Today we laid my 2nd husband to rest. It was a emotional time for me. So many things felt. It’s no secret that he had hurt us. Before the hurt there was friendship and love though. Who ever said there is a fine line between love and hate truly knew what they were talking about in this instance. I cried today for the man I once knew, that friend who once cared, the soldier who who served us all.Once again I received a flag with the thanks of our President and Nation for service. Once again I jumped at the first shots fired as the salute was led, just like I did when I said good bye to my Dad. The tears ran down my face wile my hand covered my heart as the bugler sounded taps . The young Soldier could feel my hands tremble as he placed our flag in my hands and knelt giving sympathy with his words and eyes as I sat alone.
In this moment I couldn’t tell you that the thoughts going through my head are totally clear. I can say I said my good byes and cried the tears I needed too. Not only did I say good bye but I also let go of pent up pains and hurt.
I forgave a long time ago , but held on to the hurt. Not something I recommend any one do.
Today I say a prayer for the other separated widows like me. May they find peace as they move forward with their lives. May God wrap them in his love and guide them and me to be more like him. Amen.
Submitted by Marcia S Klaas, original author unknown
What is a service wife?? You might say the service wife is a bigamist, sharing her husband with another demanding entity called “DUTY”. When duty calls, she becomes wife number two. Until she accepts her competition, her life can be miserable.
Above all, she is womanly, although there are times she begins to wonder … Like the time when “HER” serviceman answers the call to duty, and she finds herself mowing the lawn. Then she suspects she is part male.
She usually comes in three sizes: Petite, plump, and more pleasingly plump. Amidst constantly changing settings, she finds it difficult to determine what her true size is.
A service wife is international. She may be an Iowa farm girl, a French mademoiselle, a Japanese doll, or an ex-Army nurse, but when discussing her problems with newly found friends, she speaks the same language and from the same general experience. Read the rest of this entry »
May 6th, 2016 is Military Spouse Appreciation Day–here’s a memory about an incredible military wife–and mom.
By James Kenderdine.
Postcards from when our family was stationed in Germany, 1947-1950. One of my last memories of Germany was when we were getting ready to leave in 1950, stopping on the Autobahn north of Frankfurt and getting out of the car to look south at what was left of the city. Rolling small hills (made of rubble) covered with grass and brush all the way to the center of the city. I could see the ruins of the cathedral in the center of the city from where I stood. When I stood in the same spot again in 1977, all I could see was the city that had been built since 1950, I could not see any part of the cathedral.
Our years in Germany shaped the lives of everyone in our family in ways that, 65 years later, my sister and I are still coming to understand and appreciate. My guess is that any spouse or brat who did not take the Army’s offer of evacuation during the Berlin Airlift feels that same. My mother said she was not leaving, that, in old army terms, “I can stay the winter, no matter how bad it is.” Watching her learn to shoot and MI carbine was fantastic, and to this day, I can still clearly see the image of her carbine, with a 20 round clip in it, round in the chamber, hanging by its sling next to her and dad’s bed. Read the rest of this entry »
One hundred and sixteen (116) years ago, roughly 18 months before Dr. Walter Reed tested and proved Dr. Carlos Finlay’s theory for the cause of yellow fever, an outbreak of the disease took hold at the National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers’ Southern Branch in Hampton, Virginia. The Hampton Roads region was quarantined for weeks in an effort to avert the diseases’ catastrophic spread.
On July 29, 1899, Dr. Richard Vickery (left), surgeon at the National Home, sent a telegram to Dr. Walter Wyman, Surgeon General of the Marine Hospital Service office (part of Treasury), to request that an expert assess several suspicious cases of sickness at the Home. The Marine Hospital Service was the ancestral origins of the U.S. Public Health Service and employed the first federal public health officers who were tasked by Congress in 1878 with controlling epidemic diseases through quarantine, disinfection, and immunization programs.
Marine Hospital Service experts–including Dr. Eugene Wasdin, who two years later would try to save President McKinley when he was shot by an assassin–converged on the National Home and immediately determined that yellow fever was present. By August 1st, 1899, eight men had died. The Home was immediately quarantined and cordoned off from the rest of the community. Efforts to account for roughly 3,700 veterans began. They then quarantined most of the Hampton region—including Fort Monroe, Phoebus, Elizabeth City and Warwick counties–stopping rail and ship service to prevent further spread of the disease. Thousands of people and businesses in the region were affected.
Men who lived at the National Home were moved to temporary tents set up outside and disinfection of their quarters began as soon as the first barracks were vacated. Sixteen men, all soldiers of the Civil War, immunes, were employed to do the work. Three experienced immune disinfectors, more than 15 doctors, and nurses arrived to assist. Mattresses were burned while bed linens, floors and floors were disinfected with 1:500 bichloride of mercury solution. Rooms were made airtight as possible and fumigated with Sulphur or formaldehyde. The men were told to “sun and air their blankets and mattresses daily, retire early, avoid chilling their body, avoid night air, avoid getting fatigued. . . avoid intemperance, and wear wet handkerchief or tree leaves in hat when exposed to the sun.” Read the rest of this entry »
So I read this article from momastery.com, and I reflect that one time in Camp Lejeune, I posted a video of the kid next door being silly– and everyone commented on my kitchen –because I filmed it standing in my kitchen. Now before I hear your mind judging why I was video recording my next door neighbor’s kid? Let me explain. Nothing creepy – It’s just that it was hard to not notice that he spins, every day in the driveway, he just goes out there and stands in one place and spins and spins, and well, he just looked so happy! I can’t remember when I was that happy doing anything.
After I posted the short clip of the happy spinning kiddo my friends were like – OMG your kitchen is so cluttered!
– What all that crap on your counters and blab, blab? Are those the pots you had from college? And I was like — Really! And then, of course, my husband agreed which made me even madder. I eventually got so mad, that I deleted that post and threw away Everything in my kitchen– and I mean everything– silverware , pots pans, and all the decorations that everyone couldn’t help but complain about – cluttered! I will show them I thought –
So we bought new dishes from the PX and new pots and pans, and mom gave me new silverware— spending money on better stuff didn’t help at all– and I missed all my cutesy fun crap. Then my hubby and I went to war over cutesy crap. I mean it’s not my fault that I can buy lots and lots for same cost as say 1 guitar so by perspective – he has 1 thing and I have 100 smaller things — Not my fault that his stuff costs so much– Read the rest of this entry »
a poem by Hudson Phillips about growing up in the Military.
I lurch from side to side carried forward
by the force that I have grasped,
Does it have a face?
I am bonded to the flow of strangers,
circuited to an energy
close enough to show the differences,
some tired and turgid, telling of their toil,
and others marked by manicured and selfish haste Read the rest of this entry »
by Hudson PhillipsOur evacuation from the Panama Canal was a terribly sad and sudden thing. As we approached the time that we were to leave, my father’s demeanor changed to a terse and commanding presence. It was time to be soldiers. When I think back now, it explains why he acted this way. A barrage balloon hovered over the house, tethered not far away. Piles of sand were placed near our back door to help extinguish fire from incendiary bombs. The entire family was issued gas masks. I was informed of a stash of emergency items in a compartment in the kitchen (in case my parents were out of the house during an attack.) Read the rest of this entry »