Back Home?

I attempted to blog about this on two separate occasions yesterday, and everytime I did, I stopped myself. John has gotten tired of the way that Navy recruiters have "handled" his reenlistment. So he has gone back to the Corps. It started as a few harmless calls and emails. It has ended up with his reenlistment to a reserve unit that will be deploying to Iraq in March of 2008. He will serve in a reserve unit for 1 year before being transferred to Active Duty, but most of that year he will be activated anyhow, due to the deployment.

I am so scared. I don't know why it makes such a difference that he will be a Marine instead of a Corpsman. I think it stems from the fact that Corpsmen are "non-combatant" whereas Marines are about as combatant as they come. Aside from that, as a Corpsman, it would have taken about a year for his training. Now I have about 5 and a half months now before he goes off to war. We were told that, should he join another unit that is not being deployed for a while longer, they will probably activate him and send him with a different unit, so there is no avoiding it. I have to let him go. My only other option is to throw a complete fit about the entire thing, and try to get him to not reenlist. I wouldn't do that though. After all, he belonged to the Corps long before he belonged to me.

For Sailors, Marines, Soldiers, Airmen....

My husband and I are in a phase where affected individuals need to be informed of his intentions. Family members, coworkers, and friends. I can wrap up most of the response with this: “Is he CRAZY?” One woman from my work even had some slight leakage from the orbitals when she heard the news. The more I ponder the reactions, the more I question the decision myself.

I was raised in an environment where military service was to be revered. My father served in the Army. Two brothers followed suit. As a matter of fact, one of my favorite childhood photos of myself was taken at my older brother’s boot camp graduation festivities. I am very small, about three years old, and I am sitting on his “rack”, wearing his “cover”. This is the same older brother who used his first paycheck after boot camp to purchase my very first bicycle, and subsequently hauled the purchase home from Fort Knox tied to the roof of a Ford Pinto. At that time in my history, a military career was a remarkable thing, something of which to be proud. A veteran of the United States Armed Forces was a precious thing, in demand of respect.

Fast forward many years later, and I find myself married to a veteran of the United States Marine Corps. While I will not even begin to speculate on the feelings of being a veteran, I can say emphatically, that the entire issue took on a different meaning for me. I am in awe of the uniforms hanging in my bedroom closet. I can run my hands over the fabric of the blood stripes that adorn the trousers and know that he earned those. I see the ribbons pinned on the chest and feel a swell of pride in my heart that this is my husband, my son’s father. To me, this is the fabric of our great nation.

As people make comments about the decision my husband has made to re-enlist, I wonder why that awe is not present in them. I could extrapolate an enormous political conclusion about this. I am trying to refrain from that. And at first, I felt like I had to justify the decision to others. Now, as the next leg of John’s military career looms larger and larger in the future, I have gotten past that point. Instead, I hold my head high, with my chin forward and my shoulders back. My husband, like all of you or your loved ones, was and still is brave enough to raise his hand and say, without hesitation, that he will fight for his country and her interests. He would willingly lay down his life if need be. For those who feel free to question the presence of sanity in the process of making this decision, his willingness (and yours) translates to the fact that they do not have to. They can sleep in a cozy and comfortable bed at night, with their loved ones a fingertip’s-reach away, safe from the world of which my family is on the brink of entering. The world my husband has already called his own once before. The world in which you live everyday.

I would love to conclude with a poetic and eloquent statement regarding the pride I feel in each of you, as a fellow American. I would love to express my gratitude satisfactorily. For the first time in my life, words fail me. For me, all of you are the United States. And should you ever be in the position we currently are, and others respond to your career choices with “Are you crazy?”, I would love for your response to be, “I may be a little crazy, but because I am, you don’t have to be.”

Panic

The powers that be in the Navy have given John 2 targets to shoot for when losing weight. He hit the first target over a week ago. This one was the best-case scenario for John. The second target? He only has to lose 0.5 inches off of his waist or gain 0.5 inches on his neck to make it.

If he is meeting the strictest guideline, there is no way he is not going to make it.

I am starting to panic now. I mean really panic.

He meets the recruiter next Friday. It will go either one of two ways. He wants a postion at Corps School, so it may take a while to get him in, as these openings fill up very quickly. But the fact that he does not have to go through boot camp means that he will be available to leave when the first slot opens, even if it is at the last minute. He will have a 2 week "refresher", whatever that is.

I guess I am trying to say that these posts are about to get a whole lot more depressing. The wheels are turning and I can't stop them now. Navy, here we come!

Once...Always....

John started his journey to reenlistment almost a month ago. We have been down this route before. I will never forget the sound my heart makes as it drops from my chest after that one night. I was at home with a very small baby. John was working second shift, and thus was not home. The television was constantly tuned to CNN at that point, as the War in Iraq had just started. The telephone rings, just as I am about to get little Evan to sleep, which was no small feat at the time. The Conversation went like this:

Me: Hello

Caller: Hello, Ma'am, may I speak with Cpl. J.R. Ferguson?

Me: I'm sorry, he is not home at the moment. May I take a message? (I was sensing something strange about the call.)

Caller: No Ma'am. Can you tell me when he will be home?

Me: Around midnight....May I ask who this is?

Caller: This is Captain BlahBlahBlah from the Dept. of Defense. I am sorry I cannot discuss this information with anyone other than J.R. Ferguson

I hung up the phone and thought for a brief second that seemed to last for hours! Were they calling John up to serve? I knew that his Inactive Reserve obligation should have been up. We were NOT in a draft. What in the Hell was this all about? I started the freak out process, of which only I am fully capable. Like all Americans, I had been keeping up with what was going on in the world. I watched those towers fall on television, in horror. This horror was compounded by the fact that it occured exactly one week from the time we had brought our newborn son home from the hospital. His birth will always be associated with that day in American History. In the box of mementos that I have kept for him is the newspaper from the day, with the headline reading "TERROR". What a time to come into the world!

So fast forward a little bit, and you have me with my young son, panicking over why someone from the DoD is calling my husband at 2100 at night. My head started swimming with thoughts. The first one was "What am I gonna do without John by myself with a small baby?" I called John's dad and told him the details on the call. He had no idea what to do. When John got home from work later that night, and I reported the call, he just shrugged. SHRUGGED! As in "No big deal!"

After many, many telephone conversations, it turned out to be someone looking for John to reenlist. But we also found out that he was listed as IRR for over a year longer than he should have been. So he goes to reenlist. "Hey, why not?" he says. They were offering him quite the deal, it would seem. No boot camp, no loss of rank, a hefty bonus. He was not scared at all. If he was, he has the best control of anyone I have ever met, because it never showed. The old USMC uniforms were taken out of the closet and inventoried. He started a diet and PT regimen to get back in shape. Then, as quick as it came into my life, it disappeared. He had gained too much weight since his discharge. It was not meant to be.

So here we are, several years later. A part of me wants to say that this will be the same....that he will change his mind at the last minute, and I will keep my husband here with me. But inside, I know that this is different from that day years ago. He has gotten back into shape. He is speaking of our future in phrases that include the U.S. Navy. He is preparing me for life on a military base, and speculating on which base he would like to be stationed. He has informed both of his parents, and has had a "talk" with Evan about Daddy not being here one day soon. The talk, suddenly one day, changed from "IF I go into the Navy..." to "WHEN I go into the Navy..."

The part of me that wanted to remain in denial, believing he would back out, has been thrust into the reality that this is really going down. The women for whom I cry on television because they are living without their husbands......that will be me. It is so surreal. I never intended on being a martyr. I just want my little American family, enough money to pay the bills, and a home that is adequate. I never pictured I would be the wife of a man in combat. I thought the only combat that would impact my life was the rough play between father and son as I look on from the kitchen window, dinner cooking in the oven.

I truly think reality is starting to catch up with me. Funny thing is, I would have been happy to remain in ignorant bliss. I do not like the reality that is dawning.

I have never held a gun in my hands, felt the weight of the cold metal and warm wood. John has, many times over. I do not know if I could hit the broad side of a barn with a bullett from very close range. John has been awarded the "Rifle Expert" badge 3 times over. I don't know if the recoil of a rifle would have enough kick to knock me to the ground. John can take recoil on his shoulder like a rock, so that you cannot tell there even was recoil. I have to have faith that the United States Marine Corps trained him well enough that it is still with him today . That he has not forgotten. That he will be okay. I have to come to terms with the fact that this is who I married, my son's father. He is, and always will be a US Marine. While the activity of daily life has masked it, it has always been in him. Just like that night years ago, this has always been a silent part of our marriage. I spoke of his military career, but I never realized it will still there, just lurking under the surface. I think it was when John watched the country that he loves come under attack, when he heard the first account of a Marine's death Over There that brought it all rushing to the surface. Now I see that this has always been a part of the man I love so very much. I now fully understand the "Once a Marine, Always a Marine" mentality. Where does this leave me? I think the translation of "Semper Fidelis" applies to this situation as well. As this man's wife.....Always Faithful.

Dog Bowls and Napkins?

So we were online looking at the uniforms of various branches of the Armed Forces....John is spoiled after wearing the coveted "Dress Blues" of his beloved Corps. Is there a better-looking, more dashing uniform in the realm of military life anywhere in the world? I highly doubt it!

So we get to the picture of the Navy and he exclaimed, "Look, they have Dogbowls on their heads and napkins pinned on the back of their necks!" Don't get us wrong....The uniform of any of the US Armed Forces is to be revered because it represents the United States. He will wear the Navy uniform with as much pride as he did those of the Corps. I just found his statement amusing...That and the fact that he will look like Cracker Jack! We have to get him the little dog to go along with the uniform!

I am saying this all tongue-in-cheek. I am sure he will be dashing and beautiful as a U.S. Sailor! I cannot wait to see it.

And so it begins...

I met him eight years ago, this Marine of mine with the liquid-brown eyes and heart of gold. He had this smile that was constatntly turned on, with these dimples that gave his face this childlike look of innocence. I am a practical, no-nonsense type of person, and never believed in such a thing, but it was love at first sight. Cheesy? Yes. True? Absolutely. We were together constantly from the day that we met. Within a few short months, I went from being a proud, I-don't-need-anyone woman to a I-can't live-without-this-man fool. We built a life together in a short period of time, and I became a Mrs. Then a child was born. A child that had all of the good qualities of both his mother and father rolled into an amazing little bundle. What we vowed on the day we got married, to cleave only to each other, has never had such meaning as it has with us. We would build each other up, only to have the world knock us down again. If there is one thing that I would say is credited to the amount of time we have had together, it would have to be our ability to dust off the pieces and build anew. We have been on the verge of divorce over hurtful actions. We have been homeless and hungry, and we have been well-off financially. We have been tried again and again. But regardless of where life has taken us or where it will take us in the future, we will do this together, as gracefully as we can. So I started this blog.....Why? He is leaving me, and I don't know if I can cope. Almost a year ago, we relocated for my career, and so we are alienated. This blog, like a school-girl's diary, is intended to be my outlet for all of the thoughts that are swirling around in my head. These are thoughts I don't know if I can share with him, as I don't want to break him down as he is just reaching his strongest state in the years I have known him and been by his side. You see, he is re-enlisting in the military. It has been awhile since I have seen the salty Marine I married. He turned civilian. He got soft and beaten down by the world in which we live. He became wishy-washy on his outlook and what exactly it is that he wants to accomplish in his life. But a few short weeks ago, he made a decision to do this, and he changed. For the first time in a long time, I saw emerging the man I married. His shoulders are no longer slumped, his head no longer bowed. For the first time in a long time, he is sure of what he wants and how he is going to make it happen. And he knows what to do, and how to do it well. I watch this transformation, and see that, because of my love for him, I cannot let him see how truly frightened I am. How devastated I will be to see him go. None of these matter anymore. The only thing that matters is that his shoulders are no longer slumped, his head no longer bowed, and that the sparkle is back in his eyes. He has been there for me as I embarked on the journey to start a very challenging endeavor. Now the roles have reversed, and it is my turn to show, through my actions, that I will go the distance with him and support him in all that he does in his life. So here you have it....The blog of a civilian American housewife as she transforms into a proud military wife. A virtual diary of the sacrifice countless American families are making as we speak. The birth of a brand-spanking-new military wife.