One Army Wife's Tale

Happy Military Spouse Appreciation Day!

2013-05-10T12:03:00.001-04:00

Stuck Like Glue

2013-04-22T09:34:00.000-04:00

SSG Lupe Maldonado and his wife Yery at their battalion
ball in Feb. 2013, and in the hospital following his surgery
less than two months later, in April 2013.

Unless you've been part of a military community, you can't know how strong the bonds that form between battle buddies, neighbors, and friends are. We, as Army wives, sometimes take those connections for granted. Within the walls of the Fort Hood community, it's commonplace for your neighbor's husband to cut your grass or unclog your toilet for you because your own husband is away; for you to take a carful of kids, only one of whom is yours, to all of their respective schools first thing in the morning because "you had to go out anyway"; to often make two dinners at night- one for your family and one for the family across the street, just because you know your friend is having a rough day.

But here's something you may or may not remember from your former life- it's not like that everywhere else. It's not like that anywhere else, really. The whole, "we're all one big family" mentality is truly something that's unique to military life. I've always known that. But I've never seen it displayed more mightily than in this past week.

My name is Jenn Carpenter, and I am the author of a little story floating around the interwebz right now titled "Fighting For Life: One Soldier's Tale of Unspeakable Tragedy and Unwavering Strength." (Or, if you read it on the Army Wife Network's site, "Lupe's Fight.") If you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend that you do. Like now. If you're short on time, here's a quick synopsis:

SSG Lupe Maldonado, a Fort Hood soldier and three-time war veteran preparing for an upcoming deployment, was recently diagnosed with stage four colon cancer. What Army doctors misdiagnosed for YEARS, civilian doctors found and diagnosed within three days when the Maldonados got tired of getting substandard care at an Army hospital and went to a "regular hospital." After Lupe's diagnosis, Tricare denied his possibly life-saving surgery because he was being treated at a civilian hospital instead of at the same Army hospital that had been turning him away and misdiagnosing him for years. The Maldonados went to war with Tricare and got the surgery approved. During Lupe's surgery, which was last week, it was discovered that his cancer has spread and is now inoperable. Lupe is now fighting an uphill battle toward recovery, and has no legal recourse as military doctors cannot be sued for malpractice. He and his wife, Yery, live in Copperas Cove and have three young children. They are hoping to have Lupe accepted into MD Anderson Cancer Center in Houston for treatment.

As a friend of Yery's, I watched from afar as this horrific story unfolded. I worried right along with her as she talked about how frustrated she was that her husband was in pain and no one seemed to care. I was cautiously optimistic when Lupe finally had a CT scan and colonoscopy done. I was heartbroken when I learned of his diagnosis. And I was LIVID when Tricare denied coverage for his surgery the night before it was scheduled to take place. I was relieved when, the following morning, they approved it. I was hopeful during his five hour surgery. And I was devastated when Yery shared the news that Lupe's cancer had spread and was inoperable. I felt compelled to do something, I just wasn't sure what.

Given that she'd been so open and forthcoming about the entire situation via social media, I decided to approach Yery and see if she wanted help taking her story public. You know how they say that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned? Yeah, that. She was ready to share her story with the world. And I was more than willing to help her. I interviewed Yery for a long time and did lots of on-line research, then spent hours crying and writing. When I was finished, I hit "publish" and I knew. I knew I'd done something big. Something important. I just didn't know how big or how important.

Within hours, the story had gone viral. It seemed like it was EVERYWHERE. The Fight for Lupe Facebook page was getting likes and wall posts and messages faster than we could process them. The Fort Hood Army Wives organization reached out and started putting together a meal sign-up to provide the Maldonados with food for the next several weeks. Within minutes of a request being put out for a recliner to borrow for Lupe to sit in while he recovered from surgery, Ashley Furniture in Killeen, TX contacted us and offered to donated a brand new, $1300 leather lift chair to Lupe. They delivered it the following morning. Military assistance organizations, news stations wanting to further spread Lupe's story, politicians, and thousands and thousands of people, many of them from the Fort Hood area, were offering help, advice, services, goods, money.....it was overwhelming. I spent most of the day in tears, my heart overflowing with pride and joy and happiness for my friends, who finally had something to smile about; who finally didn't feel so alone.

Together with Yery and her best friend and guardian angel Sammi Jo, who's been by her side every step of the way through this nightmarish journey, I started putting together fundraisers and press releases and answering the hundreds (thousands? I lost count) of messages we received in just a few hour's time. Lupe's story continues to spread. His support network continues to grow. As I sit here writing this, a mere three days after the craziness began, I feel like my entire world has changed. Because it has. I have seen the absolute best in our military community, and it has restored my faith that not all hope is lost for this crazy world we live in. Yes, there is a lot of bad, but there is so, so much more good.

There is a man, a soldier who has risked his life for his country on three separate tours of duty, who is upset that his illness will prevent him from doing that a fourth time when his unit deploys later this year. Despite all he's facing, he's still cracking jokes and grinning from ear to ear when he's not in excruciating pain. There is a woman who is taking care of three young children, one of whom has special medical needs, as well as her husband, who is recovering from surgery and preparing for chemotherapy, while still going to school and trying to get her assignments in on time. She is exhausted and overwhelmed. She breaks down and she cries. But she still smiles and laughs and takes the time to thank everyone, repeatedly, for the support that's being given to her and her family. There is her friend, a mother of two young children with her own family and home to take care of, who has turned her life and her schedule upside down to make sure that the Maldonados have everything they need at all times, be it someone to watch their kids, moral support, a clean house, food, etc.

And then there are all of you, many of you complete strangers to the Maldonados, coming together to take care of one of your own. Inspired is not a strong enough word. Changed. I am forever changed by this experience already. And proud. I am so proud of my friends, who are stronger than I could every hope to be in a situation such as the one they're facing; and proud to be a part of a community of some of the most caring, compassionate, amazing people on the planet: Fort Hood Army Wives.

Visit the Fight for Lupe Facebook page for more information: www.facebook.com/fightforlupe

~~~~~~~~

Jenn Carpenter is the proud wife of an Iraq War veteran, mother to four amazing boys, a published author, and a blogger for the Army Wife Network and Fort Hood Army Wives. In 2012, Jenn released her first published work, One Army Wife's Tale- her personal memoir about life as the wife of a soldier at war. Her first novel, Hardwood Floors, was published in April 2013. Visit here fore more: www.jenncarpenter.com

This story was originally posted on the Fort Hood Army Wives website. Due to privacy settings on the page, only members can acces its content, so it is being re-shared here so that those following Lupe's story may read it.

Fighting For Life: One Family's Tale of Unspeakable Tragedy and Unwavering Strength

2013-04-17T10:22:00.002-04:00

SSG Lupe Maldonado, United States Army

When a woman falls in love with a soldier, she knows she’s taking a chance. She knows that she is giving her heart to a man who has given his life to the military. She knows that she will very likely send him off to war, possibly more than once. She knows that there will be lots of lonely, sleepless nights and lots of tears shed. And she knows that it is his duty, his obligation, to risk his life for his country.

So when young mother Yery Ortiz fell in love with a goofy guy with an infectious smile who just happened to be a soldier and Iraq War veteran, it wasn’t without caution. “I was kinda scared at first, because I didn’t want to get my heart broken and I didn’t want to lose him to war,” Yery remembers. She knew it would be hard. She knew his job was dangerous. But she never imagined the circumstances under which her soldier would wind up fighting for his life. No one could have predicted that.

She knew his job was dangerous. But she never imagined the circumstances under which her soldier would wind up fighting for his life.

Yery met and fell in love with Lupe Maldonado just before Valentine’s Day, 2008. She loved the fact that he was mature and had a great deal of life experience. He was drawn to her fiery spirit and zest for life. Together, they loved to go dancing, camping, and hiking. They moved in together and began building a life with Yery’s two-year-old son from a previous relationship, Gael, who was diagnosed with type one diabetes at just nine months old. But then, as he so often does in military life, Uncle Sam came calling. Lupe received orders for a one year deployment to Iraq. He would be overseas for virtually all of 2009.

Just two months before Lupe’s third deployment (Yery’s first), they found out Yery was pregnant with twins. Alone with a special-needs toddler throughout her pregnancy, the man she loved in a war zone, Yery tried not to worry too much when Lupe began confiding in her that he thought there was something wrong with him. He began experiencing blood in his stools, but was simply told by Army medics in Iraq that he had hemorrhoids. With everything else going on, Lupe tried to put the issue out of his mind, even though the problem persisted.

Lupe returned from Iraq in December 2009, when the twins, Josh and Vivian, were six months old. He and Yery were married in February 2010, the same month he went to an on-post medical clinic at Fort Hood to again seek treatment for abdominal pain and blood in his stools. The doctors performed tests and declared Lupe fit for duty, failing to inform him that his stool samples came back abnormal and that blood tests revealed he was anemic. (This information would not be discovered until years later.)

The Maldonados were relocated from Fort Hood, TX to Fort Benning, GA in July 2010. Just two years later, in July 2012, they were transferred back to Fort Hood, where Lupe began training for an upcoming deployment to Afghanistan. They moved in across the street from another young Army family: Specialist Christopher Marsh, his wife Sammi Jo, and their two little girls. Yery and Sammi Jo became fast friends. Says Sammi Jo, “We began to depend on each other for any and everything. Being Army wives made that easier because we understood each other. Lupe was part of that deal. He put my Christmas lights up when my husband was gone, even though they were hung backwards so I could never light them up, and was always there with Yery to make me laugh. And vice versa.”

The Maldonados: Josh, Lupe, Gael, Yery and Vivian

Yery got involved with the Family Readiness Group and quickly became a go-to girl for military spouses in need, always more than happy to lend a helping hand. In early 2013, Lupe began experiencing severe abdominal pain. He visited several different on-post clinics as well as the emergency room at Carl R. Darnall Army Medical Center at Fort Hood on more than one occasion, all while continuing to train for his upcoming deployment. He was scheduled for a colonoscopy more than a month out. His pain continued to worsen. On March 29, 2013, Yery took Lupe back to the emergency room at Darnall, where the Lieutenant Colonel who treated him appeared more concerned about Lupe’s upcoming training and deployment schedule than his health, according to Yery. The doctor diagnosed him with a pulled muscle, prescribed him an anti-inflammatory, and sent him home.

At her wit’s end, tired of seeing her husband in such agony, and confident that Lupe was being repeatedly misdiagnosed and receiving substandard care, Yery consulted Lupe’s Chain of Command, who suggested that she take him to a civilian hospital off-post. The following morning, on March 30, 2013, she did exactly that. Doctors at Seton Harker Heights Medical Center were horrified that nothing had been done for Lupe, considering the severity of his symptoms. They admitted him immediately and ordered a CT scan. Convinced that Lupe was suffering from diverticulitis or polyps, Yery was relieved to be on the verge of finally getting some answers. But neither Yery nor Lupe were prepared for what doctors found.

The CT scan revealed a mass on Lupe’s colon. A colonoscopy later that day revealed multiple malignant tumors in Lupe’s descending colon. Cancer. The Maldonados were devastated. Lupe was released from the hospital while his new, non-Army doctors formulated a treatment plan. The decision was made to remove the cancerous portion of Lupe’s colon. His surgery was scheduled for April 12, 2013. It was an outpatient procedure, so Yery expected to be able to take her husband home that same day, possibly the next morning. Yery’s best friend and guardian angel, Sammi Jo, would take care of the children the day of the procedure and overnight that night if necessary. Lupe’s cancer, which went undiagnosed by Army doctors for years, would be removed. And then he would begin the road to recovery.

This hero, who had risked his life fighting for his country many times over, had to plead with his insurance company to shell out a few dollars to try to save his life in return.

The night before Lupe’s surgery, the Maldonados were contacted with some startling news. Tricare, the military’s health insurance for service members and their families, denied coverage for Lupe’s surgery because he was diagnosed and scheduled for treatment at a non-military facility by civilian doctors. Their argument was that if he was really that sick, he should have gone to the hospital located on post- the same hospital that had turned him away and misdiagnosed him multiple times.

So, the morning her husband was scheduled to undergo surgery for life-threatening cancer, Yery instead found herself battling it out with the powers-that-be at the insurance company, fighting for the benefits her husband had spent over a decade earning. This hero, who has risked his life fighting for his country many times over, had to plead with his insurance company to shell out a few dollars to try to save his life in return. A veteran of multiple wars, an active duty Staff Sergeant upset about not being able to deploy with his unit, fighting for his life after years of misdiagnosis by military doctors, had to beg his insurance company to give him a chance to live. After hours of hard-fought negotiation, Tricare approved Lupe’s surgery. He and Yery headed straight from the insurance company to the hospital. Their nightmare was almost over. Or so they thought.

Lupe and Yery at the Brigade Ball in Feb. 2013, and in the hospital following Lupe's surgery less than two months later.

During Lupe’s five hour surgery, Yery had nothing but time to worry about her husband and reflect on the nightmarish journey they’d found themselves on. She felt the Army had betrayed her, her husband, and her family. And she had absolutely no recourse. Military doctors are protected under The Feres Doctrine, a 1950 Supreme Court ruling forbidding active-duty military personnel and their families from suing the federal government for medical malpractice. That means that regardless of the circumstances, military doctors, nurses, physician’s assistants, etc. (a.k.a. federal employees) cannot be sued for malpractice. They are not held accountable for their actions, or lack thereof.

Following Lupe’s surgery, doctors had more bad news for the Maldonados. Lupe’s cancer had spread from his colon to his spleen, pancreas, and lymph nodes. It was inoperable. His surgery was deemed exploratory, and he was diagnosed with stage four colon cancer. He was kept in the hospital for several days following his surgery as doctors tried to manage his excruciating pain. Yery hardly left her husband’s side. Sammi Jo continued to care for the Maldonados’ children, who have been told very little about their father’s condition. Explains Yery, “The kids cry at night because their dad is not home. They know something is up. I told them that daddy has little things in his belly that are making him sick, but doctors are trying to fix it.”

Military doctors are protected under The Feres Doctrine, a 1950 Supreme Court ruling forbidding active-duty military personnel and their families from suing the federal government for medical malpractice.

Lupe was released from the hospital on April 16, 2013. Once he has healed from surgery, he will begin chemotherapy. According to Yery, Lupe’s chance of recovery is around 40%. But they refuse to give up. “They are strong, amazing people and I know they can get through this,” says Sammi Jo. “They just need all the support they can get. Be there. Be strong for them when they can’t.” While Yery can count on her Army family to be there for her during these darkest of days, she’s lost faith in the Army itself. “Our soldiers are not taken care of. It seems like the Army just doesn’t care. They use their soldiers, and then when they can’t do the work anymore, they just throw them away.”

For more on the Maldonados, visit the "Fight for Lupe" Facebook page: www.facebook.com/fightforlupe

Due to the overwhelming response to Lupe's story and the requests from so many of you to donate to the family, a donation page has been set up for the Maldonado family.

Please donate here:

www.gofundme.com/fightforlupe

Normal

2013-02-21T19:17:00.001-05:00

A couple weeks ago, The Hubs, The Teenager, E-Man and I went out to dinner with some friends. We met them at the new restaurant just down the street from our house, not for any particular reason- just because. As we were walking into the restaurant, the kids bickering and picking at each other (as usual), our friends running a few minutes late, I realized something.

For the first time, maybe in our entire lives together, we were just a normal family. (I use the term normal loosely- I mean, come on now.) Sure, The Hubs had spent the entire day on the other side of the state at the VA hospital, running from appointment to appointment. And yes, my brain was fried from "authoring" as I call it- updating all of my blogs, writing my monthly piece for the Army Wife Network, and editing my soon-to-be novel.

But…..my ACU purse clearly labeling me as an “Army Wifey” was hanging in the closet at home. (I’d just recently switched it out with my “normal” purse.) The dog tags I often wore were hanging from a photo of me and The Hubs at home on our dresser instead of around my neck. The Hubs was wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and a baseball hat, so his Infantry tattoos were undetectable and his Army-bald head was hidden. I wasn’t clinging to him for dear life, having either just gotten him home or trying to prepare to say goodbye again. The kids weren’t awkward around him, still adjusting to having him home for a visit, knowing he would be leaving again soon.

Our friends weren’t overly excited to see The Hubs, there were no hugs or “welcome homes,” it was just, “Hi, Dax.” They see him all the time. Our outing wasn’t a welcome home party or a going away get together- it was just dinner. Finally, FINALLY, we weren’t a family separated by thousands of miles and torn apart by war. We were just a family. We ARE just a family. And that’s the best feeling in the world.

Hardwood Floors: One Step Closer

2013-01-28T12:46:00.000-05:00

My original goal was to be done writing Hardwood Floors by last fall and have it published by early winter. That didn't exactly work out how I'd planned. Life kind of got in the way. BUT. I'm back on track. And last night, I reached a HUGE milestone. I finally finished re-reading and editing the first 200+ pages that I originally wrote five, six years ago. It's not exactly the way I would write it now (I like to think my author muscle has gotten stronger since then), but it's still pretty good, I think. I hope. Anywho....now that I'm "back in the zone" and ready to finish writing my first novel, which hopefully won't take too long, I thought I'd share the first few chapters (which works out to be about the first 55 pages) with you all in hopes of getting some feedback. Enjoy!

UPDATE: Because the post containing the beginning of Hardwood Floors was SOOO massive, I moved it to its own site. You can view it here: Hardwood Floors Sneak Preview. If you take the time to read it, please let me know what you think!

Coming Out of the Closet

2013-01-27T11:44:00.001-05:00

My books packed away in my closet, where dreams go to die.

When I self-published One Army Wife’s Tale last August, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have ridiculously high expectations. I was sure it would spread like wildfire, from my friends and family and the OAWT network to their friends and family and so on and so on until it was everywhere. Until everyone had read it. Until I had publicists and agents and publishers banging down my door, begging to sign contracts and obtain publishing rights and movie rights.

The moment the print version of OAWT was officially released, I thought, “This is it. This is the moment everything changes.” And for a while, it did. I sold out of copies of the book at the official release party. I lined up book signings in Michigan and Texas. I was honored by the school board in my hometown, and an idea was even thrown out by the school board president to dedicate a portion of the library at my old high school to me and my book. I was featured in news articles and interviewed for radio programs and TV news pieces. The feedback I was getting for the book was encouraging.

I was “famous.” Well….not really. But I was on my way to famous. My book was on its way to being on bookshelves in homes all over the country. It was just a matter of time before the calls and offers started rolling in. But my phone never rang. There were no offers. There were no more events lined up, no more friends or family members that needed copies of my book, and no other ways I could think of to promote it.

The final dagger in my “road to fame and fortune” coffin came when I attended the Fort Hood Army Wives Fall Expo as a special guest, almost two months after I published my book. It was a huge opportunity. The Fort Hood community is where I have my biggest following. It’s where my husband was stationed and it’s where our Army family is. It’s also where I got my start writing for the masses, as a blogger for the Fort Hood Army Wives website.

The trip was also a huge expense. I had to pay for plane tickets, promotional materials, and enough books to sign and sell at the event. But how many books was “enough?” And how many would be too many? After consulting with my business manager (a.k.a. my best friend who has been helping me with the logistics of everything), we decided that I should take no less than 100 copies of the book to the event in Texas. Even if I didn’t sell them all at the expo, I would be able to get rid of them in no time, right? Wrong. I came home from Texas with two full boxes of my precious book, having signed and sold less than a dozen copies at the event. I’ve sold maybe five more copies in the four months since.

I decided that I couldn’t keep spending all my time trying to promote and market my book. It was exhausting and the lack of response was depressing. I had a life to live. The Hubs had just moved back home after being honorably discharged from the Army. The kids were in school. There were baseball games and football games and practices to go to. I had a full time job that took up all of my daytime hours and a full time family that took up all of my night time hours.

My career as an “author” was over. I tried, but I failed. Sure, I wrote a book. A good book, at that. But it was never going to go further than my circle of family and friends and the network of followers I’d amassed through blogging for OAWT, Fort Hood Army Wives, and the Army Wife Network. I took the big, heavy boxes of books and packed them away in my bedroom closet, along with a myriad of unfinished projects and clothes I can’t fit into. My closet is the place dreams go to die. There was no better place for me to hide my humiliation.

Then, a few weeks ago, an incredible thing happened. I was scouring through my Facebook messages, looking for a particular bit of information, when I saw something I’d never noticed before. Next to the inbox tab was another tab, “Other.” How long had that been there? I clicked on it. And what I found in this “other” folder changed everything.

Apparently, the other folder is where Facebook files messages they deem to be possible spam, messages from people not on your list of friends. And my other folder was full of messages, most of which were from my fans. Fans? I guess I can’t really think of another word for people I don’t know who have read my book and wanted to tell me how much they loved/enjoyed/appreciated it. Some of the messages were over a year old, from back when OAWT was still just a blog. Some were much more recent.

The entirety of them left me in tears and overwhelmed. My story was helping other Army wives. People could relate to it. People loved it. I had FANS. I decided then and there that it was time for me to stop feeling sorry for myself and thinking I was a failure. Because I’m not. I wrote a freakin’ book! A good, relevant, important book. A story that connects with complete strangers. A story I need to find a way to share with the world.

It was time for me to come out of the closet. My dream is NOT dead. It’s just going to take more time and work to reach it than I had originally hoped. But I know it will be worth it. So I pulled those boxes of books out of my closet, dusted them off (literally….they were covered with it), and decided it’s time to try again.

Two days ago, I did something I’ve been putting off for over half a year. I submitted One Army Wife’s Tale to a literary agency. It was scary and nerve wracking, but I’m so glad I did it. According to the agency’s website, I will hear from them within two weeks if they’re “interested.” So now I wait. I’m 99% sure I’ll never hear from them. And I’m 100% sure I’ll be having ice cream for dinner on that fourteenth day, when I know for sure that they’ve rejected me.

But then I’ll dust myself off and try again. Two of today’s most successful authors, J.K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer, had hundreds of doors slammed in their faces before they got their books published. They’re famous today because they didn’t let rejection stop them. They kept going. Now, I’m not saying OAWT is going to be the next Harry Potter or the next Twilight. That’s a bit of a stretch. I’m just saying that it’s going to be something- that it deserves better than to be locked away in a closet, collecting dust. And so do I.

Wake-Up Call

2013-01-14T16:25:00.002-05:00

As mornings go in our house, The Hubs is always up first. His alarm goes off at the ridiculous hour of 5 am. Mine goes off an hour later. On days we don’t have the boys, I get even another hour of sleep on top of that. So this kidless morning, after he kissed me goodbye and left for work, I settled in for another hour and a half of glorious sleep. I scooted in toward the center of the bed, with my toes dangling off one end and my fingertips stretched out to the complete opposite end. I had my head half on my super squishy pillow and half on my husband’s super fluffy pillow. I was hogging all the blankets and loving every minute of it. “I love having the bed all to myself,” I thought. What a silly thought to have.

Because that thought led to other thoughts- thoughts of having the bed all to myself for almost the entire first year and a half of our marriage; of never being able to get comfortable and never feeling at peace as I tossed and turned in a queen-sized torture chamber that was entirely too big for me, even with all of my sadness and loneliness keeping me company. How quickly we forget, huh?

How could I ever take for granted, even for a second, how incredibly lucky I am to be able to sleep in the same bed with my husband every night, especially after not having that as an option for so long? How many nights did I stay awake, wishing he was in bed beside me instead of on the other side of the globe, in the middle of a war zone? Hundreds. How many military wives wouldn’t kill to be in my position- to have their husbands home to have to share the blankets and fight for the good pillow and get woken up unnecessarily by an early morning alarm clock? Thousands.

I suddenly felt incredibly guilty for having a such a seemingly innocent thought, that it was nice to have the bed to myself. How could I forget what it was like to live without my husband so quickly? As I was pondering all of this, another thought occurred to me: I was wasting my sleeping time. I scooted back to my side of the bed, gave up half of the blankets, and closed my eyes, still able to smell my husband’s scent on his pillow. I pretended he was right there next to me as I started drifting off to sleep. And then…..my alarm went off. What a wake-up call...

Happy New Year!

2013-01-01T16:43:00.000-05:00

Make it a great one, friends!

Movies With Military Men

2012-12-21T18:18:00.000-05:00

Exactly....

Third Time's A Charm

2012-12-06T13:39:00.000-05:00

Although we spent most of the first couple years of our relationship apart, missing out on lots of important moments and memories, there is one holiday that The Hubs and I have been fortunate enough to always spend together. Christmas.

Our first Christmas together, in 2010, will always be the most memorable. That was the beginning of “us.” I’ve shared our story many times, so I’ll spare you the detailed explanation, but here’s the condensed version:

The Hubs and I met as teenagers, and dated for a very brief time in high school. We went our separate ways and each got married to other people, had children, and got divorced. Then, ten years after the last time we’d seen each other, we reconnected on-line and quickly fell in love, even getting engaged despite the fact that he was 1,200 miles away from home, stationed at Fort Hood, and facing an upcoming deployment to Iraq. So, even though we were engaged and the townhouse I lived in with my two boys was his “home of record,” The Hubs and I had never actually lived under the same roof until he came home for Christmas break in 2010.

Those two weeks we spent together were magical and wonderful and perfect, but tragic at the same time. Because from the moment he first held me in his arms on the crowded airport concourse upon his arrival, I knew we’d be back in that very same place hugging each other goodbye in two weeks time. And that broke my heart. Since we weren’t yet married, The Hubs’ ex-wife, who’s less than stellar, was able to prevent him from having his boys at our house on Christmas. So our very first Christmas together was actually spent apart, with me at home with my boys and him at his parents’ house with his boys. I was upset, but hopeful that future Christmases would be different. In the back of my mind, though, I knew that our next Christmas together would be even harder. We would be married, but we would again be apart. Because The Hubs would be in Iraq by then, in the middle of his one year deployment.

As it turned out, his deployment didn’t last a year, but about half a year, as all troops stationed in Iraq in 2011 were ordered to be back stateside in time for the holidays. So my husband was able to be home with us for Christmas last year. But again, our time together was weighted down by the imminent goodbye hanging over our heads, with him leaving to return to Fort Hood just after the start of the new year. In addition, The Hubs was still readjusting to civilian life and the kids were seeing him for the first time since his return from Iraq. Then, just a few days before Christmas, our oldest son lost a childhood friend in a tragic accident. The day before the funeral, that same son suffered a relapse of the epilepsy we thought he’d beaten years ago, and was hospitalized after having a grand mal seizure (possibly as a result of the stress from his friend’s death, according to the doctors). So to say that last Christmas was stressful would be an understatement.

This year will be different, though. This year, The Hubs is not only home for the holidays, but home for good. We live in a beautiful new-to-us home that, although ridiculously haunted, is still my dream house. We put up the tree together and have done the majority of our holiday shopping together and will spend this Christmas together, with all four of our boys. Of course, I can’t control the unpredictable, like accidents or seizures or other tragedies, but barring the unforeseen, our day will be wonderful.

This Christmas will make up for our sub-standard Christmases the two years prior. This year there will be no sadness, no dark cloud hanging over us, and the only tears cried will be tears of joy (probably by me). This year will be our year. I know, because, like they say, the third time’s a charm!

Thankful

2012-11-19T16:54:00.000-05:00

Our boys playing in the backyard, Fall 2012

Thanksgiving is just a few days away, and all month I’ve been seeing posts about the different things people are thankful for. As for me, I’ve yet to share my “today, I’m thankful for…” thoughts with the world. Why? Probably because there are so many things I’m thankful for, I don’t know where to start.

Last Thanksgiving, my husband was in Kuwait. He was just days away from the end of his deployment, and I was less than 24 hours away from the start of my road trip from hell. I didn’t know what the future held for us, or where we would be in a year. The Hubs was still in the Middle East, still in danger, and still with a 7,000 mile trip back to the states awaiting him. I was getting ready to drive, by myself, from Michigan to Texas for his homecoming. If we both made it safely to our final destination (and that was a big “if”), then what? He’d come home for a few weeks, then be stationed at Fort Hood for the next two years, while I stayed behind in Michigan with our family. Could I survive that? Could our marriage? I wasn’t sure.

As I sat at in my parents’ dining room last Thanksgiving with my two little boys who were very anxious about me leaving for Texas the next morning, the thing I was most thankful for was the possibility that things might be different next year. And my, how different they are.

This will be our family’s first Thanksgiving all together. My husband is not only home from overseas, but home for good. He was honorably discharged from the Army two months ago, and we’ve been settling into “civilian life” ever since. I still have a job, much to my boss’ dismay, and The Hubs found employment within a month of coming home. All of our boys are happy, healthy, and loving having their hero home. We’ve upgraded from our small, two bedroom townhome to a spacious, funky farmhouse, which I absolutely LOVE (despite the fact that it’s incredibly haunted.) We will gather around our newly acquired farmhouse table in our beautiful new-to-us home this Thanksgiving as six entirely different people.

My husband, last year a deployed soldier, is now a family man/factory worker/disabled veteran. He sleeps in the same bed every night, wears whatever he wants to work every day, and hasn’t missed a conference/baseball game/football game yet. Last Thanksgiving, I was a wife without her husband. I was on stress leave from my job- deployment proving to be too big of a monster for me to slay without medication, the help of a psychiatrist, and lots and lots of “down time.” The only solace I found was in my writing, which I usually did when I was awake at night worrying about my soldier. Now I’m back to work, taking care of my awesome-if-not-high-maintenance new home and houseful of boys, and a published author. My boys, who last year were missing their step-dad and trying to help their mom keep it together, are much more carefree now. You know the saying “if mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy?” Well, it works the other way around, too. My step-sons, virtual strangers to our home last year, are now staples in the C Family household. I think they’re even starting to think of it as “home,” instead of just “dad’s house.”

So when I start thinking about what I’m thankful for, it’s impossible not to think about all of the things I have now that I didn’t have a year ago. And it’s amazing to think of how far my family has come since then.

When I sat down to start writing today, something dawned on me. It has been almost TWO MONTHS since I’ve written a One Army Wife’s Tale blog post. Considering that I used to post daily, sometimes multiple times a day, that’s just crazy to me. I’ve still been doing my monthly posts for Army Wife Network’s Loving A Soldier, promoting OAWT as a book, and working on my personal blog/website, jenncarpenter.com, but One Army Wife’s Tale has been silent. Why? Well….mainly because I’ve been too busy being happy.

Nothing spectacular has happened in our lives in the past couple of months. In fact, things have never been more calm, more normal, or more boring. And I love it. As a military family that has spent the past two years spread out all over the city, the country, even the world, only coming together as a cohesive unit once every few months, there’s nothing more important to me than having my family all in one place, no matter what we’re doing.

So what am I thankful for this Thanksgiving? I’m thankful for my family- for my husband, for our children, and for this extraordinarily ordinary life that we live. (And I use the term “ordinary” loosely.) What are you thankful for?

I intend to get back to my writing, and to try to do it on a more regular basis. All of my military related stories will still be posted on this site. But for a more comprehensive look into the life of The C Family and all of the things we have going on, please visit www.jenncarpenter.com.

Breathe

2012-09-27T14:54:00.000-04:00

Until I let out a giant sigh of relief at the sight of that familiar red pick-up truck parked at the end of my driveway, I wasn’t even aware that I’d been holding my breath. I sat in my car, the engine still running, fighting back the tears that were stinging my eyes and the knot that was forming in my throat. This was it. As soon as I stepped out of my vehicle and into the crisp autumn air, everything would change. My new life would begin. My husband was home. For good.

I would like to be able to say that he was welcomed home by a giant gathering of family and friends, complete with banners and balloons and gifts and a feast fit for a king. But I can’t. We decided together that his final homecoming would be a quiet affair, and that we would celebrate with family and friends at a later date. Even though his homecoming party was going to be small, I still wanted it to be special. But then I forgot to affix the “Welcome Home” banner to the front of the garage on my way to work yesterday morning, and never got around to baking his “Welcome Home” cake the night before. The frosting and cake mix still sat on top of the stove, waiting for me to transform them into delicious strawberry cream cheese goodness.

In my mind, I would get out of work today, rush E-Man to football practice, then make it home just in time to throw the cake in the oven, slap the banner on the front of the garage, freshen up, and get at least halfway through the process of making dinner before I heard the roar of the truck’s engine as it pulled into the driveway.

The Hubs, however, made ridiculously good time on the last leg of his drive, and arrived home while I was halfway through my commute from the office to the football field. No banner. No cake. No dinner. No family. Just an empty house, a box of cake mix on the stove and two barking dogs. I felt horrible. By the time I got home, he had already unpacked the entire back of his truck, and was carrying boxes and bags and random pieces of furniture into the house.

I watched him from my car, readying myself for yet another new beginning. This was the start of our life as a “normal” family. In one of my very first One Army Wife’s Tale blog posts, I spoke of The Hubs’ deployment as “The chapter that someday, hopefully, we will tell our grandchildren about together. Our year of tears and heartache and missing each other like crazy. The days of handwritten letters and care packages and short, quick calls from halfway around the world that were sometimes only long enough for an "I love you" or "I miss you." The days that strengthened our relationship in a way that nothing else ever could. Someday, we'll look back on these days fondly. Someday, this will make a great story.”

That “someday” is here. My husband is home. He is simply “my husband,” no longer a soldier. And I am merely “his wife,” no longer a soldier’s wife. Our family is no longer a military family, just regular family living in a real home instead of a half-empty house. This is the chapter of our lives I’ve spent the past two years waiting for. It’s finally here. I’m finally going to get to live my dream. There’s just one thing I have to do first. I have to remember how to breathe.

Order Up

2012-09-18T20:11:00.002-04:00

“I got my orders today.” Those five words, spoken by my husband during a long distance telephone call he was hoping he would never have to make, changed our lives forever. It was last spring, less than a month after our wedding, and hardly a month before the dreaded orders would take effect. Up until he said those words, I’d allowed my denial to concoct this fantastic delusion that he wasn’t going to deploy. With those five words, my hopes were shattered.

Long story short, a medical issue almost prevented my husband from being cleared for duty, which would have prevented him from deploying with his unit. So although he continued to train and ready himself for war with his battle buddies, I created this entire alternate universe in my head, one where he wouldn’t be allowed to deploy, where I wouldn’t have to spend every minute of every day fearing for his life. Maybe it was a misguided coping/defense mechanism, but I won’t apologize for it. I did not want my husband to go to war. Point blank.

But go to war he did. Just two months after we said our “I dos,” we were forced to say our goodbyes. And I was devastated. Since my deployment journey has been forever immortalized in print, I’ll refrain from dragging you through the details for the umpteenth time. I’ll simply say, it was hell. It tested the limits of my marriage, my strength, and my sanity.

Last week, I got a text from my husband that started with those eerily familiar words. “I got my orders today.” I didn’t even get my response typed before tears pooled in my eyes and started spilling over onto my cheeks. I buried my face in my hands, trying to muffle my quiet sobs, trying to control the hysteria that was surging through every fiber of my being. Because, just like the first time, those five words changed my life forever. But, unlike the first time, these orders wouldn’t take my husband even further from home than usual, or put him in harm’s way. These orders weren’t something I’d been dreading. They were exactly what I’d been waiting for. They were the orders releasing my husband from service. The orders that will bring him home. For good.

I remember reading somewhere, “Once a soldier, always a soldier.” I think in a lot of ways, that’s absolutely true. So the same could be said for me, I guess. “Once a soldier’s wife, always a soldier’s wife.” Right? I don’t think I’ll ever stop feeling like my husband “just got back” from war. I don’t think I’ll ever stop getting a knot in the pit of my stomach when I hear the word “deployment.” Supporting military families will always be a cause that is near and dear to my heart.

Having spent the past two years as the matriarch of an Army clan, I know firsthand how much so many of us are lacking in the support system department. And I always want to be that; a support for my wonderful sister wives, whose husbands continue to serve, deploy, and sacrifice. And a support to all of my husband’s battle buddies, to whom I will forever be grateful for watching his back and keeping him safe overseas.

While the “Army” portion of this wife’s tale is soon coming to an end, don’t worry….I’m not going anywhere. No doubt there will still be stories to tell as my soldier readjusts to civilian life, and as I learn how to be a wife without the word “Army” preceding it. As one chapter closes, a new and very exciting one is beginning for the “C Family.” And I can’t wait to share it with you all.

Military Appreciation Night

2012-09-09T20:44:00.002-04:00

Exactly one year ago, Dax was home on leave from Iraq. We were given the incredible, unexpected gift of two weeks together; a reprieve from his deployment, if you will. But it didn’t really feel like much of a reprieve at all. Because the deployment was still there, hiding around every corner, looming over our heads, threatening to steal away every kiss, every smile, every moment. No matter what we did, where we went, or how happy we were, the fact that he had to go back to Iraq at the end of his leave was never far from either of our minds.

One of the nights while he was home, we threw a birthday party for his almost-four-year-old. Little Man’s actual birthday would come a couple of weeks after Dax went back to Iraq (just one of the many milestones he missed during his deployment), so we celebrated early. After a night of pizza and presents and more family fun than the kids could handle (as evidenced by the comatose bodies of our four boys strewn all over the living room at the end of the night), Dax and I went up to bed.

It was a beautiful fall night, so our window was open as we cuddled in silence, both exhausted from the day’s festivities. Along with the crisp autumn air, which smelled of burning leaves and bonfires, the evening breeze carried the sound of the varsity football game, which was being played just a few hundred feet away, in through our bedroom window.

We listened to the cheering, the marching band, the horns and whistles, and the announcer emphatically yell “Touchdown!” every now and then. I was almost asleep when halftime was announced. But then a new voice came over the loudspeaker, one that I hadn’t grown accustomed to as part of my Friday evening soundtrack. It was a woman’s voice, explaining that it was time to start announcing the names of the military personnel being honored during the game. Of course. It was Military Appreciation Night. I’d totally forgotten.

Once a year, our local high school hosts a Military Appreciation Night, during which the varsity football players wear jerseys with names of fallen soldiers from the area on them. The families of those soldiers, along with veterans and representatives from all branches of the military, are on hand to be honored. For a minute, I was upset that I’d forgotten about the game, that we were only listening to it through the window instead of being there in person. Just for a minute, though.

I can’t put into words what it felt like to lay in the arms of my soldier, who was fresh off the battlefield and only a few days away from heading back, and listen to the names of all of the service men and women from our tiny town that had been killed in action read aloud to a silent crowd; one after another, after another. To say that I was terrified would be an understatement. I tried, so hard, to think positive. I closed my eyes and imagined my family of six at the next Military Appreciation Game. I would hold my soldier’s hand and our boys would stand tall and proud as we paid our respects to his fallen comrades. But there was this little voice in my head, one that I could not get to shut up no matter how hard I tried, that kept asking me “What if?” What if he didn’t make it home at the end of his deployment? What if his name was on the back of one of those jerseys at the next game? What if that moment, the one where I was safe in his arms and the war in Iraq was half a world away, was one of the last we would spend together as husband as wife?

I thank God every day that all of my “what ifs” went unfounded, and that all of my worrying was done in vain. Even though my husband still isn’t home, he’s safe. I don’t have to spend every minute of every day fearing for his safety, wondering every time my phone rings if it’s going to be “THE” call. Those days are long gone. But as I prepared for this year’s Military Appreciation Game, at which I was scheduled to do my second One Army Wife’s Tale book signing, I couldn’t seem to shake the same sense of fear I’d had last year at this time.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what it felt like to be the wife of a deployed soldier, or about how lucky I was to be going to this year’s game as a “special guest” under very different circumstances than many of the other military families that were invited. I wondered what it would feel like to be in the presence of the loved ones of so many fallen heroes, and if I would feel guilty because I’m one of the “lucky ones.”

Of all of the scenarios I’d imagined as to how my family would participate in Military Appreciation Night, I never imagined I’d be going as a published author, signing copies of my “deployment survival story.” But that’s exactly where this crazy military journey has led me, and my family. And I couldn’t be happier. Well….that’s not entirely true. The one thing that could make me happier would be to have my husband here to experience this all with me. And those days aren’t too far off. More on that story coming soon….

Field Days

2012-08-19T11:44:00.000-04:00

One might think, with The Hubs living 1,200 miles away, that it wouldn't really bother me when he has to go to the field for a week. One would be wrong. For all my non-military peeps, "going to the field" is code for a type of round-the-clock training exercise in which real-life combat situations are simulated, usually in preparation for an upcoming deployment.

It's been over a year since The Hubs' entire battalion did a field exercise together. Last winter, they went to Louisiana for a month to train for their upcoming deployment to Iraq, which was just a few months out at the time. This training exercise will be a lot less dramatic (on post, not out of state; one week instead of several; no deployment on the immediate horizon) but it's still got me majorly stressed just the same. And I've spent the entire weekend trying to figure out why. Here's what I've come up with so far:

A.) Since The Hubs came back from Iraq last year, his schedule has been pretty much a "normal" one, give or take a staff duty day here or there. He (for the most part) goes to work in the morning, gets out in the late afternoon/early evening, and doesn't work on weekends. So it was without even realizing it that I convinced myself he has a "normal job." I know he doesn't. I know there's nothing ordinary about what my husband does for a living. But still....when you're on a somewhat regular schedule, it's easier to convince yourself that you have a somewhat normal life. It's easy to forget that your significant other is, quite literally, a trained assassin that has to brush up on their "war skills" from time to time; that at a moment's notice, he could be called to duty and dropped in the middle of a combat situation, forced to fight for his life and the lives of those around him. And, understandably, I don't like reminders like that.

2.) "Going to the field" causes my Army Wife PTSD to flare up. Makes sense, considering that the last time The Hubs went to the field, it was right before his deployment to Iraq. Those were some of the darkest days I've ever experienced. Looking back, I almost think that getting ready for the deployment was worse than the deployment itself. At the very least, it was just as bad. I knew our time together was running out, and I hated that he kept having to go on weekend long/week long/month long field exercises where we had little to no contact. Which brings me to my last point...

C.) Historically, until The Hubs actually gets "to the field," we have no idea if he'll be able to contact me at all while he's out there. Cell phone reception at the Fort Hood ranges is spotty at best, and this will be the first time The Hubs has ventured out to the mountains since we switched cell phone carriers. So it's quite possible, when I tell him "Goodbye/I love you/be careful/I'll miss you" in a few hours, that it will be the last time I'll get to talk to him until next weekend. And I hate that. Sure, I'm already used to sleeping in bed without him every night, and to not being able to hug him or kiss him or cuddle up on the couch and watch a movie with him whenever I want. But that doesn't make this any easier. Our relationship may consist primarily of text messages, phone calls, and video chat, but those are things that I--that we--rely on very heavily. I can't stand the thought of not being able to talk to him for a whole week. I haven't had to do that since he was deployed, and even then, it only happened once or twice.

Whether I like it or not, my husband in leaving for the field in less than 24 hours. We got up early for a Skype date so that he could spend the day getting ready. We talked and joked and even laughed a little. Then he let me go to start taking care of business. And now I have to carry on with my day, despite the fact that I feel sick to my stomach. I have chores to do, errands to run, groceries to buy, laundry to do. I need to get as much of a head start on next week as possible, as it's going to be a very, VERY busy week. I don't know how I'm going to get through it if I have no contact with The Hubs the entire time. But I know I will. And I also know this: Field Days SUCK.

Normal

2012-08-17T12:58:00.001-04:00

Last night as I tucked my nine year old into bed, I couldn’t help but notice the slight furrow in his brow when I bent down to kiss his forehead.

“Is something wrong, buddy?” I asked him.

“No,” he sighed. “I was just thinking.” Now, for those of you who don’t know E-Man, when he says he’s “been thinking,” there’s no telling what’s coming next. Because this kid has some seriously crazy thoughts. Last week he asked me if I thought there would be any new colors created in his lifetime. And he’s constantly coming up with new combinations for the great “Who would win?” debate. “A jaguar, or a velociraptor?” “A black bear, or a hammerhead shark?” “A zombie, or a bobcat?” So I took a deep breath as I readied myself to answer him, trying to wake up my sleepy brain, because I was no doubt going to need it.

“What are you thinking about?” I asked. It took him a minute to respond. In that minute, I watched him clutch his “soldier bear” tightly, kissing it on its fuzzy little bereted head. His vibrant green eyes started to tear up, and I knew. I knew that he was thinking about his step-dad.

“I was just thinking how nice it’s going to be when we’re normal,” he said. I had to laugh.

“I don’t know if we’ll ever be ‘normal,’ bud,” I cautioned him. He smiled slightly.

“I don’t mean like that,” he explained. “I mean once Dax comes home from the Army. When he’s here every day and we get to be a real family and we don’t have to worry about wars or when he’s leaving again. When we don’t have to miss him all the time while he’s in Texas being a soldier.”

I found myself speechless, which is a very rare thing for me. Racing through my mind were all of the things I probably should have said, about how proud he should be to be part of a military family, how the sacrifices we make on a daily basis for the greater good of our country, and for the world, are nothing short of amazing. I should have reminded him how lucky he is to have a real-life hero to look up to, and that someday he’ll look back on these days with fondness.

But in that moment, none of that seemed to matter. He was just a little boy, missing his step-dad. The reasons weren’t important. The bigger picture was insignificant. There was nothing I could say to make the situation any different than it is, so why try? Instead, I sat down on the edge of his bed and scooped him up into a giant bear hug. I held him until his breathing slowed and his eyelids grew heavy. Then I kissed him good night again, made sure his soldier bear was tucked in with him, and headed downstairs.

I walked past a picture hanging on the wall of our family of six, who hasn’t been together in one place in almost three months. I pulled my pajamas out of my dresser drawer, careful to ignore the drawer just above it, the one full of The Hubs’ clothes that sit perfectly folded, untouched, and unworn for months at a time. And then I climbed into my big empty bed and piled pillows onto my husband’s side so that I wouldn’t feel quite so all alone. I texted him one last time to tell him good night, his identical response coming within seconds, from over 1,200 miles away. As I closed my eyes and started to drift off to sleep, I couldn’t help but think about how right E-Man was. A little “normal” would certainly be nice right about now.

Hardwood Floors

2012-08-09T21:35:00.004-04:00

Interesting fact of the day: While One Army Wife's Tale is my first published work, it's not my first "book." About five years ago, I started writing a novel tentatively titled Hardwood Floors. It began with a dream. No, seriously....it did. I had this crazy vivid dream about writing a book called Hardwood Floors that was loosely based on my life growing up and my relationship with my best friend, which, at the time, was severely strained. I woke up the next morning and started writing frantically, sure I was going to be a world famous author within a few months. I got a few weeks and a few thousand words in before I decided I was wasting my time, that nobody would ever be interested in reading anything I wrote. So I gave up.

Then, about a year later, I read a novel a few of you may have heard of. Twilight. Think ill of me if you will, but I absolutely loved it. I still do. One of the things I loved about it was that the author, Stephenie Meyer, wasn't as much a great author as she was a fantastic story teller. Her grammar wasn't perfect. She used a lot of the same phrases repeatedly. But her voice was easy to identify with. And the story she told....well....it was literary crack. I devoured all four books in less than two weeks time. I became obsessed with all things sparkly-vampire related. Of course, this was right around the time the first Twilight movie came out, so I wasn't alone in my obsession. The Twilight craze was taking the nation by storm. You couldn't pick up a magazine or turn on the TV without happening upon an interview with Rob, Kristen, or author Stephenie Meyer. And I was cool with that.

During one of my late nights of online vampire stalking, I came across an article in which Stephenie discussed where the idea for Twilight came from. It came from....get this....A DREAM. Just like my unfinished novel! Who knows, if I had stuck with it and finished it, maybe I would have been the one with the big book and movie deals. I decided, despite the fact that it had been a year or so since I'd opened the file saved on my ancient PC titled Hardwood Floors, that I had to finish it. I did some editing, some retooling, and picked up where I left off.

Several months and about 75,000 words later, I gave up again. My life was just too busy to spend night after night sitting in front of the computer telling a tale that no one else would ever read. That was in 2009. After finishing One Army Wife's Tale last month, which is as non-fictional as books come, I was itching to write something fun; something different, something fictional....something that would allow my overactive imagination to run rampant. And so I came back to my old friend, Hardwood Floors. Sure I have a few other ideas rattling around in my brain, a few of which I've given a little bit of life too. But Hardwood Floors was my first venture into serious writing as an adult. And it's almost finished. I can't quit on it now, even if it isn't my best work. So, I'm back at it. I'm currently reacquainting myself with the story and the characters, doing some editing, and will hopefully be finished writing my first novel this fall. My hope is to make it available in print sometime this winter. For now, here's a little sneak peak:

Hardwood Floors, by Jenn Carpenter

Prologue

The dream is always the same. It’s a beautiful summer day down near the river and I’m seven, maybe eight years old. My silky locks are blowing in the wind and the tall grass tickles my bare feet as I run, which makes me laugh. It’s one of those rare good weather days, the kind that makes all of the brutal winter storms and the dreary spring days worth it. Fluffy white clouds drift across the bright blue sky, completely obscuring the sun at times.

Just ahead of me is my best friend Hannah, who is skipping dangerously close to the river’s edge. Her auburn hair is wild around her angelic face as she flashes me a mischievous grin. Trailing behind me, clutching my hand tightly, is my other best friend Sennie. Her thick black hair is twisted into a perfect braid that is slung over her shoulder. She’s afraid to get too close to the water’s edge, and she keeps tugging me back toward more solid ground. She’s slowing me down, and Hannah is getting further and further out of reach.

“Hannah!” I call out, no longer able to see my fast moving friend. I try to run after her, but Sennie’s turned into an anchor, her feet firmly planted. I turn around. She’s staring up at the sky, which has suddenly turned dark. The sun has disappeared completely behind thick black clouds, and Sennie whimpers as a roll of thunder rattles the ground. “Hannah!” I call out again, icy raindrops starting to lash my face and hair. The wind is howling furiously now, and I can barely hear my own voice. But I hear it when Hannah screams. It’s a terrifying, gut wrenching scream. And I feel it, in every fiber of my being.

Sennie’s dark eyes are wide with horror. She’s frozen in place. I pull my hand free from hers and I run, against the wind and the rain, as fast as I can, to the edge of the river. But Hannah’s not there. She’s gone. There is nothing but pitch black torrents raging over the giant rocks below me. I turn around as a bolt of lightning crackles in the distance. Sennie is gone now, too.

“Hannah!” I scream, my voice lost in the storm. “Sennie!” But there’s no answer. They’re both gone. And I’m alone.

I wake up, struggling to catch my breath, trying to convince myself that it was just a horrible, horrible dream. But I know the truth. They are both gone. And I am alone. And it’s all my fault.

***

Keep it Simple

2012-08-08T21:02:00.000-04:00

Life, in general, is complicated. When I was a teenager, I thought I had the most complicated life on the planet. When I became a teen mom, I laughed at my former self for thinking that I even knew what the word “complicated” meant. When I found myself a young mother with two small children, trapped in a toxic marriage, I longed for “simpler” days like the ones I’d had as a teenage parent. A few years later (and not a moment too soon), I again found myself a single parent; this time raising two sons and working full time. While I was definitely happier than I’d been in my married years, things were also more complicated than I ever remember them being.

Enter 2012. I am now the wife of a United States soldier who is stationed 1,200 miles from home, the mother of a teenager with a life threatening disability and a nine-year-old with a learning disability, and step-mother to two young boys I’m not allowed to have any contact with unless said soldier husband is home. I take care of our ginormous funky farm house and our two teeny dogs all by myself, work full time, and am now a published author with promotions and website maintenance and marketing and book signings to attend to. THIS, right here, has to be as complicated as it gets. Right?

Even with everything coming at me at 1,000 miles an hour right now, sometimes it’s the simple things that mean the most. Example: Just two days after my book came out in print and mi vida loca was about to tip the crazy scale, The Hubs came home on a weekend pass. I had a zillion and one things to do, people to call, arrangements to make….but I put it all on hold. For three straight days, The Hubs and I watched movies and trashy TV, talked, did housework together, cooked together, shopped for school clothes together, and carried on as if we didn’t have a care in the world, although in reality, we had so much going on it was overwhelming.

And you know what? It was perfect. We didn’t do anything spectacular with our time, which is precisely what made it spectacular. It was exactly what we both needed. A little peace and quiet and togetherness. Some time to just be. And it got me thinking. We (by we, I mean all of us) live in a crazy, fast paced world these days. We all tend to make things a lot more complicated than they need to be, because that’s what we’ve become conditioned to think is appropriate. Sure, I could have thrown a get together with our friends to celebrate my husband’s quick trip home, or planned a weekend getaway for the two of us, or we could have gone to dinner at an expensive restaurant to celebrate my book being published. But that wasn’t what we needed. What we needed was a little bit of simple in our overly-complicated lives. And we achieved exactly that.

Controversial Call

2012-08-06T15:10:00.003-04:00

Although I complain about it incessantly, I feel like The Hubs and I usually have a pretty good handle on this whole long distance relationship thing. It’s not easy by any stretch of the imagination, but we deal with it. We text and talk on the phone and Skype every day. We remain a constant presence in each other’s lives, even though we’re not physically present in each other’s lives very often at all. We cope with our long separations by reminding ourselves--and each other--that our time apart is only temporary. That soon(ish), we will be together all the time, and our first years of marriage, during which we lived on opposite ends of the country (and, for a six month span, opposite ends of the globe) will be nothing but a distant memory. While it’s not nearly enough to fill the void while he’s gone, we take that knowledge and spread it, albeit very thin, over the gaps between visits. We wait, we countdown, we wish, and we wait. Did I mention all the time we spend waiting?

Sometimes, though, the wait gets to be too much. The Hubs came home for a two week visit in June. When he went back to Texas at the end of his trip, we had no idea when he’d be coming home again. We still don’t. He won’t get block leave again until Christmas break, and my lack of vacation time and limited funds prevent me from scooping up all the kids, hopping on a plane, and going to Texas for a week or so, no matter how badly I want to. Still, I had to see my husband. I always miss him, want to see him, wish I could see him, can’t wait to see him….but I don’t remember another time when I’ve felt so strongly that I HAD to see him. I couldn’t wait until “next time.”

This past weekend, he had a four day weekend. My kids were going on a camping trip with their dad. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to make a quick trip to Texas, even if just for a few days. Sure, it would put a further strain on our already unstable finances, but can you really put a price on love? On quality time? On memories? (American Airlines can, and it was just under $400 round trip…not too bad.) Due to a series of unfortunate events, however, me going to Texas became a non-option before I was even able to start planning my travel attire. I wasn’t going to get to see my husband. Unless……

Our only option was for him to come home for his long weekend. He talked to his Commanding Officer and was granted a four day pass, and the price for him to fly home was the exact same as the price for me to fly to Texas would have been. We would get to spend three plus days together, as opposed to the less than twenty four hours we would get if I went to Texas. It seemed like a no-brainer. But there was one huge factor that had to be considered, the most important thing. Our children.

My two boys were scheduled to go on a camping trip with their dad that had been planned for weeks. I couldn’t ask him to cancel, and I couldn’t ask them to choose between letting their dad down or getting the chance to see their step-dad for the first time in two months. It wouldn’t be fair to them. The Hubs’ kids would be in town, just a few miles down the road, in fact, but due to his abbreviated trip, we weren’t sure it would be best for them, for any of them, to see him, or to even know that he was coming home. Every time The Hubs comes home, it’s for at least a couple of weeks. Never has he come home for just a few days. Only once have we ever spent such a brief amount of time together, and it was last year when I went to Texas for the very first time. We spent a long, romantic, perfect weekend together. But when it was over, the goodbye was beyond excruciating. I didn’t want to do that to our boys.

Our family goes through a process whenever The Hubs comes home, and it’s not one that can take place over the course of a weekend. All four boys spend the first few days with our family’s patriarch home in what I call the awkward zone. They’re not only adjusting to him being back, they’re adjusting to being together again as well, since my boys and I aren’t allowed any contact with The Hubs’ boys when he’s not home (long story….don’t get me started). After the awkward zone, we settle into a crazy, chaotic routine. But it’s a routine none the less. Then, a few days before The Hubs leaves to go back to Texas, we start getting ready to say goodbye, which is heartbreaking and awful, no matter how many times we do it.

With The Hubs only in town for a few days, it wouldn’t have been fair to any of the boys to put them through that; to reunite our family only to have to rip it apart again before anyone had even gotten used to him being here. In reality, The Hubs probably would have only been allowed to spend an evening with his boys, if that. They’re still very emotional over their last goodbye with him, and they definitely weren’t ready for another one, especially one that would come so quickly. And my boys….my boys have spent their entire summer keeping busy with sports and helping me take care of the house in their step-dad’s absence. They deserved a vacation. They deserved to play at the beach and climb sand dunes and sleep in sleeping bags and make s’mores by a campfire, even if they were going to be doing all of those things with someone I can’t stand. I didn’t want to take that away from them. And I didn’t want to watch them go into the emotional tailspin they always seem to find themselves in when The Hubs leaves.

So, as much as both The Hubs and I were dying to have our entire family together, even for just a few hours, we decided that would be incredibly selfish of us. So we decided not to tell the kids he was coming home. I’m sure not everyone would agree with that decision, it’s one that even we struggled with the whole three days he was home. More than once, he almost called his ex-wife to tell her that he was in town and see if he could get his boys for a few hours. But he didn’t. Every night, when my boys called from up north to tell me goodnight, I wanted to say, “Tell your dad to bring you home. Your step-dad’s here. He wants to see you.” But I didn’t. Instead, we went school supply shopping and toy shopping for all four of them. We talked about them non-stop. We missed them and we doubted ourselves and we second-guessed our choice all weekend. But still, we stuck to it. We let them go through one of their last weekends of summer blissfully unaware of the torment we were putting ourselves through.

I still wasn’t completely convinced we did the right thing until earlier today, about five minutes after I left The Hubs at a coffee shop with the family members who were taking him to the airport because I couldn’t get the time off work. As I drove slowly towards my office, distancing myself from The Hubs with every second that passed, that familiar, sick feeling started to creep back into my stomach. My eyes welled with tears. I was sure I was going to choke on the knot in my throat, and the arms that had just been around my husband moments earlier literally ached with despair.

I had somehow convinced myself that this goodbye would be easier for me because it was coming on the heels of a stolen visit, one so brief that I didn’t even have a chance to get used to having The Hubs here before he was gone again. I was wrong. If anything, this is one of the most excruciating goodbyes I’ve endured. I feel cheated out of so many memories, guilty for keeping his visit from our boys, and sick that it may be months before any of us see him again. And as I sit at my desk now, with tears streaming down my cheeks and my head throbbing from holding in about a zillion sobs, I know that we made the right decision in not telling the boys he was coming home. I would do anything to spare them this pain that I’m feeling.

Because my children are super-sleuths, it didn’t take them long after they got back from camping to figure out that their step-dad had been here. I explained to them that we didn’t tell them because we didn’t want to ruin their camping trip, and that it’s hard to spend such a short amount of time with him, and we didn’t want to put them through that. Of course, they’re upset. They’re disappointed and hurt and will probably be mad at me for at least a couple of days. But I’ll take that over what I know they would be going through if they’d seen their step-dad while he was here, or worse, found out he was home while they were camping, and then been stuck up north just wanting to come home. It would have ruined their trip, and I didn’t want that. The Hubs’ kids will probably remain blissfully unaware of the fact that he came home for a few days. I hope they do.

This life we live is not an easy one. It’s filled with tough times and even tougher decisions. In the end, my husband and I have to do what we feel is best for our family and for our children, even if it doesn’t make sense to anyone else. We make a lot of controversial calls, but the important thing is that we always make them together. And in this instance, at least, I’m confident we made the right one.

Judging A Book By Its Cover

2012-07-17T16:48:00.000-04:00

We are just a few weeks away from the release of One Army Wife's Tale in print and as and e-book, and I could NOT be more excited (or stressed out)!!! Just a few more things to do, and then I'll be unleashing my very first published work on the public. I can't wait!! Can you?!?!

Here's a sneak peak of the book cover:

One Army Wife's Tale, The Memoir

2012-07-11T13:47:00.000-04:00

"I didn't make a conscious choice to fall in love with and marry a soldier. I fell in love with a man who happens to be a soldier. It wasn't about the uniform (which he looks incredibly sexy in), or the money (as anyone who actually lives off a military income will tell you), or anything else. It was about me finding the man that I'm meant to spend my life with, and not wanting to pass up our chance together simply because of bad timing. When he joined the Army, he didn't know we were going to find each other again and fall in love. He had no idea he was going to be torn between his duty to the Army and his love for me."

When Jenn reconnected with her high school sweetheart over a decade after they'd first dated, she never fathomed that she would wind up the wife of a deployed soldier in less than a year's time. But that's exactly what happened. Just two months after their fairytale wedding, which came on the heels of a whirlwind romance, Jenn's husband, Dax, was sent to Iraq for a one year deployment, leaving her, the four young boys they had between them, and their entire future together on hold.

In an effort to calm her racing thoughts the day Dax left for Iraq, Jenn sat down at the computer and started writing, resolving to keep a daily deployment diary for herself, her husband, and their family. The story she wound up telling was one she never could have imagined.

One Army Wife's Tale is a no-holds-barred look into the life of one of our nation's heroes, as seen through the eyes of the wife he left behind when he deployed. Told through the daily excerpts of the highly popular blog that gave birth to the memoir, Jenn takes you through the highs and lows of Army life; the joy and the sadness, the laughter and the tears, the pride and the heartbreak; from day one of her husband’s deployment to the tragic twist no one saw coming. Through it all, she maintains her sense of humor, brutal honesty, strength, and above all else, the hope that her fractured fairytale will indeed have a happy ending.

BIG NEWS!!

2012-07-07T10:14:00.001-04:00

COMING SOON!! One Army Wife's Tale will soon be available for purchase in print and as an e-book!! Watch for more details, as the release will be on or around August 1, 2012. Also, be on the lookout for more info on our virtual launch party, where you will earn points for every purchase you make either of the book or of Army Wife merch in the OAWT eBay shop. Get huge discounts when you purchase multiple items, and for each item purchased, you will be entered into a drawing for a fantastic "Army Wife" prize basket. A portion of all proceeds from the eBay shop sales will be donated to charities that benefit military members and their families, like Jessica's Hope Project and Puppy Rescue Mission, just to name a couple.

A Little Bit Stronger.....

2012-07-03T13:55:00.000-04:00

Empty Bed Syndrome

2012-06-27T15:47:00.004-04:00

Confession time again. Since my husband went back to Fort Hood after his most recent trip home, I haven’t exactly been sleeping alone. Almost every night, his side of the bed has been occupied by one, sometimes two, very handsome younger men. I fear, in fact, that The Hubs might have a hard time reclaiming his spot next time he’s home. He’ll have to fight for it, that’s for sure. And one of my cuddle buddies bites. Hard.

Miss Sophie has slept in my bed since the day we got her, when she weighed less than a pound and I was sure I was going to roll over on her and squish her like a little bug in the night. When her daddy’s home, her favorite sleeping spot is right smack dab between us. As for the boys…..well…..I’m sorry to say that the only nights at least one of them isn’t in my bed are the nights when The Hubs is home. While I’m sure many of you are shaking your heads in disapproval, thinking that my kids are waaaay too old to still be sleeping in my bed, it’s okay. Because I know something you don’t. Little boys lose years in their sleep. They like to snuggle and cuddle, and they just look so darn cute, no matter how old they get.

Breaking my kids of the habit of sleeping in my bed has been a losing battle since 1999. (Yes, I said 1999.) Not because I haven’t tried, but because there always seems to be a completely legit reason to let them stay. And no reason has ever seemed more valid than the one I was given last night, as another long, stressful, difficult day was coming to a close, and all I wanted was for them to go to bed in their own rooms so I could cry myself to sleep in privacy. My youngest son, seeming to sense my impending meltdown, wrapped his sticky little hands around my neck (seriously, that kid is ALWAYS filthy!) and said, “We just want to be with you because we’re sad too, Mom.”

While my husband’s absence is never an easy thing to bear, I’ve noticed that it is, at least to some degree, getting a little easier for me to “bounce back” after he leaves. But it’s getting harder on the boys each time, as they continue to become more and more attached to their step-dad. And that breaks my heart. Last week, the boys and I were doing a quick run through the grocery store when we stopped in the soda aisle. It had been just a little over a week since the last time I was there, with my husband, the day before he left to go back to Texas.

I was pouting slightly because they were out of the soda I usually buy. I was trying to decide what to get instead when The Hubs stopped me. “Hold it!” He exclaimed, as he bent down so low that I could see the very outer edge of the waistband to his boxers….which started me on a train of thought I did not need to be on in the grocery store. “A-ha!” He yelled, interrupting my little fantasy as he dropped to his knees in the middle of the aisle. I flushed, a little embarrassed. “Ummm….what are you…..” I trailed off as he crawled into the very deep floor-level display shelf, then crawled back out, backwards, dragging two twelve packs of the soda I was looking for with him. He stood up, completely satisfied with himself. “See! They weren’t gone! They were just hiding.” I laughed, impressed that he would go to such lengths to get me my favorite cherry cola. “We only need one,” I said as he started loading the boxes into the cart. He sighed, as if I’d just broken his heart, and then put one of the twelve packs back on the shelf, all by its lonely self. It was one of the sillier moments we had while he was home.

I chewed on my bottom lip as the boys and I approached the same soda display, feeling a knot forming in my throat at the memory of my shopping trip with The Hubs. I didn’t even notice at first that they still hadn’t restocked the shelves since my last visit. “Oooh!” The teenager gasped. “Only one left!” I watched in silence as he grabbed the soda from the shelf, knowing without question that it was the exact same box my husband had rescued from the shadows of the display shelf just a week earlier. It hadn’t been touched. I didn’t know why I was suddenly fighting back tears, and it totally caught me off guard. There were still reminders of The Hubs all over the house. Dirty socks in the hamper, pillows that still smelled like him, dishes packed away neatly in the complete wrong cupboards from the last time he’d done the dishes. I’m not sure what it was about that box of soda on a store shelf that had me on the verge of a public breakdown simply because my husband had touched it.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” The Teenager asked as he loaded the soda into the cart. I shook my head, smiling, trying to hide the tears from my voice as I told the boys the story about my last shopping trip with their step-dad. They both laughed. Once I was finished, The Teenager picked the red and white box up out of the cart and clutched it to his chest. When I asked him what he was doing, he said, “I don’t know. I just want to carry it.” Oh. So it wasn’t just me.

I thought about this as The Teenager and E-Man sat on the edge of my bed last night, waiting for me to tell them whether or not they could sleep in my bed. E-Man was clutching his blankie and his favorite stuffed animal, looking up at me with his “Pleeeaaase, Mommy” eyes, while The Teenager was playing with his new iPhone, trying to appear disinterested. But I saw the smile flash across his face as I sighed and said, “Fiiiiine.”

I hardly slept at all last night. I woke up with bags under my eyes and in a horrendous mood. And not because my bed was too crowded, but because, somehow, even with four of us in one queen sized bed, it still felt entirely too empty.

~I Am Not Taelor Vega~ Photo Contest!

2012-06-21T12:00:00.001-04:00

After over a year of posts about being the wife of a deployed/recently redeployed soldier, OAWT went viral this week. Why? Two words: TAELOR. VEGA. It's funny what people find interesting these days, isn't it?

That said, I think it's only fitting that we dedicate our latest photo contest to the non-existent Ms. Vega. Real or not, the facebook booty call read 'round the world has made us all look bad....so let's show 'em what a REAL Army Wife looks like, shall we?

Photo entries will be accepted between now and Sunday, June 24 at 7PM EST. Email your favorite pic of you and your soldier to info@onearmywifestale.com, or post it to the facebook page, www.facebook.com/onearmywifestale. Voting will begin Monday, and whoever has the most "likes" by Sunday, July 1 at 7PM EST will win some fun Army Wife swag and a feature on the OAWT page. (For votes to count, voters must first "like" the OAWT facebook page.)

I am NOT Taelor Vega!