thedrifter
10-05-06, 08:42 AM
Guest columnist
Confessions of a military wife
By Lisa Hoffman
Special to The Times
I never imagined I would become a military wife, not when I married, not after this Iraq war started, and certainly not when our president declared our mission "accomplished."
Last year, however, my husband of 10 years said he felt the need to serve again.
During Bill's deployment at Camp Corregidor in Ramadi, Iraq, I have come to believe that the chasm between our military and civilian worlds is greater than we want to acknowledge. We are able to disregard this division because only a small segment of our population bears the burden of combat, and because our leaders have not asked civilians for any wartime sacrifice.
Of course, I knew that Bill had been in the Marines, but that was right after college, years before we met. And, yes, friends would explain things he did by saying, "Once a Marine, always a Marine."
But Bill had never indicated that he wanted to go back. We are professionals with good careers: he in international business with an MBA and I as a professor with a doctorate in anthropology. I was stunned when he said he wanted to do "nation building."
Through friends, he heard about the 3rd Civil Affairs Group, contacted the colonel, and quickly received a positive response. His international and past military experiences were highly desirable for this work.
Getting recommissioned was an arduous process. Bill continued working, not telling anyone until he was certain that, at age 43, the necessary waivers would be granted and he would deploy. He took Arabic classes at the local community college. We fought. I stayed at work long hours.
One evening, he explained it wasn't fair that only part of America was making this sacrifice and being burdened with second and third tours. Others should share this responsibility, especially people like him who had benefited greatly from all America offered and had lived comfortable lives. I could not disagree. I felt so proud and yet so angry.
He assured me this was not about supporting the war, but was about his duty to serve. I tried desperately to understand, especially since I have never supported this war, although I have supported other military actions. He tried to explain, but it was difficult to articulate, particularly when we have always voted opposite tickets.
Trying to comfort me, he said civil-affairs work was not the same as front-line infantry work. But I wondered what constituted the front line in Iraq. I felt confused and abandoned.
Bill tries to call every day. The waiting is stressful. Should I run, or shower, or hope he calls while I read the paper? I've answered calls with shampoo in my hair, while jogging, and in meetings.
The calls ground my days. If I don't hear from him, my stress increases with the passing hours. I then worry that someone else might call, with bad news. Sometimes he gets stuck on a mission. Sometimes someone is killed and they shut down the phones. Sometimes the phones don't work.
Few know about this rollercoaster — the thrill of the call, our timed 30 minutes, and the desperation of the next 24 hours. I can't imagine waiting longer, as many families must.
Although it hasn't been easy, through listening to him — and through pure force of will — I have become immensely supportive of Bill. His actions have made me confront my own perspective and appreciate the commitment the military makes, the community it provides in times of need and the sacrifices of its families.
Surprising myself, I sometimes wince when people make blanket criticisms about the war and military, comments I can imagine myself making in times past. Yet, I remain highly critical of this war, creating a palpable internal turmoil.
Most in my social world have no personal connection with the military, and have trouble understanding the intense loneliness of living where people seem to forget we are "at war."
To address this disconnect, our leaders should ask civilians for some form of sacrifice during wartime. Sacrifice does not have to mean support for the war, as I well know. Rather, when shared, it may help us find the answers we need for Iraq.
Lisa Hoffman is an assistant professor of urban studies at the University of Washington Tacoma. Her husband will return from Iraq in October after a seven-month deployment.
Ellie
Confessions of a military wife
By Lisa Hoffman
Special to The Times
I never imagined I would become a military wife, not when I married, not after this Iraq war started, and certainly not when our president declared our mission "accomplished."
Last year, however, my husband of 10 years said he felt the need to serve again.
During Bill's deployment at Camp Corregidor in Ramadi, Iraq, I have come to believe that the chasm between our military and civilian worlds is greater than we want to acknowledge. We are able to disregard this division because only a small segment of our population bears the burden of combat, and because our leaders have not asked civilians for any wartime sacrifice.
Of course, I knew that Bill had been in the Marines, but that was right after college, years before we met. And, yes, friends would explain things he did by saying, "Once a Marine, always a Marine."
But Bill had never indicated that he wanted to go back. We are professionals with good careers: he in international business with an MBA and I as a professor with a doctorate in anthropology. I was stunned when he said he wanted to do "nation building."
Through friends, he heard about the 3rd Civil Affairs Group, contacted the colonel, and quickly received a positive response. His international and past military experiences were highly desirable for this work.
Getting recommissioned was an arduous process. Bill continued working, not telling anyone until he was certain that, at age 43, the necessary waivers would be granted and he would deploy. He took Arabic classes at the local community college. We fought. I stayed at work long hours.
One evening, he explained it wasn't fair that only part of America was making this sacrifice and being burdened with second and third tours. Others should share this responsibility, especially people like him who had benefited greatly from all America offered and had lived comfortable lives. I could not disagree. I felt so proud and yet so angry.
He assured me this was not about supporting the war, but was about his duty to serve. I tried desperately to understand, especially since I have never supported this war, although I have supported other military actions. He tried to explain, but it was difficult to articulate, particularly when we have always voted opposite tickets.
Trying to comfort me, he said civil-affairs work was not the same as front-line infantry work. But I wondered what constituted the front line in Iraq. I felt confused and abandoned.
Bill tries to call every day. The waiting is stressful. Should I run, or shower, or hope he calls while I read the paper? I've answered calls with shampoo in my hair, while jogging, and in meetings.
The calls ground my days. If I don't hear from him, my stress increases with the passing hours. I then worry that someone else might call, with bad news. Sometimes he gets stuck on a mission. Sometimes someone is killed and they shut down the phones. Sometimes the phones don't work.
Few know about this rollercoaster — the thrill of the call, our timed 30 minutes, and the desperation of the next 24 hours. I can't imagine waiting longer, as many families must.
Although it hasn't been easy, through listening to him — and through pure force of will — I have become immensely supportive of Bill. His actions have made me confront my own perspective and appreciate the commitment the military makes, the community it provides in times of need and the sacrifices of its families.
Surprising myself, I sometimes wince when people make blanket criticisms about the war and military, comments I can imagine myself making in times past. Yet, I remain highly critical of this war, creating a palpable internal turmoil.
Most in my social world have no personal connection with the military, and have trouble understanding the intense loneliness of living where people seem to forget we are "at war."
To address this disconnect, our leaders should ask civilians for some form of sacrifice during wartime. Sacrifice does not have to mean support for the war, as I well know. Rather, when shared, it may help us find the answers we need for Iraq.
Lisa Hoffman is an assistant professor of urban studies at the University of Washington Tacoma. Her husband will return from Iraq in October after a seven-month deployment.
Ellie