On Memorial Day: We Stand Indebted and In Awe

I didn't write a post this month for Military Spouse Appreciation Day (though I invite you to check out last year's post), but I do not want to let Military Appreciation Month go by without sharing some of my thoughts on this military life that we share with so many. This year, I want to offer a few thoughts on Memorial Day as it rapidly approaches. 

Earlier today on social media I shared a piece from another blog entitled To My Civilian Friends on Memorial Day. The gist of the piece was that, as I think we all know, Memorial Day is not really about parties or barbeques or kicking off the summer. I especially liked the tip in it to have the festive party that you have planned, but to remember to set an extra place at your table and leave it empty for the service member who didn't make it home.  The piece also stressed that people need to "stop tagging every veteran you know on Facebook and wishing them a 'Happy Memorial Day.'" While I agree with that statement as a whole (and with the fact that many confuse Memorial Day and Veterans Day), I don't think there's anything wrong with reaching out to (or tagging) the veterans you know this weekend. But thinking about what you should say inspired me to write tonight.

As a military spouse, Memorial Day brings to the surface thoughts and emotions that are difficult and overwhelming and always there, just under the surface most days. I am lucky - beyond lucky - that for the 5 years of our marriage and the 15 years that he has given so far to our nation's Armed Forces, my husband has always come home. But I know that it didn't have to be that way. On any one of a number of days, in any one of a number of situations, he could have been the one who didn't make it home. He has had friends and classmates who didn't make it home. He goes to work every day knowing that he and his colleagues do a job where making it home is no guarantee. What must Memorial Day mean to him? Truly, in my view, he lives his life every day in a way that honors the fallen and the ones they left behind. He will honor them on Memorial Day, of course, but he will do so again on Tuesday when he returns to work. And again every day after that. 

Yesterday, on a public Facebook page, I saw a post from a woman who was saddened that she would not be able to see the flag placed at her husband's grave marker in Arlington National Cemetery this weekend and get a photo of it. She has plans to visit soon, but the flags are removed immediately after Memorial Day each year. Her husband - a Vietnam veteran - died last year, and this is his first Memorial Day resting in Arlington. So, today my husband and I took our daughter to Arlington to see the flags, and we spent our afternoon finding this man's grave to take photos for his wife. The section of the cemetery where he lies was at the opposite side from where we parked and entered. So, we had to walk all the way across the cemetery - beautiful, solemn, inspiring and heartbreaking. Then I read name after name after name as I looked for this stranger's husband. Name after name after name. There are not words adequate to describe the flood of emotions, and though I will post some photos that I took today here, be assured that they utterly fail to capture the vastness of the place, the beauty of the day, and the enormity of the sacrifices.

My daughter and me last year

I am the daughter and the niece of Vietnam veterans, and I wonder without really wanting to know how many names on the Vietnam Memorial and how many markers in Arlington National Cemetery are the friends, colleagues, and brothers in arms of my father and my uncle. To how many of them might they owe their lives? How many of their lives might they have tried to save? What must Memorial Day mean to them? I am lucky - beyond lucky - that my father and my uncle, years before my birth, came home. But so many did not. They are not strangers. They are not nameless "fallen heroes". They are the real life Soldiers and Marines who trained, who ate, who slept, who dreamed, who laughed, who cried, who fought next to my family. They are children and parents and spouses and friends who left behind loved ones who undoubtedly feel the void every single day.

So on Memorial Day, let us not wish our Veterans a "happy Memorial Day." Let us instead think in a real, concrete, meaningful way, of the friends, the confidantes, the brothers and sisters who did not come home with them. Let us appreciate deeply the fact that our Veterans were willing to risk, for all of us and for the country we call home, that they too might not come home. Let us appreciate that our active duty service members willingly take on that risk every day - that even as we enjoy a day off work with our friends and family, there are service members this very moment in harm's way; and they are there willingly, ready to make whatever sacrifice is asked of them in the name of honor, duty, and freedom. Let us remember the service members lost just in recent days - in Nepal, in Hawaii, in New Mexico. What must this weekend mean to their families and loved ones? Taking all of this under serious consideration, I doubt sincerely that "happy Memorial Day" would be the words that came out of anyone's mouth. I would encourage you to say whatever is in your heart to the Veterans in your life, and if that is only "thank you," that is enough. Today I knelt at a Vietnam veteran's grave and said, "thank you, sir; your wife will be here soon." And it was enough.

This weekend my family will appreciate the fact that we are together this year. We will give thanks, as I do every single day, that my husband has always come home to us, and we will pray that he always does. And we will set an extra place and pour an extra drink in honor and in remembrance of those who did not come home - who made the ultimate sacrifice for our freedom. Today I looked out at a veritable sea of white grave markers and American flags, and I stood, as I do every day, indebted to and in awe of our fallen heroes. Enjoy your Memorial Day weekend with your friends and family, but do so in honor of them.

When I'm Having A Second Child

When I got married, I was 26 years old. I turned 27 a few months later. My husband was 28. We were both young professionals, and I was only one year out of law school. And still it seemed the question came before the ink was dry on our marriage certificate: when are you going to have kids? Parts of that day are a blur, but I'm pretty sure someone actually did ask me that on our wedding day during our reception.

Sign here, here, and when are you having kids?

Amongst my law school classmates and colleagues in the legal world, 27 would have been young to have a child. Most people in their mid- to late- twenties were where I was: working to establish their career before focusing on starting a family. But amongst our military friends and my husband's colleagues, it seemed we were downright ancient to not have kids. I'm not saying we were the only ones, but we were certainly in the minority. The question came up at almost every military event we attended and even in social situations with our military friends. But it wasn't limited to the military context. Friends from high school and college, relatives, and even colleagues in the fast-paced legal world would ask. Frequently. When are you going to have a baby?

I had a ready answer to the question that made a lot of sense to me. In short, it was always: "not now." My husband deployed twice during our first two years of marriage. We celebrated our first anniversary half a world apart. In the first 2 years that we were married, we spent only 13 months living in the same place. I was also in private practice for the first time and working hard to establish myself at the firm. There were late nights and weekends spent in the office, and even when they weren't long, the hours could be unpredictable. During the precious little time that we had together, my husband and I wanted to focus on each other and enjoying our marriage before throwing children into the mix. I was - and still am - very happy that we made the decision not to have children immediately, but the question still got to me a little bit more every time that it was asked. I turned 28, and then 29. The question only came more frequently: when are you going to have children?

In 2013, my husband began a "shore tour" during which he would not be deploying for 6-8 months at a time as he had been in the first few years of our marriage. We moved, so I left my job and took a step back from the world of private practice for a while. This, we decided, was the time to focus on starting a family. So, we did. Our first child was born when I was 30 years old, my husband was 31, and we had been married for three years. Finally, I thought, the question would stop. We had the child it seemed everyone had been waiting for (and indeed that we had longed dreamed of but wanted to have at the right time). 

Turns out, I was wrong. The question was immediately replaced with another one: when are you going to have another child? What?! My daughter was less than 4 months old the first time I got that one. I don't think I was even fully recovered from her birth yet, for which I had to have surgery at 12 weeks postpartum. Another one? Surely you must be kidding. But no, people are not kidding. And the question persists. So, I would like to answer it.

For the record, this answer is not for close friends with whom this topic comes up naturally in conversation. And this answer is not for family who certainly have a legitimate interest in our children. This, rather, is for the casual acquaintances, the colleagues, and the, yes, strangers, who see me with my toddler and somehow feel it appropriate to ask me when I'm having a second child. The answer is... drum roll please... none of your business! The answer is also, however, that I don't know if or when I am having another child. But here are some of the reasons I'm not having one right now.

We are really enjoying our daughter. And we want to keep just enjoying her and our current family dynamic for a while before we consider altering it with another child. While we will undoubtedly love any future child(ren) with the same fierce and unconditional love we have for our daughter, right now we really like things the way they are. She has settled into a routine, we have settled into a routine, and after the chaos of the newborn stage and figuring out how to be parents, things feel comfortable and wonderful. The time is not right for us to add another child to our family, and that is reason enough not to.

We are financially comfortable. Right now I am able to stay home full time with my daughter, and we are still able to travel with her (she took more than 10 flights in her first year!), sign her up for lots of fun mommy and me classes and activities, and regularly save for her college education. Certainly we could afford to have another child, but it would dramatically change our budget to have a second child to feed, clothe, and put in diapers (oh so many diapers!). Right now we are in a good place financially raising just the child we have, and we are not eager at this moment to cross the budgeting bridge of becoming a family of four.

2013: a vessel for another

2015 belongs to me!! This is a big one, folks. That's why it gets two exclamation points. This might be TMI for some, but if you ask a TMI question, you get a TMI answer. For most of 2013, I was pregnant. I couldn't eat what I wanted or drink what I wanted most of the time. When I was sick or in pain, I was stuck with Tylenol and things like saline nasal spray instead of, you know, medications that might actually help. And speaking of pain, I was in a lot of it. I had a painful pregnancy and, though it was more than worth it in the end, I was uncomfortable most of the time. In 2013, my body belonged to my unborn child, and every decision I made, I made for her. 

 

Cheers to ME!

For the last month of 2013, and all of 2014, I was breastfeeding and/or pumping for my baby. So, while it's a lovely myth that you get your body back after pregnancy, I still couldn't really eat or drink whatever I wanted. Foods were chosen based on the effects they might have on milk supply. Any alcoholic drinks had to be carefully timed so as not to be too close to feeding or pumping. And, while I did at least get ibuprofen back in my life, I still couldn't take most medications for even things as simple as the common cold. So in 2014, my body belonged to my infant daughter. I finally stopped pumping on December 30, 2014, and in 2015, my body belongs to me. When I go out to eat, I order what I want without studying, Googling, or otherwise researching it to death. If I want a drink, I have one. If I am sick, I take medication. Whatever medication works best. It. Is. Glorious. I hear rumors that some women really enjoy being pregnant, but my friends, I am not one of them. I need this time to feel like my body is my own again. I am cherishing this time. And I am not ready for this time to end. So please, if you must ask when we are having a second child, save it until 2016.