Full heart, empty arms #1

I had been asked to encourage Jack to do a short column for a small town newspaper about going to Afghanistan (his hometown paper). I agreed, but also volunteered to write my own co-column about being the one to man the home front while Jack is in the sandbox.  The column would be 400 words about every other or every week. The work is freelance, heavy emphasis on the *free* so I won’t be financially compensated, which is fine. I think it might be a useful vehicle for getting the MGF (Military Girlfriend) voice out there.

So I’ve submitted my first column. They asked that it be about 400 words, so it will probably be edited as this one is about 600, but I felt that I couldn’t cut anything else out without missing some key points (this is the intro column for readers to both me, my life situation/relationship with Jack and the sequence of predeployment events etc.). Of course if you have any critiques or ideas for future columns, I’d love to know, but please do keep any nasty or overly argumentative perspectives for other venues as this isn’t about my political position on war, it’s my personal position and homelife that you’d be commenting upon.

I think my plan is to introduce both resources like the MGF web forum as well as peer-reviewed articles about military family resilience and coping strategies (hey, I have a free membership to online journals for my Masters, why not get more info about this too?) as the columns continue, if the editor is interested. I also figure I might just keep writing them, even if that paper isn’t interested- I am freelance so I could always submit them elsewhere too.

Anyways, here’s the first installment:

Full heart, empty arms…
A Column By: Heather *lastname*
 
November 27, 2008 was like any other day in my life as of late. I had a group project for one of my Masters courses that I was working on in between a morning at my second job and an evening shift at my clinical placement. I spoke to Jack briefly on the phone as he was in Texas for a flying task and looked forward to his return for the following week.
 
The next day, I received a call from one of the other “MGFs” or Military Girlfriends. She asked if I had talked to Jack yet. “Nooooooo.” I had replied. She didn’t want to tell me why she had started off our conversation that way, and immediately my heart leapt into my throat. Was Jack okay? What was going on?
 
I reached him as he was driving from Texas to Oklahoma in a rental car, where he was unable to speak to me personally as the law in Texas forbids driving and using cell phones. Thus, via speakerphone with a car full of his buddies, I learned that Jack would be going to Afghanistan, and soon. I learned in that moment, alone in the kitchen of our little house, that our lives were going to change. It was the sort of life moment one would never forget. I even remember the warm tears flowing down my cheeks as I bravely calmed my voice, told him with a laugh that I wasn’t impressed with the timing (I was a week before finals, and we had a Christmas vacation to see our families in Ontario that his leave had been approved for months ago) but that I understood and that we would get through this. That’s when he had to go; someone else was calling on the line and it might have been work needing to finalize details of his return to Edmonton.
 
I realized that while Jack was moving into his role that he had trained for and anticipated since early January, that I was moving into a role that I’d had very little training for and for which I certainly no prior experience. I realized, much to my heartache, that while we were a team that I would have to stand up on my own and fit into the big shoes I now had to fill.
 
The next few weeks were spent with legal paperwork, last minute dates with family and friends, chances to spend time alone in the mountains and have our own early Christmas together. I won’t lie, there were plenty of tears on my part. I was just so afraid of losing this great man and to me, Afghanistan of late had been a place where too many young Canadians were not returning to their families. I felt I wasn’t morbid, I was realistic. I did share these fears with Jack, all the while attempting to determine what I needed to censor in order to make his journey go smoothly. How does one be a warrior at home for the one who is leaving? What would be the best way to continue our open connection, while at the same time not overburden him with my own grief and fear? It was a role I struggled with, although more initially, and I still do my best to consider him and his needs whenever we are able to chat.
 
The day he left went too quickly. He was sweet, smiling, and excited. I was tired, and trying to be happy and brave. My friend was there to drive me to the airport for my own trip to family in Ontario, and she was there to let my chin quiver while we waved goodbye from the kitchen window as his car drove off into the cold, dark morning. I didn’t know when I’d next talk to him, or where he would lay his head that night, or when he would be home, but I knew that he was doing what he needed to do.
 
So began my own journey; the journey of the one simultaneously left behind who also remains at his side.
 
~FGirl