I Can't Love You...

In 2002, you rocked my world. You opened up doors within my soul that I didn't even know existed. You taught me more than I ever could have learned without you. Most importantly, you showed me the definition of love... those tiny fingers and toes... rolling over in the middle of the night to see that sweet, newborn face peeking up out of the covers on the other side of the bed. I'd lay there with your tiny baby fingers wrapped around mine forever and just smell you! Sweet, baby lotion... tears in my eyes and a pain in my heart because I couldn't love you... not enough.

It was you and me against the world. We woke up early and got ready for work and daycare. Hours turned into days, and weeks, and months. You crawled... grew teeth... walked... smiled, laughed, played. We shared first holidays together... bought my first car together. Decorated our first Christmas tree, together. You've always been my pride and joy... my greatest accomplishment... my BEAUTIFUL... and I couldn't love you... not enough.

My greatest pain was not having anyone to share you with. All the love that you put in my heart was so overwhelming! Every time you did something new, said something that made me laugh.... I couldn't turn to anyone to see if they'd noticed, too! Those were the times when it was too much...

I see you now, baby... your tiny wings are growing restless and you're looking around at everything in your life, and I know that there will come a day when you're going to want to fly. I sense your curiosities and your desires... and now comes the time, again, when I know that I can't love you... not enough...

Not enough to save you from the heartbreak of knowing that your biological father will never love you the way that you'd love for him to. Not enough to protect you from the pain that will come with boyfriend breakups that are eventually on the horizon... Not enough to cure the ache when your friends are unavailable on the weekends because they're doing other things, without you. Not enough to fast forward time through all the awkward experiences into the comfort of the successful adult life that you deserve.

...and oh, does that hurt my heart.

I just hope that you DO know that I DO love you enough to always be here for you... that I will maintain this nest for as long as I'm alive, so that you have a safe place to come back to... that my shoulder will always be available, should you need a place to cry. That my heart is always open.... that my hugs are always free... that I will always love you.... and that you will always be the best part of me!

I Will Always Be...

Back in early December, I remember the anticipation of the movie American Sniper hitting theaters. I was counting down to the day when I’d get to see it. I’d followed Chris Kyle’s tragic story for a bit, and I couldn’t wait to see how it was portrayed on the big screen. I shared that anticipation with a friend who is currently enlisted in the Army, and was taken aback when he asked “Do you even know who Chris Kyle is?”

Excuse me? First, am I Texan? Second, did I not serve in the military for 12 years? (ok, confession… I had no clue who Chris Kyle was until headlines of his murder and video feed of his funeral procession were broadcast on every channel from 1-100.) My husband loves all things military, and so it was he who filled me in on who this American hero was. That’s beside the point… I felt a bit disappointed that anyone could make me feel like my service wasn’t as important as theirs.

Fast forward to yesterday, when I was speaking with a different friend about the excitement I had, waiting for the Patriot Tour dates to be released because I wanted so badly to attend this year. Said friend was confused as to what the Patriot Tour was exactly, so I explained that it was patriots like Marcus Luttrell and Chris Kyle’s widow, Taya, among other guest speakers who travelled and told their stories… He was curious why anyone would pay money to hear this stuff. I said that I, personally, was extremely inspired by these courageous stories and that I couldn’t wait to hear them told in person. He asked if I even knew who Taya Kyle was before the movie came out.

Again… w.t.f.?

I have highlighted, numerous times that I’ve served 12 years. That was my length of service. I’ve told tales of the many places I’ve traveled to. Those were dots on a map. What I haven’t really ever discussed was the depth to which my service touched my soul.

To the average male military member, I was just a woman in the Chair Force. I had a day job, I pushed papers and aimed staplers at people. I’d never see combat. I was just something nice to look at when they’re hard day was done. I’d never fly a plane, or shoot an enemy. I’d never experience the full weight of war. I’m here to tell you all that you’re wrong.

 

Every. Single. Day… I took great pride in putting on that uniform… lacing up those boots and going in to work. It doesn’t matter the job that I performed – I did it with honor… I knew that I’d never stack up against the men who carried guns, or the ones who flew the planes… but I wore the same uniform and offered my life in service for the same country they did.

I admired (and lived with) the brotherhood that the military provided. The comradery displayed during times away from our families is immeasurable. It’s an experience afforded ONLY to those who have lived it. I was fortunate enough to belong to several outstanding squadrons full of warriors that became my family when we had to leave our own. Each deployment and TDY was different, but equally amazing.

 

I was just a young airman when 9/11 happened… We were training that day, for real world scenarios… and 4 months later, we were at war. I’ve lived in a tent for months at a time. I’ve been homesick… I’ve cried in the middle of the night, thousands of miles away from friends and family. I’ve hidden under my bed when alarms were going off. I’ve heard radios fall silent after explosions within yards of my location. I’ve seen Iraqi children with arms blown off… I’ve been witness to Foreign Special Forces who were so badly injured that they’d rather die than be healed. I’ve watched as American medics rendered aid to Iraqi prisoners… never once questioning if they should just be allowed to die.

I’ve known GREAT pilots and family men who have gone down with their aircraft… leaving behind wives and babies who will never know how truly amazing their fathers were.

I’ve had brothers commit suicide. I’ve got brothers who battle PTSD. I’ve watched as mentors crossed the threshold into retirement, and I have family and friends who continue to serve, still.

So you see, it didn’t matter if I knew who Chris Kyle was. The truth of it is, we veterans are ALL Chris Kyle in some way, shape, or form. I grieve for his wife, the way I would want people to grieve for my husband had I been killed in the line of duty. I admire his service the way I’d want ANYONE to admire ANY soldier’s service. I look up to him for his sacrifices, and I look up to her for her strength…

…and at the end of the day, although I know I don’t don the uniform or the boots or possess the obligation to pick up a rifle or lay down my life for my country anymore… those experiences are still embedded within my soul. I have been, and always will be someone who served honorably, and with pride. I’m not JUST a woman who was JUST a paper pusher in the Chair Force. I’ve tasted blood, sweat and tears and overcame great obstacles and earned my right to be called a veteran.

A Time for Rediscovery

In January of 2006, I deployed to Diego Garcia. Our island adventure quickly took a turn for the dramatic worst, and I found myself needing distance from the group that seemed to constantly stew in their own demise. One night, I grabbed my ipod and donned some running shoes and I hit the pavement. That was the start of a beautiful habit that continued for the duration of my deployment. I came home 30 lbs lighter, and damn - I was sexy!

Throw in marriage, two more children, life tragedies, and you've got me (plus about 50 lbs.) I'm not proud of who I am, physically... but it's become a comfortable habit that I just deal with. Buy a bigger shirt... go places that don't require dressing up. Eat whatever I feel like because food comforts the bad mood! I CELEBRATED for probably far too long, the fact that I'd never have to take another PT test for the AF when I got out :D

I won't go into detail about the awakening I've had recently. It's personal, and it's embarrassing, and all you need to know is that it happened... and good things are happening because of it! I realized that I'm ONLY 35 (instead of already 35.) I realized that my hair is blonde, not gray yet. I realized that I'm not 100s of lbs away from an obtainable goal... I can get where I want to be if I just try! I started taking a multivitamin... an iron supplement... and an herbal supplement to help with the old woman issues. After a month of being on these, I could feel a slight difference for the better. Then... I decided it was time to give up soda. Ashamed - I'll confess that I was drinking A LOT. It was nothing to go by McD's for breakfast and grab a McMuffin and a large coke for breakfast. Then I'd go through another drive-thru for lunch. It was easy! However, I gave up soda, and I found that I started feeling a LOT better. I wasn't tired by mid-afternoon. I wasn't craving crap from a drive-thru.

I started eating lighter breakfasts. I started finding alternatives to drive-thrus for lunch. (OK, I do allow myself a chik-fil-a cheat day.) I refuse to give up everything good in life. I also found that I was waking up between 0500 and 0530 every morning for no reason. I had an hour of free time before I had to get ready, and laying in my bed wasn't cutting it for me anymore. I'd been telling myself for ages that I loved running... missed it... would start soon. So? I did.

Monday morning, I set my alarm for 0530... got up, put on my clothes and my running shoes and said "Self... let's do this." I walked outside and there was a long lost, familiar scent in the morning air and it woke me up from the inside. This was my element. My kids were sleeping, they didn't need me... Husband was working, he didn't need me... It was me, and my faithful, furry companion and we ran. It's slow, and it's stop and go because I'm beginning again.... but I have finally, FINALLY reached a point in my life where I'm not struggling... not recovering from an emotional tragedy... not trying to reach another finish line... I'm finally at a place where I can focus on myself a little, so that's exactly what I plan to do. It's not a new year's resolution. It's my life. I'm tired of being THIS me. I'm ready to be that one again :)