I will always be thankful to them for doing that. We ended up enjoying the remainder of the evening. I remember laughing and carrying on with those girls as if it was just another normal night as a Marine officer’s wife.
It was good to break away from the drama for a bit—even though the war was always in the back of our minds.
When I got home, there were four frantic messages from my husband’s family. Each message conveyed how worried they were about their son, nephew, and brother. With each message, the tone became angrier. You could tell they were angry that I was not home to call them back.
I was hurt because I was equally afraid and worried, but I had made the choice not to live in constant fear.
Indeed, I knew nothing more than what the news had reported. And now they were trying to make me feel guilty because I wasn’t at home watching the news. It didn’t mean I didn’t care about my husband’s safety. I just knew that other than praying there was nothing I could do to change the situation. It was also important for me to take care of my stress levels so I could remain strong for Jon.
One wife, who had walked home with me, urged me not to return their calls. But I felt I had to.
When I called Jon’s parents, his sister answered the phone. I told her I had been playing Bunco with my girlfriends. I had no idea if they understood why I was off playing a game when we both knew the fighting had gotten intense.
What could I say? Jon’s family asked if I knew if Jon was OK. I guess they thought that I knew more than they did and they began to bombard me with facts and fears garnered from the news.
Then one of them said, “Well, we realize you are the next of kin now, so the Red Cross calls you first. But if Jon was dead, would you have called us?”
My heart broke.
Would I have called them?
I knew they were raw with fear. Still, I was shocked by that question.
I can’t know what it is like for the extended families far away from the support and familiarity of the military base. Without a support network, I can only imagine what it must be like for them.
However, I had to wonder if they had the same empathy for me. You can not assume that everyone reacts like you do or that everyone grieves or worries like you do. There is simply no room for judgment at times like these.
I think what I went through that night is a perfect example of a misunderstanding that can develop between wives and their in-laws. If my story can serve no other purpose, it is that you have to put yourself in the other person’s shoes before you react or pass judgment.
Most of all, when there is a conflict within the family, remember you’re all there to love and support the serviceman. If you can keep that fact in mind instead of competing over who loves him more, who is worrying more, or who is grieving the correct way, you will be able to work together.
Neither one of us was in the wrong that night. We were just handling our fears in different ways.
I felt as though I was a widow. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I could not move on with my life because Jon was still my life. And yet, nothing was happening to nurture that love or relationship.
The only way I could describe my marriage and feelings at that point was that I felt like the “un-married.” Like zombies in a movie were the “un-dead,” I was the “un-married.” I was not a widow, not single, definitely married, and yet all alone.
After that first week, I pulled a Scarlet O’Hara and declared, “I will not think about that now. I will think about it later!”
I stopped thinking about whether Jon was going to come home or not. Whenever that thought came into my head, I replaced it with something we could do together when he came home.
VOLUNTEERING
The military has many different organizations that can keep you busy. I encourage military wives, especially during a deployment, to get involved with one.
The best way to cope with your grief and loneliness is to contribute to someone else’s well-being.
I got involved with the Key Volunteer network during both of my husband’s deployments. I went through special certification training and had different handbooks spelling out resources to help the wives in my group. We also planned events throughout the deployment, like care package packing parties and socials.
I found my strength was putting together timelines—“to do” lists for the Marines. These lists included what a Marine needed to do to take care of his family and himself before a deployment. I have always been organized and efficient at telling people what needs to be done!
My other duties included serving as a contact person if a wife needed anything. Wives could call me to ask what to do if they lost their ID, to get their husband’s paycheck straightened out, or to find out what doctors accepted Tricare.
I was also responsible for keeping track of these women when they went out of town, as well as where they lived. It was my job to pass on any info from the command.
The absolute worst part of being a KV was delivering the “all clear message.” That’s a call a KV gets stating that a Marine has died in combat and the family has been notified, so “all is clear.” It’s our job to call the women in our “phone tree” and alert them that someone has died, but it’s not your spouse. It’s now “all clear” since the serviceman’s family has been notified.
What makes it particularly hard is that we are not allowed to say who has died. The rationalization behind these calls is that the next of kin may have seen the news that someone died and would be freaking out until the notification is made.
In the Marine Corps, notification of a death is done in person. Whenever a black Lincoln Town car would pull into a neighborhood, everyone would hold their breath.
Three people deliver the notification: a Marine in dress blues, a clergyman, and a CACO officer (Casualty Assistance Calls Officer). No one is ever notified on the phone when a service member has been killed.
And yet, the fact that I had to call a bunch of women to relay these “all clear messages” was absolutely unnerving. I hate to say this, but it seemed like I got a call every Friday night.
When you get this call, your first reaction is “Oh, thank God, it is not my spouse.” Then you feel horrible because you realize that someone has lost a loved one.
I hated these calls and thought they just got everyone upset. I had many a fight with Key Volunteer Coordinators over not making these calls. I preferred to email them.
At one point those calls became so frequent that Michelle and I really got freaked out. If I left my house to run to the commissary, I would leave a note on the door that said, “Back in 30 minutes. Gone to the commissary.” Or I would go next door and tell Michelle where I was going. She did the same. We lived in fear of CACOs.
Both of my KVCs had an incredible amount of patience. Kristine and Karen put their hearts and souls into caring about and being responsible for so many women.
The KV network planned many events for us. We packed care packages and videos to send overseas. My husband joked that the KVN knew more about what was going on than the Marines!
It was true most of the time. KVs knew about the extensions. (All deployments get extended. In fact, I suggest adding at least two weeks to the “coming home date.”) The KVs gets their info directly from the command.
I enjoyed serving as a KV because I didn’t have to listen to gossip. I had the most up-to-date information throughout the entire deployment. It was a great network as well as a wonderful opportunity to serve.
The KVN no longer exists. Its functions are now handled by the Family Readiness Officer.
DEPLOYMENT PROMISE
There is one guarantee during a deployment: the second your husband leaves, something will break.
During Jon’s first deployment, the microwave quit and the smoke detector batteries died—screaming at me at 3:00 a.m. That was soooo fun, trying to remember where a ladder was and then climbing up and dismantling the sucker. (Yes, I realize I could have used the claw Jon gave me to get them down.)
All four tires on the car wore out.
Then the fridge died.
Of course, everything was smooth sailing when Jon was home. These things simply waited until he left before going haywire.
If you live on base, get cozy with maintenance. You will be seeing a lot of them.
My fridge had been out for a week when I called maintenance threatening to alert the newspaper. I told them the public would enjoy hearing that a Marine’s wife was eating dry cereal three times a day while her husband fought in the global war against terrorism.
The problem was that maintenance “couldn’t find the time” to move an old fridge from an empty house down the block into mine.
One simple threat, and I had a new fridge that afternoon.
There are plenty of horror stories about home disasters. However, the worst one I ever heard happened to Erin while she was at Camp Lejeune.
I was in the midst of our second deployment, while she was on her first. We were doing our best to help each other along.
Erin was upset that her husband had not repaired a few cracks in the bathroom shower before he left.
It was her first deployment and she was feeling restless and bored on a Friday night. Wanting to feel useful, she decided she had seen enough episodes of Trading Spaces and was confident she could make the repairs herself. She headed off to Lowe’s to purchase caulking supplies and tools.
Three hours later, she called me. Since it was late on the West Coast (Erin was in North Carolina, mind you), I knew it had to be an emergency.
When I answered the phone, Erin was crying. The Southern heat combined with the complicated task of resealing the tub was compounded by her loneliness.
Erin was upset. It was her husband who should have been making the repairs, not her! As she worked, the stress built up until she broke the sealant gun. She was sitting there alone, covered in caulk. She had caulk under her nails, in her hair, on the walls.
Learn from Erin’s mistake. Don’t mess with strange caulk when your husband is deployed. Being covered with strange caulk is not a crisis call the Red Cross wants to get.
Better yet, if a complicated task presents itself, hire someone to make the repairs.
JJ
After hearing about Erin and other wives’ home maintenance mistakes, I got smart.
I’ve also always been a spoiled daddy’s girl, so there were some things I refused to do. Pushing a lawn mower was one of them.
Oh yes, I heard brave tales of wives who mowed three acres on a 105-degree day with colicky babies strapped to their backs. Good for you, ladies! But I am not doing that. I work smart, not hard. That philosophy has gotten me quite far in life.
Before Jon’s first deployment, my Marine Corps mother, Mary, invited me to her house many times. I got to know her family quite well, including her teenaged son JJ, who was full of energy.
Mary volunteered her son’s help anytime I needed it when Jon was gone. I didn’t hesitate to take her up on that offer.
That first week I had that child push-mowing both yards, taking out the trash, bringing in the water, and tending to the bushes. JJ willingly did all this for five bucks an hour.
One day JJ was tending the yard. It was very warm. I was inside enjoying a sweet tea.
One of my neighbors called to ask who the man was in my backyard! I felt so secure knowing I had neighbors watching over me. I explained it was the Colonel’s son and he was doing some chores for me.
Ten minutes later the phone rang again. Another inquisitive neighbor, equally concerned for my safety. Once again I calmly explained what was going on.
By the fourth call, I began to get suspicious. Did Del Mar Housing have a Neighborhood Watch program that I did not know about? Why were all these women being so protective of me?
Then Michelle called. “Mollie, how much does JJ charge?”
That’s when I realized something was up. I ran to the window and looked out.
Let me preface what happened next by telling you something about JJ’s personality. This young man was known for playing pranks on base. One time he changed the “Officers Club Pool” sign to “Officers Club Poo.”
Anyway, I spotted JJ in my yard completely bare-chested, his rippling muscles glistening with sweat as he push-mowed
my
yard. He was putting on a show for the deployed Marine’s wives!
As he tossed another article of clothing off, another set of window blinds went up and my phone rang again. And again.
This military brat had learned a thing or two in his years of being a “dependent.”
Something told me he was getting something more than $5.00 an hour.
The scandal spread through the neighborhood like wildfire. I became the Del Mar Housing Desperate Housewife.
Ironically, the other wives also wanted to pay JJ to do “chores” for them! COOCOO CACHOO!
The next time I called Mary to arrange a workday for JJ, she told me that ever since that first work day he had been working out daily to build his muscles so he could do a good job. Oh, I thought, he’s working hard to build up muscles, alright, but it has nothing to do with the money I was paying him!
Any given weekend during a deployment I would have a house full of teenage boys rearranging furniture, pulling weeds, or washing the car. The only problem was that they ended up eating most of my food, farting all over my couches, and riding the go-cart all over the neighborhood!
I gave them hell and yelled at them for putting their tennis shoes on my coffee table. But the truth is, they were great company and fun.
JJ was a big help to me throughout the four years we lived on base. He even helped out when I was out of commission from the medication I had to take for back pain.
Who knew two years later the TV show “Desperate Housewives” would become so popular? Still, Wisteria Lane had nothing on Del Mar Housing’s lust for young men mowing yards!
Please note, I am not suggesting that young wives hang out with high school boys while their husbands are deployed. Hanging with a teenage boy spells a recipe for disaster. We all knew that, and with JJ, it was all just good clean fun.