Juxtaposition

This is the same woman on two very different days of her life.

"Terri Gurrola clings to her daughter Gabrielle, 3, at the Atlanta Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport, having just returned from a seven-month tour in Iraq. The news this week was dominated by Army Gen. David H. Petraeus' report on the state of the war in Iraq and his recommendation of a gradual drawdown of troops." (Louie Favorite / The Journal & Constitution)

"1st Lt. Terri Gurrola, medic in Company C, 203rd Forward Support Battalion, casts the leg of Hussein, a 15-year-old Iraqi boy, April 9, at Forward Operating Base Hammer, Iraq. Hussein lost his leg in an improvised explosive device incident four years ago. Photo by 203rd Brigade Support Battalion." Medics Bring Hope to Iraqi Boy, MNF-I Official Website

It's Nothing Personal

I think one of the hardest things I am working through right now is the change in communication pattern. It's quite unexpectedly something I have found myself fighting not to take so personally. I'm embarrased to even admit it as something about it seems so selfish and immature.

I think people tend to underestimate the what limited communication would feel like if they were in a similar situation. I mean you figure when a man deploys to a combat zone, that something inside of you clicks on and you stop needing to talk to him so much. You figure that you will just rationally understand that he's busy and you won't notice if he emails or not. That you'll be so consumed with worry that you won't stop to even expect a call. For cripes sake woman, the man is in a combat zone! There's a war going on!

I want to be positive in this blog, but I also want to be honest. And the truth is that some days, I'm actually human. Some days, I'm but a woman who misses being able to confide everything, even the mundane. Some days I want long juicy letters and emails even when I know they are not practically possible most of the time and yes, I feel this sometimes even when I know he's busy or tired! What a brat!

I'm mature enough to recognize that these are moments I'm just going to have to grow through. And I also realize that it works both ways--he misses this too except he has to do it while he's stuck over there! The truth is, I am not curling up into a little ball about this, in the end, it is just one of the inconveniences of war that some people are some how able to handle. There are much greater, more serious prices to pay pay in war (billions of dollars, thousands of lives...).

So why do I write? I guess because I know this is not the kind of thing military wives will complain about except to eachother. It's important enough for me to tell you that that when you're listening to the news and hear about the stress the repeated deployments have on families, I feel like I want people to think about these kind of moments--and multiply at least 1 instance a day x 180,000 soldiers x 90,000 estimated wives x kids x immediate family x 15 months. A brigade isn't a news blip or a dot on a map--it represents a lot of people and a lot of little moments.