Army Wife

  Dick felt that the best way to support and to assess the needs of the soldiers was to get out of the E-Ring in the Pentagon and visit as many posts, camps, and stations as he could, both in the United States and in the combat zones. I completely agreed with him. Where I came into the picture was to travel with him, whenever possible, to meet with spouses and families to see what could be done to meet their needs. All of the top military leadership agreed that changes were necessary in family support; we just needed to get the ball rolling.

  Over the next four years, Dick and I would travel all over the United States, wearing many hats: we were the VCSA and his wife, we were husband and wife, and we were parents. While we listened and talked, Dick’s aides took notes for us. There were times when we comforted and times when we laughed with these amazing Army families. We took it all back to Washington with us, and Dick vowed to make things easier and better in any way possible. Sometimes that was all they needed to hear.

  The other part of the job that I enjoyed was our regular trips to Fort Leavenworth to speak at the training courses for the newest Army leadership: battalion and brigade commanders, brigadier generals, and their spouses. Dick was such a great mentor and had so much leadership experience to offer them, and together we shared our experiences as an Army couple and family.

  We entertained a lot, and I was glad to have the two enlisted aides who worked at our house. We hosted monthly dinner parties for a variety of guests: Department of Defense officials, diplomats, ambassadors, congressmen, senators, journalists, think-tank people, authors, an occasional celebrity, and always some fellow generals and their wives. The conversations around the dinner table were interesting and lively as Dick and I shared stories with them, hoping to give them a snapshot of the men and women and their families who make up the Army. We loved sharing our beautiful home with so many different people. While the Strolling Strings from the US Army Band played in our dining room, I often caught Dick’s eye at the opposite end of that long table and knew we were thinking the same thing: Can you believe we get to do this?

  One of Dick’s responsibilities as the VCSA was to plan, schedule, and synchronize all of the Army units for deployments, based on the needs of the war in Iraq and the ongoing mission in Afghanistan. Dick had warned me that many of the Army’s ten divisions would be on regular rotation cycles, possibly for the next five to ten years.

  “I don’t understand, Dick. How can this war go on that long?”

  “Now that we’re so embroiled in this, there will be no easy way to exit. It’s going to drag on for the foreseeable future.”

  I couldn’t help but think, When Clint and Tyler entered the Army, I never imagined it would be like this. At the end of the summer, Clint left Fort Campbell to attend the Aviation Captains Career Course at Fort Rucker. And then, that fall, we were thrilled to discover that Brooke was pregnant and we were going to be grandparents. It was a bright spot in the midst of all the talk of war.

  As the months flew by, in spite of our busy schedules, Dick and I made time for each other and our kids. Just having everyone together for Thanksgiving or Christmas was a blessing; Army life had taught us to make the memories now, not to wait for tomorrow.

  When Clint requested to go back to the 101st after his course at Fort Rucker, the aviation branch assignments officer went to see Dick.

  “Vicki, he asked me if we were okay with Clint going back to the 101st, knowing that the division is deploying to Iraq this summer. He also told me that Clint requested 1-101st Aviation Battalion—Tyler’s unit. He was concerned and wanted to make sure we are in agreement.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him that Clint had talked to us and we are fine with it. He was a little surprised, considering the fact that Clint already has two deployments and it would mean our two sons would be in the same unit in a combat zone.”

  Dick and I had come to realize that if our sons had to deploy, we would rather they be together. The fact that they would both be in Dick’s old battalion, the Expect No Mercy battalion with LTC Doug Gabram, seemed to be their destiny.

  I was almost finished with my booklet for Army parents and was pleased with how it had turned out. I took it in to AUSA and was assigned an editor, and we began the process of getting my manuscript ready for print. My dream was about to become a reality.

  As the politics of Washington and debates over the justification of the war raged on in the media and in households throughout America, I was reminded of the turmoil of the late 1960s and early ’70s. The war in Iraq had become as controversial as the Vietnam War. All of the background noise served only to motivate Dick more. He was on a personal mission to make life in the Army better for all soldiers and to lighten the load in their rucksacks. There was so much that kept him awake at night, but he just kept moving forward.

  Clint finished his courses and moved back to Fort Campbell. While Clint and Tyler prepared to deploy, Brooke prepared for the baby and Dick and I prepared to be first-time grandparents. That summer of 2005 was certainly a time of contrasts—so much excitement on the horizon, and yet the old fears resurfaced as we got closer to the deployment.

  Our first grandchild, Austin Marshall Cody, was born that July, at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. Dick and I and Brooke’s parents were in the waiting room, beaming with pride. Many of our friends had told us what it was like to be grandparents, but it is one of those monumental experiences that you don’t understand until it happens to you.

  Just weeks later, while we were in Hawaii celebrating our thirtieth anniversary, we were thrown a curveball. During Baby Austin’s checkup, the pediatrician discovered a problem: the bone plates along the back of his head were actually fusing together, creating a ridge. Tyler called us and said they were going to Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital in Nashville to meet with a pediatric neurosurgeon. That doctor confirmed that Austin had craniosynostosis of the sagittal suture, a defect that occurs in about one in every two thousand births and is twice as likely in males. Austin would need surgery soon, as there was a short window of opportunity to correct the condition, between eight and ten weeks of age. My heart ached for Tyler and Brooke and what they were facing with their newborn baby. I had never felt so helpless.

  While we all tried to reassure each other, at the end of the day, neurosurgery on our ten-week-old grandson was the scariest thing we had ever faced. Not to mention that we had another deployment hanging over our heads.

  When Tyler explained the situation to his company commander, everyone in his chain of command agreed that Tyler could stay back until after Austin had recovered from the surgery, and he could join his company in Iraq afterward. In the midst of all our stress and fear, we were relieved that Tyler could at least be with his wife for their baby’s operation.

  PS: I made my summer visit to Vermont that year, and the day I left, I was standing in my sister’s driveway, crying while saying good-bye to her. Chris had never seen me like that and wasn’t sure what to do. As I hugged her, I said, “I don’t want to go back to DC, because I have so many hurdles to face. I don’t know if I can do it: say good-bye to Clint, get through Austin’s surgery, and then say good-bye to Tyler.”

  She hugged me and said, “You always handle things, Vicki. It’s just tougher this time, but you’ll do it.”

  24

  More Deployments

  August 2005 signaled the beginning of a series of rapid-fire hurdles for Dick and me. Clint was leaving for Iraq at the end of August. As emotional as the good-bye was, at least I had been down that road before. I figured I could get past that and through another deployment. What I was fearing and dreading most was Baby Austin’s surgery and its emotional impact on Tyler and Brooke. That was a road not previously traveled, and I didn’t know how to prepare myself, or any of us, for it.

  While we were facing uncertainty as a family, our country was facing one of the deadliest and costliest hurricanes in decades. Hurricane Katrina hit the US Gulf Coast with a devastating blow. I ha
d not thought about the storm’s impact on our military, but by the time we got back to DC, Dick had just days to make preparations for the units that were returning to Louisiana from a recent deployment and to activate the National Guard.

  The week we spent at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital elevated our fear and anxiety to a whole new level. I don’t know which was more agonizing: Austin’s surgery or the aftermath. We prayed a lot in that waiting room and in the days after the operation. But the procedure went well, and the doctor was optimistic that Austin would be fine, so I tried to live in the moment.

  My book, Your Soldier, Your Army: A Parent’s Guide, was presented at AUSA’s Annual Meeting at the Washington Convention Center while I was at Vanderbilt. It exceeded AUSA’s expectations and mine. We started getting feedback immediately: notes, letters, and e-mails from parents, grandparents, and even soldiers. I knew then that my book was doing exactly what I had hoped it would do, and that wonderful feeling kept me going.

  The next hurdle was saying good-bye to Tyler when he left for Iraq. As a mother, I felt my heart breaking for him, as he had to leave his wife and baby right after the surgery. I was relieved that Brooke was going to live with her parents in Texas, knowing that she and Austin would be well cared for, but I still worried about them. And, once again, I experienced the strain of having both of my sons in a combat zone. As with the time before, my only comfort was knowing that they were together.

  That winter was one of the rare times in my life when I was burdened with even more stress than I was used to, and there were times when I couldn’t see my way out of the dark tunnel I was in. During Austin’s follow-up appointments, his doctor was concerned that he might have to do a second surgery. It was not the news we wanted to hear. Then I hit rock bottom when we had to put Barkley down right before Christmas. At the same time, we were caring for Tyler’s dog, who was a real handful. I lost weight, which at any other time I would have welcomed, but I was losing it for the wrong reasons. I felt like more and more anxiety was being heaped onto my already-full plate. I got up each day and put one foot in front of the other and forced myself to focus on what was in my control. I prayed for the strength to face the rest, and I relied on Clint and Tyler to look out for each other.

  Dick was just as worn out as I was. He had not only our personal worries, but also the weight of the entire Army on his shoulders. One night after a long day at the Pentagon, I met him at the door and literally hung on him. I was crying as I tried to tell him, “I can’t do this anymore, Dick. I’m too overwhelmed; I’m not used to feeling this way.”

  “We don’t have a choice, Vick. We’re going through what so many others are going through. It’s going to be okay. The boys are doing fine and looking out for each other. If Austin has another surgery, we’ll get through that, too.” He was my rock in that moment; I felt as if he was the only person in the world who understood me.

  What definitely helped me during that time were my role and duties as the VCSA’s wife. Dick and I continued our travels to posts throughout the Army and were amazed at the strength and resiliency of the spouses we met. They were so inspiring that just being with them got me through some tough times.

  Living on Fort Myer, however, meant there was no avoiding the realities of war. Arlington National Cemetery, with its endless rows of white headstones, so much a part of the landscape, was right there. On all my morning walks with Barkley, I had watched the riderless horse and the caisson as they made their way to the chapel and the cemetery. Our first years at Fort Myer, while the sight of the procession always gave me pause, I didn’t think too much about whom the caisson was carrying. But in 2003, we started seeing funeral processions carrying soldiers from this war. By 2004, we had friends whose sons and daughters were among the injured and the casualties. Suddenly, those funeral processions took on a very real and personal meaning.

  Dick was right, however: we did get through those months. I was twelve pounds lighter and had a few more gray hairs, but I still found laughter and blessings in everyday life. The bright spot during that time was the feedback that I continued to get for my book; I had never expected that my little sixty-four-page manuscript would connect me with so many people, so many of whom shared that they found comfort in the fact that I was living what they were living. For all those people whom I helped with my book, they were helping me, too, even if they didn’t realize it.

  Finally, it was August and Tyler was on his way home. We went down to Fort Campbell for his homecoming. Each one was unique, but that particular one was special because we got to see our son reunite with his wife and baby. We were all apprehensive about how Austin, just one year old, would take to his dad, who had been gone for nine months. That first night, as we sat at their kitchen table eating pizza, Austin, in his high chair, very nonchalantly reached over and put his chubby little hand on Tyler’s arm. It was such a meaningful gesture for a one-year-old that something inside me just melted. I looked at Dick and said, “It’s time to go home; all is well here.” Then when Clint arrived a week later, I felt as if most of my prayers had been answered: both boys were home safe.

  Within weeks of Tyler’s return, Austin had his second surgery; he was just thirteen months old. It was another agonizing week at Vanderbilt Children’s Hospital. Again, the doctor was optimistic that he had corrected the problem, so we were hopeful and prayed that it would be the last surgery for our grandson.

  By that fall, I felt as if some of my burdens had been lifted. My family was safe, healthy, and happy, and I savored that sweetness because it felt so hard-won. I was also so proud of Dick and all that he was doing as the VCSA. His unique leadership style was just what the Army needed during those years. He was a champion of the soldiers during a difficult and tumultuous time of war. He knew what to focus on and which battles to fight, inside the E-Ring and the halls of the Pentagon and on Capitol Hill. He was never intimidated by red tape or politicians, or anyone else for that matter; he was tough with the bureaucrats and gentle with the soldiers. He took on some high-profile and unpopular issues, but never wavered in his commitment to solve problems and improve conditions within the Army. Soldiers knew they could count on General Cody for just about anything; he was known as the GIs’ General, and rightly so.

  On December 30, 2006, Saddam Hussein was executed by hanging. For many, it meant closure of some sort, the end of a bad chapter in history, the end of a tyrant. Osama bin Laden was still on the run, and to me he was the “bad guy” we needed to bring to justice. Iraq was in the throes of a civil war, although that was the subject of much debate both in the United States and in Iraq. I got tired of hearing all the rhetoric on TV and in the media. The death toll continued to rise, helicopters were being shot down and crashing, and IEDs were killing and maiming our soldiers. Talk of a surge and more troops being sent to Iraq, of extending deployments to fifteen months, dominated the news. It was a difficult time in our country, and a very scary time to be a spouse or parent of a soldier. What made it more difficult was all the fighting between political parties; the nitpicking, hair-splitting semantics; and the antiwar protesters’ second-guessing every decision. I understood freedom of speech, but, as a mother of two soldiers, I found it hard to hear all of that played out in the news, especially when Clint and Tyler were deployed. To me, it undermined what our brave men and women were being asked to do. I think we Army families wanted to know that what our soldiers were doing in Iraq and Afghanistan was appreciated and worthy of their sacrifices. I had to believe in the mission; otherwise, how could I get through the deployments?

  When former president Gerald Ford passed away, Dick filled in for the chief of staff as one of the honorary pallbearers at the state funeral in Washington, DC. As I walked into the National Cathedral that morning, I had no idea what to expect, or, rather, how the day’s events would move me. At a time when our country seemed so divided, the sight of three former presidents—Carter, Bush, and Clinton—alongside George W. Bush gave me a warm sense of peace. What s
truck me was that this city where the politicians, the pundits, and the media rule, a city that runs on cynicism and partisan politics, suddenly didn’t seem so divided.

  After the service, while riding in the motorcade to Andrews Air Force Base behind the flag-draped casket and the Ford family, Dick and I noticed people lining the city streets and all along the route on I-295. Everyday people, ordinary Americans—men, women, and children from all walks of life—had stopped what they were doing and were standing in front of 7-Elevens and Dunkin’ Donuts, on the hillside, along the curb. As we passed by, they took their hats off, saluted, or put their hands over their hearts in a spontaneous and beautiful tribute to a former president. I turned to Dick as he looked out his window and said, “These are real Americans; this is the America that I love.”

  The Army was definitely stretched but not broken, as Dick reminded Congress and the Senate whenever he had the opportunity. The problem with the repeated, back-to-back deployments was that the units spent most of their dwell time training and resetting for the next deployment, and Dick worried about the toll all of that was taking on the Army.

  During that time, Dick began walking home from the Pentagon whenever possible. It served a couple of purposes: First, in combat boots, with a rucksack on his back, he knew it was good for him physically. Also, mentally, the walk home gave him a chance to reflect without anyone around—no entourage, no aides, no one briefing him, no phones ringing. He told me that those walks helped him keep his perspective and focus after a long day in the Pentagon. He told me that as he crossed the Arlington Memorial Bridge and rounded the bend along the cemetery, the sight of those white headstones served as his motivation and gave him his sense of purpose. He would ask himself, Am I doing everything I can to live my life in a way that’s worthy of the sacrifices our soldiers are making?