(Note: My husband sometimes uses this essay to counsel young sailors who are having marital problems. It's too common. The military has a much higher rate of divorce than civilians.)
He called from the ship tonight. "I can't tell you where I am."
How come?
"Because I don't know where I am. Somewhere off the coast, less than 12 miles."
In the Indian Ocean. Or in Bahrain. Or near the Canary Island. Or in Cuba.
Or across the street from La Segrada Familia in Barcelona. He doesn't even know why he might want to go see La Segrada Familia, the great unfinished Cathedral of the Holy Family. He knows that his friends are out for a beer and he's stopped to call home.
It's always been nice when he called home from some exotic place. The US Navy takes him to some strange places: Israel, Italy, Egypt. He could see the pyramids, the bazaars, the paintings, the cathedrals. Instead, he goes for dive bars, museums of dirty pictures, dusty streets. It's all about the next beer.
I stay at home and dream--and fume--a boiling kettle of need to fly, to see new places, different things. Instead, I go to the day care, the elementary school, Wal-mart. I wipe noses, mouths and tears. My own raised voice echoes the screams of a tantrumming toddler and the steaming desire to get away.
What am I doing here?
How did I become a drudge to dishes and diapers while he travels the world? Remember me? I have the toughest job in the Navy. I do it alone, but I'm not a single parent. The Navy does not "take care of its own." I am a member of no team. I am a Navy of one.
He says, he could do this, day in, day out, stay home like I do. It's not that hard.
He'd go crazy.
I'm not crazy. I can wait for the day when I'll see the Louvre, walk the cathedrals of Europe, eat falafel in the streets of Haifa. It only hurts a little that I'll probably never get there. I can accept that. Security is a prison. Freedom is risk. Commitment holds me as sure as an iron cuff about my ankle.
Commitment is not big in this day and age. He understands commitment. The Navy requires nothing less than to be number one. He understands sacrifice, living in the close quarters of the ship, hard metal and his radar system between him and death. He would give his life willingly, but not cheaply. Freedom, he understands so well, because his life is on the line.
Commitment to freedom, I understand that too. I have committed my freedom to these three, small girls. Though smiles balance tantrums and kisses weigh down the tears, there is no one to balance me. He would give his whole life at once for your freedom.
I give my life in inches.
1 comment:
I had a friend tell me this story. Her husband was a refueling pilot during the first Iraq war. He had been gone more than a month and she had not heard from him. She was very anxious. She kept trying to guess his location. She listened to every news report and studied maps so that she might imagine where he was.
One night about 2 am she was awoken by the phone. She groggily answered it and was startled to hear her husband's voice. After saying hello, she blurted out the first thing that was on her sleepy yet anxious mind..."Honey, where are you?!"
She knew the minute she said it that he couldn't tell her and that she risked having the call disconnected by the very question.
There was a very long pause while she listened to the static of an overseas call and the clicking of the electronics used to mointor calls. Finally he said, "Well honey, I'm at work!"
Yes he was. God bless him. God bless all the military men and women and their families!
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