Category: military

PCS Blues

Our orders are up in July.  Which means that our whole family will be moving to the other coast before too long.  And while I have spent almost 4 years in this town, and tried hard to put a positive spin on it, I will finally just come out and say that I really HATE this place.  I know people will take offense to that — people who are familiar with and fond of this tiny desert town in the middle of absolutely nowhere, at least.  So I need to make it clear that my dislike of this place in no way relates to the people I’ve come to know while we’ve been stationed here.  And in many ways, this town has been very good to me.  I was able to get a job at a relatively prestigious company (because very few talented people with any skills worth having want to live here, thus the job market is pretty easy to navigate); I made some good friends (military spouses stranded together atop a volcano or on a deserted island would befriend each other in much the same manner, I suspect); and I was able to become involved with the community (nothing snarky to add here…).  And I can respect that some people actually choose to live here.  But aside from our beautiful home, which we renovated completely over a three year period (which having another kid and living with 2 crazy boys), this place is desolate and depressing, and I’ll be so glad to watch it fade in my rear view mirror.  The heat I can handle (it’s a dry heat afterall — but 120 is still pretty f*ing hot); it’s the wind that I hate. Sustained winds of 25-45 miles per hour are no fun for anyone. Especially a long haired gas permeable contact lens wearer.

And though I am eager to leave, I’d like to just go ahead and fast forward the next 5 months.  They involve attempting to sell our house (at a great loss certainly, if we can sell at all); supervising packing; cleaning the house; getting across the country with 2 small boys; figuring out where to live on the other side (buy again because we are insane or base housing for which there is a 6 month wait?); and what my job situation will or won’t be out there.  A teensy bit stressful.  At least I’ve found a school for the boys that I believe will be good and they’re both pre-registered to begin in August 1st.  Small victories.  They’ll actually be at the same school on the same schedule, so that will be very nice.

Anyway, as the move date draws nearer, I am more and more stressed about all the details that I can’t simply shove into alignment.  Waiting is not my strong point…

Ignorance is Bliss

Ten Aces with a Queen

My grandfather was an Army Air Corps pilot.  He flew a B-24 “liberator” in World War II.  He was part of the 445th Bomb Group, stationed at Tibenham, England.  Today is the 67th anniversary of his death.

When I married a military pilot, my grandmother lost her ability to speak to me for a while.  The first time she fully tried to grasp what, exactly, this man I was going to marry did in the Marine Corps, she clarified a couple times – “He’s a pilot?” “I mean, he flies planes into combat?”  I saw dark shadows pass across her eyes as I confirmed that yes, this man I loved had the same job as a man that she loved many years ago – the man she could no longer talk about or even acknowledge aloud.

I learned about my grandfather from my mom and from her grandmother.  That was my great-grandma.  I have fond memories of her, though I always suspected that she liked my brother more than she cared for me.  How could I know, as a child, that when she looked at my brother she probably saw shadows of her lost son?  My brother looked just like my grandfather as a boy.  That woman, my great-grandma, lost two boys to World War II.  A third, “Uncle Bill,” was kept from “joining up” as a result.  I cannot imagine what she went through during those times. I often look at my boys and hope that they don’t think they should follow their dad’s footsteps.

Today I shared the smallest glimpse of what my grandmother might have endured, in reading the journal my grandfather kept during flight training, and in reading the letters sent home by the men who flew with him.  There was a picture of her in black at a memorial parade held soon after his death.  I stared at it for a long time, trying to read her face.  Part of me marveled that she had participated in this (there were four widows at the front of the procession), as I cannot recall her ever acknowledging my mom’s father, but she’d probably gotten to her silence gradually.

My mother was born two weeks exactly before her father was killed by the flak that entered the cockpit during a bombing mission over France.  As she was beginning to see those who loved her for the first time, I imagine many of their faces were torn with conflict — joy at this new life, and grief for the father she’d never have the opportunity to know.

The strangest part of reading the documents and looking at the photos was realizing the date.  It was a complete coincidence that I was going through these things today of all days – the anniversary of his death.

I can’t pretend to know what it is like to lose your spouse to war.  I can only hope that my ignorance will continue.  Given The Major’s current career path, the odds are good that he won’t deploy again, so my ignorance is likely to continue.