FIVE
enlisted
sloane
June 18, 2013
Dear Sloane,
I can’t express how painful it was to leave you and AJ today. There’s a huge hole in my heart, a piece of me missing without the two of you. I felt like I couldn’t breathe as I walked away from you, and now, as I sit here, awake in the middle of the night, writing to you, I feel that pain again. Thank you for being the mother and woman you are, for taking care of our son when I can’t, for loving both of us in the way you do. Already counting down the days until you are both in my arms again.
All my love,
Adam
THERE’S NOTHING LIKE WATCHING your husband board a plane to the Middle East to make you realize that you have absolutely no idea how to be a mother. The first three weeks with AJ had been tough, sure, but Mom had been there the first week and Adam had been so hands-on the second two that I hadn’t truly realized how difficult it would be. Mom was in New York because it was grandparents’ day at Vivi’s school. Caroline was having such a tough time, her life revolving around hormone injections and IVF, that I felt almost guilty breathing in the sweet-smelling, perfectly pink head of my brand-new baby boy. Emerson was in LA, Grammy was in Florida, my mother-in-law had just had a knee replacement, and my best and only real friend on post in North Carolina had just been stationed in California.
That night with AJ had been the worst one by far. He wanted to feed every hour and a half and screamed in between. My nipples were raw and bleeding, and I was pretty sure I had a UTI, but my doctor didn’t want me to take an antibiotic. Every square inch of my house was filled with some sort of baby apparatus, and the trash cans were filled with dirty diapers that I hadn’t yet found the time or energy to take out. AJ was screaming, and to keep from throwing him out the window, I did the unthinkable, the thing my pediatrician had harped on like it was life or death: I turned on the TV. I was sure social services would sense I had broken the primary rule of parenting and arrive at my door any minute. But almost instantly, AJ quit crying.
I was so tired I couldn’t even feel the overwhelming mom guilt. I lay down on the floor right beside his bouncy seat and closed my eyes. If I couldn’t nap, just for a few minutes, I was sure I would die.
I was roused from my sleep by the feeling that someone was watching me. When I drowsily opened my eyes, I saw a protruding, pregnant belly—and then I saw the woman it belonged to. I screamed and lunged for AJ, who looked at me curiously.
All she said was, “First baby, huh?”
I didn’t respond. I looked up at her face, her mousy brown hair cut to her chin, a Cindy Crawford mole above her lip. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and had on a simple hot-pink cotton maternity dress that tied in the back. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was cute—probably not a murderer or kidnapper. But better safe than sorry.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’m Maryanne. I’m your new neighbor. Your back door was standing open, and I just wanted to make sure you were OK.”
My breathing slowed, and I felt my pulse return to normal. “Oh gosh,” I said, finally waking up enough to figure out what was happening. I looked around, mortified. “I’m so embarrassed. Please forgive the mess. I promise I’m not usually like this.”
She held out her hand, and I let her pull me up.
“You don’t have to apologize to me, honey. I feel your pain.” She pointed to her belly. “This is number two. Tom was deployed when number one was three months old, and I thought I would die then. I can’t imagine if he had left when he was as little as your guy.”
Anger, sadness, fear, and self-pity welled up in me all at once, and I burst into tears.
Maryanne hugged me, which only made me cry harder.
“Listen, sister,” she said, “you’re going to make it. It’s going to be fine. I’m going to teach you how to do this without losing your ever-loving mind.”
I nodded, wiping my eyes. Maryanne looked around, and I felt self-conscious again about my mess. But she said, “Wow. This place is incredible.”
I appraised the room as well, noticing for the first time in a while the custom-made couch, stylish art, mirrored gold end tables, and antique dining table with the beautiful oyster-shell chandelier over top. Admittedly, that was a little odd, but my mom had thought being stationed in North Carolina meant we would be living on the coast. I loved it anyway. It reminded me of home.
“My mom’s a decorator,” I said, apologetically.
“You don’t say,” Maryanne replied.
From that moment on, we were best friends. We were Army wives. We were in this together. Maryanne taught me that mothering on your own meant getting on a schedule and sticking to it no matter what. It meant Stroller Strides with the other moms on post at 9 a.m.; a trip into town every day, even if it was just to Starbucks; taking advantage of one nap to clean the house and the other to relax. “You’re a single mother now, Sloane,” she said. “You have to preserve yourself at all costs. It doesn’t matter if the laundry gets done, and no one is coming home to eat a five-star dinner.”
In the name of self-preservation, Maryanne and I enlisted two other wives to start a supper club. Once a week, each of us prepared dinner for the entire clan. It wasn’t fancy and our houses weren’t always spic and span, but it gave us adult time, and most importantly, camaraderie, the thing that we needed to survive almost as much as our husbands did. Those women became my sanity.
Now, all I could think about was them. How could I have done this to my best girlfriends? While they were on post fighting the fight, worrying about me, I was selfishly hiding away in my bed, letting others take care of my children. I felt like a sellout. I couldn’t face them.
I couldn’t count the number of missed calls I had. Maybe my friends weren’t calling only to check on me; maybe their husbands were with Adam. I don’t know how I hadn’t thought of it before. I felt so selfish. These were my friends, the women who saved me, who taught me how to be an Army wife. I sat down at the end of my bed. I had actually made it up that morning. It wasn’t much and it took most of my energy, but it was a start. I glanced at my painting in the corner of the bedroom. I knew I would give it to Maryanne. It was just her style. I searched for her contact and pushed Call.
“Oh, thank God,” Maryanne said, all in one breath. “We were all so afraid that something had happened to you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I really am. I couldn’t face anyone. I basically lost five weeks of my life.” I paused, my lower lip quivering. With tears in my throat I said, “I’m so sorry, Maryanne. I don’t even know if Tom’s OK.”
When Major Austin, the rear detachment commander, had come to tell me the news, I hadn’t been in the frame of mind to ask. He had said, “Sloane, Adam is DUSTWUN, but we have every reason to believe he is alive. I know I don’t have to tell you this, but finding him is our top priority.”
My blood had run cold when he had said “DUSTWUN.” Duty Status Whereabouts Unknown. It meant he could have been captured. He could simply be missing. He could be AWOL. If I knew my husband, he wouldn’t want to die in the line of duty, but if that’s what he was called to do, he would. Being killed in the line of duty would have been preferable, in fact, to anyone insinuating he was a deserter.
That’s when I said, “You find out who has him, Major. Because you know just as well as I do that Adam would never, ever under any circumstances desert his men.” It was my only moment of strength in all of this. Army wives don’t often take a stand with their husband’s higher-ups. It isn’t our role. But I said, “Major Austin, I don’t want anyone speculating that my husband was in any way at fault here.”
He cleared his throat. “I promise you I’ll do everything I can, Sloane.”
I knew this would have caused a media frenzy. Soldiers didn’t go missing all that often these days. This would be big news. Speculation that my husband was AWOL was more than I could bear.
Now, I heard the shake in Maryanne’s voice when she said, “Adam, Tom, Brian, Luke, Jeremy, and Thad were all in the helicopter when it went down west of Mosul.”
Maryanne paused and cleared her throat. I could sense she was trying to gather herself. “So now we have to pray that they’re still alive.”
My heart sank, but, just like those first days with AJ on post, I didn’t feel quite so alone. I had the fewest children of these wives. And the most family. Things could be far, far worse. Despite my devastation for my friend, knowing we were all in this together bolstered my spirit.
“How are your kids?”
She sighed. “The only one who really knows anything is out of the ordinary is Tommy. He asks me every day if they’ve found Daddy.”
“Oh, Maryanne.”
“What about AJ?”
I cleared my throat to keep my voice from cracking. “He asked me if Daddy was dead.”
I looked out the window at the boats passing by, at the children swimming. It seemed so odd that life could go on and the world could continue to turn when our husbands were in such peril.
“And what did you tell him?” she asked. I could practically see her sitting on her old brown sofa in the town house beside mine. I could see her bare feet, the piles of laundry she was most certainly folding, and could hear the children running all around her.
“I told him of course Daddy isn’t dead.” I could tell by the silence on the other end of the phone that Maryanne didn’t agree with what I had done. But, for the life of me, I couldn’t understand why. I was so convinced our husbands would come home to us that I couldn’t imagine another outcome.
“We’re going to get them back, Maryanne. I know we will.”
I thought of her, on post, with her four children. And of my other friends whose husbands were missing, too. “They’re stronger together,” I said, feeling my spirits rise, knowing it as clearly as my own children’s faces. “They’ll take care of each other, Maryanne. They’ll make it home.”
It wasn’t only our husbands who were stronger together. We Army wives were, too. If anyone could survive this, if any group of women was prepared to stand strong and see their husbands home, it was us. For the first time since I’d heard the news, I could imagine the day when Adam would be back in my arms.
I heard voices down the hall, slowly walked to the doorway, and peered out to see Emerson with Taylor on her hip, Grammy crouched down on the floor with AJ, and Mom putting a load of laundry in the washing machine.
It was going to be tough, and there would be hard days. But my fellow wives were just like the women down the hall from me. We were family. We could weather any storm that came our way.
A FEW HOURS AFTER my call with Maryanne, I could feel anxiety and panic well up in me again. Were my sons missing out by growing up with a father who was gone half the time? How long would he be gone now before they found him? Months? Years?
I looked around my room, straightened the throw pillows on the bed, and restacked the papers—or more aptly, unopened bills—on my desk. I needed to pay them, especially the credit card bill, but I couldn’t face them yet. I opened my computer.
An email from my favorite kids’ store pinged onto the screen. Forty percent off. Well, that was a great deal. The boys needed some new shorts, didn’t they? Sure, I was buried underneath a mound of credit card debt that not even my husband knew about, that I could probably never pay off. But that didn’t mean my children should suffer, did it? Weren’t they suffering enough right now? And, I mean, 40 percent off even the sale prices? They were practically giving the stuff away.
I zoomed through the site, adding items to my cart. Shorts and T-shirts, fleeces for the fall, a couple of cute toboggans—and all for less than fifty bucks. What a deal! I felt a little zip of electricity that was almost soothing. Some people ate; some people drank. Of all the unhealthy things I could do, this was far from the worst. It wasn’t like I was damaging my health.
I held my breath as the order processed, crossing my fingers that my card wouldn’t be declined. I had no idea what the balance was, but I knew it had to be almost maxed out.
Approved! Success. This was why I online shopped. A declined card at a real store was too humiliating.
The guilt would come later, as would the agonizing feeling that Adam would be so disappointed if he found out our emergency credit card was nearly maxed out all the time and I was accruing massive amounts of interest charges by paying the minimum every month. But Adam wasn’t here. I was. And if this was what I needed to get through this rough patch—like all those other rough patches—then so be it. Plus, my dad put aside money for the three of us so we never had to worry. Mom was bound to give me my share soon, and I could pay the whole thing off no problem, with plenty left over.
There were a couple of times I had thought about asking Mom about the money. But, even though I had lived in New York for the first fifteen years of my life, I still considered myself a Southern girl. And a Southern girl would never do such a thing. It would be not only rude to put my mom on the spot, but also tacky to talk about money.
With my feelings temporarily assuaged, I did the one thing I had been dreading since the moment those uniformed men showed up on our front lawn. I called my mother-in-law. I was sure my in-laws must have felt completely abandoned by me. But I hadn’t been able to face them, because as horrible as this was for me, it had to have been even worse for them. Adam was the love of my life, the father of my children. But he was their son, their pride and joy, their entire reason for existence.
As the phone rang, I prayed she wouldn’t answer. But on the third ring, she did. And as soon as I heard her say, “Sloane,” in that sweet Southern voice of hers, the one that lulled and rolled melodiously, I burst into tears.
“I’m just so sorry,” I said. “I’m the worst daughter-in-law.”
“Oh, honey,” she said. “No. Of course you’re not. I’ve talked to your mother every few days, and I know how terrible it has been for you.”
I wiped my eyes and tried to focus on breathing. She needed me to be strong. “But it’s even worse for you,” I said. “I know it is. And I couldn’t even bother to pick up the phone.”
“Sweetheart,” Linda said, “it’s OK. We have much, much bigger fish to fry right now.” Then she began to cry too. Somehow, her tears made me feel stronger.
“Linda,” I said calmly, “listen, I know Adam is OK. I feel it in the very depths of my soul. He’s alive and he’s going to come home safe.”
Linda paused. “But Sloane, I think we have to at least consider—”
I cut her off. “No, Linda. I don’t think you’re hearing me. He’s my husband. I’m positive he’s going to come home. I’m not hopeful. No wishful thinking. I am sure.”
I was proud of how confident I sounded.
“Well, then,” she stammered, “I certainly hope you’re right, sweetheart. And I wish I had your faith.”
I bit my lip and looked out over the water. Being surrounded by things this beautiful made it hard not to have faith or believe that everything was going to be OK.
“I’ll bring the boys to Athens soon.” I looked down at my left arm, noticing how frail I was. It was shocking how much a body could deteriorate in one short month. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. If this had happened to me inside my air-conditioned room, in my comfortable bed, with people trying to help me along the way, how much worse had it been for Adam?
“That would be wonderful, Sloane. As soon as you’re feeling up to it, please do.”
I nodded even though she couldn’t see me. “And, Sloane, if you need a break, Don and I are happy to take them for a few days. You know how we adore those boys.”
“Thanks, Linda. I love you so much, and I’m praying that the next time I’m talking to you we’ve gotten the good news.”
She cleared her throat and said, “Me too, sweetheart. Me too.” She paused and added, “Sloane, you take care of yourself, OK?”
“I will,” I said. “I promise.”
“Love you, and please send our love to the boys.”
As I hit End, I felt so much better that I had called her. And I could tell from the sound of her voice that she felt better, too.