientist.  I am a postdoctoral fellow, trying to build her career.  I am a transplant, from the West Coast, living in the DC Metro.  

And I am also a military spouse, a Navy Wife. And my other half is deployed right now; like having my left arm on the other side of the world.

What does all that mean?  What’s it like right now, for me?  The sympathy has been truly staggering; I have been touched and honored by the heartfelt words, nods, looks of amazement of how I’m still standing.  I have also started to feel a little like an untapped market for Hallmark.  

What is  the appropriate response to someone who mentions that their partner is deployed, especially from someone who has little to no experience with the military?  Luckily. no one has physically run away from me when I explain my current situation, but I have encountered some side-steps, some awkward moments, the silences in those moments spent looking for the right words. I’ve even been asked if he knew he was going to have to leave when he “signed up” (though only from people who have never met M), not understanding how anyone could ever leave the chubby little sidekick with astonishing blue eyes I tote around.

Ah, the truth is both the heaviest and lightest I’ve ever had to carry!  Some days it is so hard I feel like my chest is collapsing on top of my lungs under the weight and/or my head is going to explode with the frustrations of operating like a single parent.* I miss my best friend.  I miss his silent helping, our teamwork, his runs to Starbucks on Saturday mornings while I fetch our daughter from her crib, the shared decision-making (whether it be “to grill or not to grill,” what kind of wine we might drink, should we watch Colbert or a TED lecture), our intimacy,  the way he fills up the side of his bed, family jog strolls while he pushes the damn thing up hills... The absence is present every day, albeit easier than the weeks leading up to his leaving, and albeit a little easier and easier managing as the busy days march forward.

But there’s a lightness, too, which is hard to put into words (harder during the heavy days). I sometimes  do feel that I’m made out of, well, not iron, but teflon, maybe, that I am tough, that we three our tough, that we are fighters.  That we don’t know real tough, actually, because there are thousands of families that have it way tougher than us. That through it all, I believe in M, and by extension, all that he is and does, and that nothing can beat us. The lightness comes in the daily conversations I have with my best friend G, the most recent being her coaxing me through a teething-related tantrum that almost undid me. The lightness comes with shared moments of laughter, tears, and embraces with my other best friend S.  It also comes on my weekly jogs with an amazingly funny and fun run group at work, particularly with my friend B who has taught me how to be a scientist, mom, wife, and above all else fun chick to be around. The lightness comes in the morning when we have our family Skype, especially the moments before, when the Skype signature ring plays and G yells, “DADDAA! DADDAA!”, and in the moments during when she kisses his face or fills it with stickers.

So, these moments, the heavy and the light, all of these gifts are not the result of the deployment, but they are perhaps highlighted by it. 

Sometimes I wish I had more grace than to tell people; we all have our baggage, right? Deployment is just another suitcase in another hall, I suppose.  But... I’m a sharer (the blogging makes this a non-statement :) ), and so I do just that.  So I tell people how about G kissing the iPad, and I can feel them holding their breath for a minute.  Because it’s a breathhold moment the first time you see a little do that. But it’s okay; we’re okay; we eventually exhale each time, go to bed each night, wake up the next morning, mostly just taking as it comes. Walking the line between willing the calendar forward and being present in the moment. As in yoga, anchoring the body to the ground (accepting the heavy), while letting my head and hard float upward (experiencing the light).

I accept this heaviness, because as I struggle to wrap my arms around this boulder, push my cheek against it to steady myself under its weight, I catch glimpses of the sun on the other side, and I imagine how it will feel, some brisk November morning, to see it lifted off.

“But is heaviness truly deplorable and lightness splendid? The heaviest of burdens crushes us, we sink beneath it, it pins us to the ground....The heaviest of burdens is [also] simultaneously the image of life’s most intense fulfillment. The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful they become. Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become only half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant. What then shall we choose? Weight or lightness?”

-Milan Kundera, The Unbearable Lightness of Being

Wartime Prayer

Dear Lord,

Lest I continue
My complacent way,
Help me to remember that somewhere,
Somehow out there
A man died for me today.
As long as there be war,
I then must
Ask and answer
Am I worth dying for?
-Eleanor Roosevelt “Wartime Prayer”

I want to etch these words on my bones. I truly believe that although Eleanor Roosevelt, while engulfed in the trauma and tragedy of all that was in WWII, was inspired to write these words in that setting, they came out of an insight on being mindful of what a life worth living really takes. I came up with three themes, that may not have been what Mrs. Roosevelt originally intended, but I think she'd approve. They are reminders for me of how I might live my day to day.

Being mindful. I don't think this is the opposite of mind-wander; rather that to be mindful is to observe first, judge later (if at all). To refrain from chastising oneself. It's a sort of meditation applied to daily living.

Being present. Owning the moment; being truthful, ready, just, there. Perceiving the present as it is happening; noticing the small changes that happen every day, in my daughter's expressions, in the changing foliage, in neighbors' faces as they greet me. In the world around me and in me. How I feel when I wake up one morning, the thoughts that come to me on a run, in the shower, or while rocking G to sleep. The good of course, but also the bad, the tough, the stressful. Attempting to savor those moments, even just for a moment, as they are happening.

Finding courage. Oh courage is too often associated with brawn and might, when most courageous acts are invisible acts born out of everyday life by regular people. The courage to approach a stranger to try to make a connection. The courage to stand before a crowd and speak, with something on the line. The courage that children muster up, so many times, for every new challenge that a growing life is faced with. The courage for a parent to leave her child in a new setting. The courage to attempt a social gathering, in a room full of strangers. The courage of a teacher, upon being asked a question, to respond "I don't know the answer." There are other milestones of courage that we tend to mark into our memories, but these everyday ones, the ones we ourselves often fail to store in permanent memories, are the building blocks of character that strengthen us for the times we don't feel prepared for or when we are overwhelmed with the stakes.

Without trying to minimize our current conflicts, I feel that we are always at war; as actual war and its consequences rage on around us, even those of us who are far away in space and time sense and feel it closely. That people come to an end for something, some cause beyond their control is insidious, maddening, tragic to an extreme I have no words for. But that we live our lives in meaningful way; that we try, and fail, but try again to do our part; to help others do theirs... I find solace, and moreover, hope, in that.

the Honor Project

Service. sacrifice. commitment. pride.

Honor.

These are the words that have always come to mind when I've thought about individuals who sign up, step in, pledge to help keep safe, fight for, and take care of us, by joining the Services. I say the Services, not just the Armed Services, because what I am really referring to here is service, armed or not, that goes beyond individual gain. That is really for something much larger than any one person, that stands for something. I believe in service, I think it benefits the server as much as those s/he serves, but I also know that it comes with costs. Physical and emotional costs. And for those who, in having to serve, have to be away from their loved ones for an extended period of time, know that the physical and emotional are not separate. The ache of longing is one felt in the bones, in the chest, right above where the heart beats.

But individuals still serve, still leave their loved ones, to help make a difference in people's lives. To help rebuild storm-ravaged areas. To help set up classrooms and businesses in resource-deprived areas. To help reduce the suffering and pain of injured soldiers.

Making that choice, to serve, takes something, but it is something that I think we all innately have. I often refer to it as integrity, or character, but I think that stems from a place of being able to honor oneself and then the world around. To be true to the light that is within us all. To be able to make the harder choice, rather than succumb to the easier one. I call that honor.

But honor isn't only found in these big acts, big missions. It's most often the smallest of things. The unspoken, the unnecessary act of kindness, the uncredited. The anonymous donation, the door held open, the genuine smile, the hand outstretched. The risk taken, the hard task embarked upon, the shared moment. All that we feel that is genuine, all that feeds our soul. We aren't always conscious of it, but we do visit those places where we know we have done something good, maybe difficult, but right.

So, what this is about...

About 3 weeks ago, my husband, best friend, and partner in this world had to leave my daughter and I, to go far away, around the world, for about 8 months, to help take care of the wounded and sick. I could have said that got sent on a 8 month deployment to Afghanistan, and that would be true, but the way I said it first feels lighter. We are hurting, being apart from each other. But we are also surviving, and more than that, we are also uplifted, and we are also inspired, and we are thriving (okay, most of the time... sometimes we are only hurting, or we are only frustrated, or we are only exhausted!).

I've been blogging regularly for about a year and a half about my life as a mom who also has a job outside the home, but I wanted to start a new blog, during M's deployment, about what I think honor means. And to honor my husband, M, in his service. I hope to use this space to reflect about what and how we honor in our little everyday lives. I am hoping that this becomes a record for our family and provides solace in this time of being apart. I am hoping that our daughter can look back on this time, with the help of this project, and find what was good and what was right about it. I think the joy and the sadness that might accompany this project come from a place of honor, from a place of being true, and if tears of each come, so be it. Thank you for reading, and for sharing this space with us.

We honor you.