Our family has been incredibly busy, as seems to be the new norm. I am currently writing this while at a hotel in downtown Seattle (I seriously hate coming to Seattle!)-- Hubby and I are attending the Returning Warrior Workshop, provided for by the military and "on orders." The kids are still too young to attend, so they've been dished out to their friends' houses (a very huge step for me to take, letting them go) for the weekend.
When I registered us for this, I registered as Warrior (Hubby) and Guest (me). I was honorably discharged over a decade ago, and since that time have 'merely' served as Everything-but-Bread-Winner, but this weekend has allowed me to share what it's like being in the role of active duty woman (in the mid-90's), active duty wife, and reservist wife and how those different roles have brought very different attitudes and treatment by others. Tonight, at the Admiral's Banquet, I received a surprise. As is typical of military functions, awards are given. For this function, there was an award certificate for the warriors (men and women) and a different award certificate for the family member/guest. We have been in small table-sized groups since this morning, and that is how the sitting and awards went out tonight. I was to the right of my husband, and to my right was a young man who recently served in Afghanistan. My husband was handed his award, with a few words said to him by our facilitator (a retired Navy Captain-- a woman), and the young man next to me stood as the Captain went behind my chair to come around. She said, "Not just yet. We have a special award." She turned to me, and I stood as she held the certificate with my name on it, telling me, "This is for serving, and for not getting the 'Thank You' that you should have gotten so long ago." With that, I was given the certificate for Warriors. I nearly cried. Nearly, but not quite. I wanted to hug her! That's a strange thing, too. I refrained.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to stand in 3 1/2" heels? Or are they 4" heels? It's difficult, particularly when one is not used to it. Especially when standing at a modified "at attention" stance (my body is too screwed up to do it properly, but my feet were at the 45-degree angle at least). Especially after having drank two Long Island Iced Teas (though they were extremely on the mild side) in less than an hour because of being so nervous. Nonetheless, throughout the night I periodically stood at attention (something I haven't done in about a decade) along with my fellows, while wearing the 3 1/2" heels and a semi-formal dress.
That seems like a tangent, and it probably is, but the difficulty of it can't be underestimated.
The weekend isn't over, yet. So far, though, it seems I came here as a civilian guest, but will be leaving as one of the "Warriors."
No, I didn't see combat during my service time. But I served honorably and I gave all I had while I was active. I have sacrificed and will bear-- for the rest of my life-- the affect of my service. The service-connected Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) that I live with daily has similar symptoms as combat-related PTSD: nightmares, hypervigilence, intrusive memories, sleep problems, and re-living some of the worst aspects. These 'symptoms' come and go as they please, no matter what I'm doing or where I am. Perhaps one day they'll fade to the background, instead of taking up so much of my current life, but they'll always be there.
That is just one more thing Hubby and I share-- "Chronic PTSD," which means it's not going away. I had hoped that Hubby would never have to suffer the more severe effects of PTSD, but with the back-to-back deployments, perhaps it was inevitable. Granted, not everyone who goes to combat or experiences trauma gets PTSD; most people can "get over it" after they process it (the trauma) and it recedes into the memory bank like any other memory. But for us, it is ever-present. Not only is it ever-present, but medical science has shown that PTSD actually "rewires" the brain-- it can never "go back to the way it was." As I am learning, there are many things that can help ease the symptoms (exercise, mindfulness of the present, proper eating and sleeping, routine, and medications), but like a stroke, heart attack, or diabetes, there's always the risk for serious relapse and there will always be the irreparable damaged and altered way of living.
This is one more aspect to our complicated life as we try simply to live, and to live simply. We sacrificed a "normal life" for love of freedom, love of country and a strong sense of duty.
This is our life now, with vivid flashes of the past visiting at random times. All we want is the freedom to "be." We paid the price for freedom.
It is said the "Ultimate Sacrifice" for country is dying while in service. I disagree, with kindest respect to those who have died for America and freedom. The ultimate sacrifice is continuing to live after being severely damaged. Living with the memories, living with damage, living with the inability to change the past. Whether it be living with "why did I survive?" or bodily damage or the damage unseen, continuing to live in that state is the ultimate sacrifice.
Of course, I am completely biased in this matter.
So there you go. A peek into what we go through during and after our service to "protect and defend the Constitution of the United States of America." A peek into what we give up so that you can speak freely, carry a gun, have a trial by jury, privacy of your residence, the right to vote. . . the right to be and to live freely.
For those who have served before me; for my dad who sacrificed and bears the scars; for my husband who sacrifices and bears the scars; for those honorable with whom I served; for myself who sacrificed and bear the scars.
Ultimately, for my children, so that they may know and enjoy freedom, and the right to be.
Enjoy your freedom. We earned it.
~Cedeham~
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