"If..."

Out of the blue, DH asked me the other night, "If I died, would you get remarried?"

I sat thoughtfully for a moment, wondering why he was asking me this.

Me:  "I don't know.  It would be the last thing on my mind for a long time."

DH:  "Well, could you picture yourself getting married again?  If I died?"

Again, I thought about this (not something I often sit around considering).

Me:  "I really don't know.  What brought this to your mind?"

A gift from the past

Recently I received a large envelope in the mail from my aunt.  Curiosity filled my eager mind so I tore it open to find a wonderful treasure.

The Ugly Truth

This post has been riding with me for awhile.  I've rolled this around, considered not posting it, considered curbing some of the truths, and then became comfortable enough with the truth that I determined I could handle whatever comments people may want to lob my way. 

Pre-Deployment and the State of my Rear End

A few weeks ago Butterfly Wife posted on her blog a question - should she change her blog name to Does This Army Make My Butt Look Big?

What a timely question (and I nearly died laughing reading the newly proposed title!).  Just the last few weeks I've been wondering something close to that myself - Does this pre-deployment make my butt look big?  I'm pretty sure the answer is yes.

For the record, I'm not blaming anyone, any entity, or anything outside of my own self for the state of my rear (and arms, and legs, etc ad infinitum).  I know darn well that I made the choice to eat that, not do that exercise, and so on.  However, I also figured out last go-round that pre-deployment certainly makes it a lot easier to throw caution to the winds!

In a nutshell, knowing that the love of your life is going to be gone for a year (or more) and with the beginnings of anticipatory grief making themselves heard, who can say no to just one more trip to Baskin Robbins when the husband says he'd like to go just one more time?  Of course, it won't be the last time, but I pretend not to realize that...

Painfully Aware

I went to my initial consult at the geneticist's office yesterday, and at one point the doctor said, "During your appointment with the genetics counselor, you will also talk about the risks of what you're doing while your husband is deployed."

What he didn't come right out and say was, "You do know that you could get pregnant with triplets and then your husband could get killed in war, right?"

My answer to that is that, yes, I am painfully aware of that possibility.  But I think he has it exactly backwards.  I think it's civilians who need to be counseled of these risks, not us.

The Wrong Door

Everyone knows that the worst day possible would be the fateful knock on the door.

But what would you do if it was the wrong door?

We've seen the scene on We Were Soldiers when the taxi driver scares the life out of Mrs. Moore, and we've all heard the urban legends, but it really happened last night.

Sis B got that knock at the door, and

it
was
the
wrong
house.

My heart stopped just reading her post; I can't imagine living through it.

Public or Private: A Policy Under Review

On the one hand, I didn't want to write about this, for reasons spelled out below. On the other hand, I couldn't ignore the fact that this is a legitimate issue for military spouses and one that many of you clearly feel passionately about. In the end, it was that passion that won out. So, here goes....

I have mentally buried my husband a hundred times. I'm willing to bet you have, too. In fact, if you have and you think you're weird, you're not. Click here to find out why. In the process of mentally preparing my husband's funeral, I always pictured the moment I received his casket to be a solemn and private moment. My husband's remains and me. Sometimes the dog was there. Sometimes he wasn't. I didn't even think about extended family being present. As I wrote long ago:

I would meet my husband's body when it arrived at Dover. I would run my hands over the casket, hug it even, but I would try to remain as composed as possible.

When Goodbye Feels More Like Good Riddance

During our weekend in Virginia, Andi posted some of our "greatest hits" and one of my old posts prompted a new comment that posed a good question.

Armybrat AF Wife asks if any SB readers' spouses have "crazy coping mechanisms" to make it through a goodbye.  Now, she has me curious too.

Anticipatory Grief: The Late-Night, Bad Dream Version

Last night before going to bed, I read some more of Sherman Baldwin's book. By the way, he'll be on SpouseBUZZ Talk Radio tonight at 9:00 EDT, so join us on the radio and in the chat room. During the night, I had a dream that my father had passed away. Sherman's book is about the lessons he learned from his late father, so I'm sure that prompted the dream. Disturbing, but it made sense. However, what happened next did not make sense.

When I finally went back to sleep, I then dreamed that my husband was killed in action. Now, I've planned my husband's funeral 100 times over in my head. Something that I realize sounds incredibly morbid, but also something that I know this audience can relate to, more than most.

Here's the weird part. I don't recall actually dreaming that my husband had been killed when he was deployed, only going over the scenario while I was wide awake, which I thought was bad enough, but the dream was far worse. 

Anticipating the Worst

I knew exactly how it would play out. I'd gone over it a million times in my head. Sometimes during the middle of the day, sometimes at night when I couldn't sleep. I refused to be caught unprepared.