by Alyssa Day
I don't get any of those questions anymore.
Now, I hear "Thank You." And, "Tell your husband we appreciate what he's doing over there." And, "We're praying for you."
These comments are a lot easier to hear.
I am in awe of the sense of community and pride that has arisen in this country since 9/11. I have always been proud to be an American, but now it's not a politically incorrect position anymore. Nobody accuses me of ethnocentrism, when I say this is the best country in the world. Nobody laughs when I cry during the singing of the national anthem.
With Dad in the Air Force, we had some experience with other countries. We were in the Philippines when Ferdinand Marcos decided to impose martial law. Just like that, BAM. An entire country held hostage to his whim.
We were there on what used to be Clark Air Force Base (before the volcano blew), and I was just beginning elementary school, when some of the last of the POWs from the Vietnam War were released. They stopped in the Philippines first, for health care and debriefing, I guess, before heading home.
One of my earliest memories from school is when a very frail, emaciated man came to our classroom. We had a cake for him and posters saying Welcome Home. None of us kids understood what he was coming home from, but we were glad to have a party and cake.
Anyway, I was the last one to go outside for recess, and I remember hearing that man talking to my teacher and crying. He was so overwhelmed with joy and gratitude for finally being able to go home. He said the sight of our faces was almost more than he could bear.
I went home that night and told my parents about the man who had cried. I had never seen a grown man cry. My Dad told me that the man had been crying because he loved America so much, and he'd been gone for a very long time. Dad said the man cried because he was so happy to go home.
I see that kind of love for America in faces everywhere today.
Because of the way we grew up, I've known since I was a little girl that there were people who didn't like me just because I'm an American. There were times when we had to have armed guards ride our school bus in Turkey, during anti-U.S. demonstrations. But, like so many others, I never imagined violence reaching across the oceans and into our cities.
Now I know better.
I look around, and I see American flags. They're pasted on car windows and flying from antennas. They're hanging in front of homes and businesses. I wear one on my lapel, like so many others do. When I walk down the halls at work, there are flags on office doors and on cubicle walls.
I've always been proud of you and what you do, even when your being in the Navy means being apart from me and the kids. Now everyone is proud of you. Everyone is proud of the Navy, the Marines, the Army, the Air Force, and the Coast Guard. Everyone recognizes that you are heroes patrolling the air, seas, and lands to protect all of us.
And nobody asks me why you're in the military, anymore.
33
Enduring Freedom and Enduring Love
January
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Today I cried at the Ford dealership.
My e-mail to you tonight was going to be about how rough I have it. Work has been drilling spikes in my brain, because I am so swamped. I still am not over the pneumonia I brought home as a souvenir of my business trip to Texas. The kids miss you so much they are entering the monster phase.
To top it all off, I had to wake up even earlier than usual today to hustle the kids to preschool and go get the Explorer inspected, so we can sell it. Trying to sell a car instead of trade it in has been a nightmare; dealing with all the wanna-be buyers and the paperwork issues on my own. The extra $3,000 seems worth it. Some days.
Anyway, this morning I spent a good 10 minutes working myself up to a bout of self-pity as bitter as the dregs of month-old coffee I tried to choke down in the dealership waiting room.
Then somebody turned on the TV.
Today was the day Sgt. Nathan Chapman's family attended his memorial service.
Sgt. 1st Class Nathan Ross Chapman was a 31-year-old Green Beret, according to KING-5 news. CNN reported that he was the first U.S. soldier killed by enemy fire in Afghanistan. The Seattle Times told us that he spent much of his military career based right here out of Fort Lewis, Washington.
I saw him as Renae Chapman's husband and Amanda and Brandon's daddy.
And I cried.
The local news televised the entire memorial service. It was a powerful and moving tribute to the honor, courage, and sacrifice of a man who had served in Panama, Haiti, and Operation Desert Storm, during more than a decade of dedication to his country. But, for me, the story was in what was left unsaid.
Nobody stood up and said "This man vanquished monsters from closets. He played This Little Piggy and gave horsey rides on his back. He changed diapers, gave bottles, and kissed boo-boos. He wrestled and laughed and loved. He gave his wife flowers for no reason and laughed at all of her jokes. Even the bad ones."
But I know he probably did. Because I know you do.
So I sat there in that awful room cramped with orange plastic chairs; the room that smelled of oil, exhaust, and impatience. And I watched and listened and honored this man and his family—all heroes—with my tears.
I was so proud of Mrs. Chapman, this brave woman. I have never met her, and yet I know her.
She is all of us.
The grace we pray we could attain, if we were ever to open the door to uniformed messengers of death and despair. The anguish we hope never to know. The courage to face an unknown future with fatherless or motherless children.
Every day I wake up to the fact that you could die. That your plane could go down. That some insane zealot could fire a missile and shoot my husband out of the sky. It's never out of mind.
Sure, I put it aside. I have to box up the "Judd may die" thoughts and compartmentalize them out of daily life, or I would never survive it. It is impossible to live in terror and remember to put the trash out. Or bathe the kids. Or cook dinner.
But it never goes away, this fear. It rattles its cage a lot around 4 a.m., when psychopaths and personal demons seem to be strongest. I worry about automatic weapons and shoulder-fired missiles. I worry about anthrax and smallpox and biological terrorism. I remember Somalia, Yemen, and the look in the eyes of those who hate the United States and everything we stand for. So, I pray.
And today I cried.
But, I wasn't alone. The elderly man with the brake problem sat next to me and held my hand. His eyes weren't dry, either. Turns out he spent some time in Korea a few years back. Retired Army.
The harried woman with the red-faced baby and the 30,000-mile tune-up gave me some tissues. Her sister is a helicopter pilot with the Coast Guard.
The service manager stopped to watch and rested a hand on my shoulder. Retired firefighter. His son is carrying on Dad's tradition and his daughter is a police officer. More heroes.
We sat together and we mourned. We mourned the death of Nathan Chapman and the death of this country's innocence. But something beyond sadness and grief was in that room with us. Pride. Hope. Determination.
Pride that we will not stand for the terrorist acts of cowards.
Hope that we will join together in the ashes of tragedy and rise united as Americans.
Determination that our military, composed of warriors like Sgt. Chapman and you and all of the other brave members of our volunteer armed forces, will succeed in keeping our country safe, while protecting the innocents crushed under totalitarian rule.
Grief has tempered into steel in this country in the past few months, borne on the stirring words of great men and women at the scenes of tragedy and in the halls of government.
I felt it happen this morning in a car dealership, through the kindness and strength of ordinary people.
So my message to you tonight is not going to be about how tough I have it. It's about how proud I am of you.
I am proud that you chose to serve your c
ountry and its democratic ideals, in an age when many serve only their financial self-interest. I am proud that you are part of our efforts to stand up to those who would gain their ends through oppression, torture, and murder. I am proud that you, your squadron, the Navy, and the combined might of the United States military will teach the insane murderers of September 11th that we will not tolerate their acts of aggression against innocents.
Maybe even as much as all that, I am proud that you love me. I will do my best to be strong and reflect your courage. My litany of woe will become a comedy of misadventure. I promise not even to complain about my ridiculous lack of sleep.
Well, not much.
Please know how lucky I am to have you in my life. The children and I love you and we will always love you. Come home to us safely.
I have a car you might want to buy.
34
Back in the Emergency Room
December 27
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Emergency room all night
Your son is desperately sick. He has adenitis, which mimics the symptoms of appendicitis and the lymph nodes in his abdomen are swollen up. He started throwing up yesterday at noon and has kept nothing down since. When he began dry-heaving stomach acid, I took him to the ER. He was so dehydrated they couldn't draw blood. I made them do an abdominal ultrasound and they diagnosed the adenitis. They also did a chest x-ray, and he threw up all through it. We were there for five hours, until 2 a.m., and were pretty much up all night at home. He seems to be holding the ice chips and sips of water down this morning after the anti-nausea suppository (and THAT was fun, let me tell you; he howled bitterly—I wanted to do the same).
And now Lauren is coughing, and I am so worried she will get this, too. I'm so exhausted I want to cry. I am doing yet another load of laundry; after Connor woke up he threw up all over my bed. I gave him a bath and set him up on the couch, and he did it again. All over his clothes, blankets, and pillows. Are we having fun yet?
Perhaps I will just go quietly insane. Thank goodness my Mom is here.
December 27
To: Connor
From: Daddy
Subject: Hi, pumpkin
Dear Connor,
Daddy heard that you are sick and that you had to go and see the doctor. I hope the doctor gave you some good medicine to make you feel better. I know that Mommy and Grandma are taking good care of you, and that you will be all better soon. Daddy loves you VERY much. I hope that when you feel better, you will write me another letter, and when I call you will be able to talk to me. Try to take your medicine and get lots of sleep and dream about flying with Daddy in his airplane! I will call and talk to you soon. I love you Connor!!
Much Love, Daddy
December 28
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Sick Boy
Our sick baby boy had a five-hour nap yesterday afternoon, woke up and started torturing his sister. (As you can tell, he was feeling better!) He still has a cough and had some diarrhea last night, but other than that is just fine. He was hungry and had toast and then spaghetti and slept great and is a bundle of energy this morning! The amazing recuperative powers of kids.
My plans have changed. Now I'll be traveling to Austin, Texas, Wednesday through Friday of next week for work. I'll e-mail you the phone number at the hotel, but it's going to be tough to catch me. I'll have the Blackberry with me, though, so you can e-mail me at my work address those three days.
p.s. No need to be jealous yet; still haven't seen the Lord of the Rings. Been a little busy.
January 5
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Back to the hospital with Connor—BAD NEWS
Connor screamed when he went to the bathroom this morning. I took him to the hospital and they did a urine culture. Very bad news. White blood cells way, way up. Red blood cells up, too. He's got some massive infection. They're starting him on a strong antibiotic until the results of the tests that take a couple of days come back. He'll probably need a renal ultrasound, too.
Evidently UTIs are very rare in young boys—the doctor said he sees 200 in young girls for every one in young boys. He was quite concerned. May also need to do a VCUG, which is a horrible procedure that involves shooting dye and seeing what happens. It's very painful, and Connor would have to be sedated.
I am about to go insane worrying about my poor baby. He has been through so much, and now this?? It doesn't help that I am so sick that the doctor in Texas who diagnosed my pneumonia wanted me in the hospital, yet instead it has been nonstop work/flying/stress for the past two weeks.
I'm going to take my medicine now and try to take a nap soon. I gave Connor pain medication and will start his antibiotics as soon as my Mom gets back from the pharmacy.
Lauren has a cold now too and, is cranky, but refuses to take a nap. To add to the mix, she's digging at her ear. If she gets an ear infection now, I am going to take up recreational drinking.
Please pray for us. I am a few inches beyond the end of my rope. It doesn't escape my attention that every time I take a business trip, Connor ends up in the hospital. Can you say MOMMY GUILT???
January 5
To: Alesia
From: Judd
Subject: Re: BAD NEWS
Could this be related to what he had last week? Poor boy. I'm so glad your Mom is there to help. You need to make sure that you are getting better, too. You can't run yourself into the ground, and then try to take care of the kids, too. I hope that the antibiotic fixes whatever it is that is giving Connor problems. I'm sorry that I'm not there to help. I love you all very, very much. Please give Connor a big hug and kiss from Daddy. I love you all.
January 6
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Cautious optimism
Everyone seems to feel a little better tonight Lauren and I had three-hour naps and Mom and Connor just hung out and rested.
p.s. My printer sounds like it is dying—why does this always happen when you're gone?
January 7
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: More bad news—Connor
Connor's culture came back with a particularly nasty bug. The doctor wants a renal ultrasound and VCUG. Luckily, one of our expert witnesses is a first-rate pediatric urologist, so I will get Connor in to see Dr. Grady at Children's Hospital and get him taken care of.
I had such a bad headache all day, I feel like my head is going to explode. I've lost about 12 pounds in three weeks—maybe I should write a book. The Deployment Diet: Lose All the Weight You Want Without Even Trying.
I'm very tired of being a single working Mom right about now.
January 9
To: Alesia
From: Judd
Subject: Re: bad news
I have been trying and trying to call you, because it seems like weeks since I last talked to you. The phone lines out of here have not been working the last day or so apparently (no one bothers to tell me this when I am sitting redialing the phone for a half hour, of course).
How is Connor feeling now? What exactly is involved in a VCUG? It sounds pretty awful. We have been working quite a bit lately, but hopefully will have a rest in a few days. I love you and miss you all so much! How are you feeling? Are you getting over the pneumonia? How is your Mom? I will try and call you again in a day or two (if the phone lines are up); it's a matter of getting the timing right so I'm not calling you at 3 in the morning. But, of course, I am flying whenever you would be home for me to call. Give everyone big, mushy kisses from Daddy!
January 10
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: Connor news/Lauren sick
Last night I talked to Dr. Grady, who is a wonderful guy. He called me personally because "it sounded like you needed a little reassurance." (I guess the gasping sobs gave me away.) He said we definitely need to do the renal ultrasound a
nd the VCUG, but it's not urgent because Connor never had a high fever and is responding so well to the antibiotics. So we'll do it in the next week or so. He will sedate Connor for the procedure, because it's so hideous. A little kiddie Valium to relax him that also has an amnesic effect, so he won't remember the procedure afterward. (I asked Dr. Grady if they had something similar for me, and he just laughed. I don't think he realized I was serious; watching someone stick a tube up my poor baby's peeper is not going to be the highlight of my day/week/life.)
Lauren has a horrible croupy cough and is home with Grandma, too, today.
I finally have my voice back and am working 18-19-hour days. It is completely insane. But, hey, who says I never have any fun—I have to go to the dentist in about 10 minutes! I love you, but am starting to forget what you look like. (Six weeks tomorrow; only 20 more to go.)
Love, your wife (remember me?)
January 19
To: Judd
From: Alesia
Subject: OK, I'm a little tired of you being gone now.
It's almost 2 a.m. and your poor baby girl has an ear infection. She woke me up at 11:30 and is only now going back to sleep. I, of course, being the selfish awful excuse for a parent that I am, can only think of how I've only had three hours of sleep in the past 42. I'm too wound up and upset now to fall back asleep, because it makes my heart hurt to see my children in pain and there has been way, way too much of that going on these past few weeks.
So I thought I'd vent on you and share some of my anguish. (Lucky you, right?) Of course, it would be a lot better if I could come JUMP ON YOUR HEAD WITH MY BOOTS ON to really express how I feel. I'm pretty much hating everything about this deployment. I can't contact you, and we can't talk when you do manage to call, because the phone keeps cutting out. Don't ever do this to me again, or I will go find a nice plumber and move in with him. He would never travel and, as a bonus, be useful when the drain clogs. I could learn to live with the butt-crack thing.