<![CDATA[Her War-Her Voice - Colleen\'s Memories]]>Fri, 20 Sep 2024 20:19:51 -0700Weebly<![CDATA[The Day Before He Left]]>Mon, 27 Feb 2017 00:17:21 GMThttps://www.herwarhervoice.com/colleens-memories/the-day-before-he-leftThe months passed, the weeks flew by, the vacations were over, and we were finally at the end of the wait for him to go to Korea.  Korea.  A small country in Asia.  A small country with turmoil and countless threats from North Korea.  A country rich in history and tradition.  A place unique unlike any other place we could ever imagine.  He would start another new adventure in a foreign land --without us.  

We will stay home.  We will have routine, bed times, a car, the grocery store, road trips, Girl Scouts, school, and lazy days in the lake.  He will have a new apartment, a new job, no car, and a life dedicated to the Army.

The day before he left, we anticipated tears.  Chaos.  Turmoil.  Tantrums.  It was a beautiful morning and I woke up to brew coffee.  I told myself it would be the last pot I would brew for him for a year.  I stifled the tears, silenced the voice and poured him a hot mug of coffee.  We sat outside at our usual spot, watching the sunrise and drank coffee.  Today, we had an easy breakfast of fresh fruit.  No one cried.  He began his habit of rechecking all of his bags and adding last minute items.  I helped him fold, stuff, zip, and clip his bags shut.  I didn’t shed a single tear.  The kids played, asking when he would take them for a swim.  They suited up and played in the lake for hours.  I watched and not a single tear.  The kids laughed and played.  He jumped on the trampoline.  They splashed and hollered.  We ordered pizza for supper.  We laughed and shared ice creams.  Bed time came around and we followed our usual routine.  No one cried.  No one woke in the middle of the night.  Nothing.

Why didn’t we shed our tears?  Four separations are enough for no tears?  Are we that stoic?  Are we that desensitized?  Did we run out of tears?  

The months and weeks leading up to the day he left were hell.  Our car broke.  We lived with one car.  The skylights started to leak.  Our dryer broke.  The cat died.  I broke my wedding ring.  The computer crashed.  If something could go wrong, it did.  We cried.  The oldest child had tantrums.  She tested our patience.  We argued.  I cried.  He stormed outside.  The youngest hid under her bed in silence.  She spent afternoons in imaginary play, ignoring everyone else, hiding from reality.  We spent three months in emotional turmoil.  The day before he left wasn’t some sort of win, but a sign of our submission.  We had succumbed so many emotions that we were on empty.  We plowed through routine because routine was our only comfort.  



]]><![CDATA[17 Ways the Army Changed My Dreams]]>Mon, 27 Feb 2017 00:14:03 GMThttps://www.herwarhervoice.com/colleens-memories/17-ways-the-army-changed-my-dreamsWhen you marry a soldier, you don’t get a FM or an AR book.  You shuffle through a newcomers’ brief and sign up for a few AFTB classes.  Then you find out what midnight recalls, Niagra Starch, “The Field,” and deployment means.  Sometimes you learn this in the first year.  Marrying a soldier changed my dreams.

  1. Adult life isn’t lollipops and rainbows.  When he signed up, I was 17 years old.  I’ve literally been with this man for over half my life.  I dreamed of sweet love letters in the mail.  He sent me sweet letters, but also information about life insurance and bank statements.  I had to learn about bank statements.  I had to read over life insurance.  I was 17 and he was 19.  We are too young for this.  All the lollipops went away.
  2. Loving a Soldier isn’t easy.  We had rough years.  My parents weren’t thrilled with the prospect of him being the “one.”  We didn’t have Facebook or consistent internet access.  Letters would come in weeks, not days.  Words were often misconstrued.  I didn’t know that I’d one day spend years away from him while he was away on the other side of the world.
  3. Dream weddings are just dreams.  We had a shotgun wedding at the courthouse in Kansas.  Later we had a backyard wedding in his sister’s backyard.  It cost us $1500 to include the honeymoon to Savannah.  We were young and in love.  I didn’t know that love was really what we needed.
  4. Being prepared.  Soldiers leave in the middle of the night—without a kiss goodbye, and we will survive.  During the aftermath of September 11th, he was recalled in the middle of the night.  I didn’t talk to him for a few days. I didn’t know where he was.  I cried.  I sobbed.  I called into work.  I didn’t know this would happen.  No one told me this would happen.  I learned how to be prepared.  How to say goodbye.  How not to cry.  How to help him get his duffle on his back in less than 30 minutes.  
  5. College isn’t late nights and drinking.  I went to college while married to a solider.  I didn’t get to stay out late with friends.  I had to study hard and pay my own tuition.  I learned how to work hard for every college credit I earned.  
  6. College isn’t guaranteed.  We moved in the middle of a school year.  After getting settled at our new place and enrolled at a new college, I got pregnant.  I had a baby.  College as I knew it was not as important as my new baby.  College took a back burner.  It’s still there.
  7. Pregnancy glow is a myth.  My soldier was in Germany while I was in the bed on bed rest.  I sent him videos of my belly as our baby moved around in it.  I sent pictures each week of my growing belly.  My best friend stayed with me for the last few weeks until I was induced.
  8. Being a first time mom is a challenge—especially when you will do it alone.  My soldier was gone for the first 22 months of her life.  I had all the sleepless nights, fevers, first steps, and first words… all of it by myself.  I didn’t get to share it with him.  He got pictures and videos.
  9. Homecomings aren’t like the ones you see on TV.  Sometimes they are quiet and intimate in a crowded airport while your 22 month old clings to you, terrified of the strange man who happens to be her daddy.  Sometimes they are on hot bleachers and delayed by two hours in the July heat while your two children cry, wet their pants, and drop the last granola bar you packed in an ant pile.  
  10. Military balls don’t look like a Cinderella movie.  My first few balls I spent hundreds of dollars on dresses, manicures, and updos.  I sat for hours through formalities I did not understand.  Now I wear dresses a few times, brush my hair, and put on mascara as I run out the door for another ball.  I understand and appreciate those traditions.  
  11. Raising kids as a single parent for years at a time is my reality.  I dreamed that we’d both be smiling under an oak tree while our girls frolicked through the fields.  I didn’t know I’d spend endless nights in the same routine desperately needing a break, but still carrying on because it is a necessity.
  12. Mowing the lawn and replacing radiator hoses isn’t man work.  I’ve had to mow the lawn, fix a washer, replace a radiator hose, change lightbulbs and the list grows every year.  I don’t get to put things off until he comes home that night—he won’t be home for a year.  
  13. Driving Miss Daisy.  I don’t like to drive and I’m nervous in traffic and bad weather.  I don’t have a choice about driving when he is gone.  I had to learn to drive interstates, parallel-park, and drive in the snow.  
  14. Coffee in the mornings is not always us sitting on the deck and holding hands.  Some years the closest I get to sharing coffee with him is drinking from his mug or sending him a picture of my coffee.
  15. We will spend few conversations by a fireplace, but many conversations via text messages.  I imagined long talks in the evening by the fireplace.  The Army sends him away so I cherish the times we can have those talks.  Otherwise, we rely on social media and text messages.  We make do and still manage to stay strong despite the communication challenges.
  16. Anniversaries, while important, are just a block on the calendar.  We have to celebrate them when we can.  I never dreamed that we’d say goodbye for a year on our 14th wedding anniversary.  
  17. Nineteen years ago, a nervous seventeen year old boy gingerly knocked on my door as he was prepared to meet my parents for the first time.  He nervously stumbled through conversation as I silently blushed at the supper table.  Who knew that nineteen years later, to the day, I’d welcome him home from a year-long tour in Korea?  
The Army didn’t dash my dreams—it changed my perspective.  The fairytale ideals I had as a young girl morphed into realities.  It is a lot of hard work.  We spend many evenings in tears as we spend years apart.  Sometimes I think Army wife life is the loneliest life there is.  Then I remember all the challenges we’ve overcome and realize we grew closer and stronger.  I’m thankful for this life.

]]><![CDATA[BFFS Club]]>Mon, 27 Feb 2017 00:01:17 GMThttps://www.herwarhervoice.com/colleens-memories/bffs-club
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They are sisters by fate, but friends by choice.  Their secret BFFS Club— Best Friends Forever Sisters Club is only for them.  I’m not invited.  I’m the outsider.  I don’t have hurt feelings.   It is a gift to watch a lifelong friendship develop and blossom.

]]><![CDATA[The House]]>Sun, 26 Feb 2017 23:57:46 GMThttps://www.herwarhervoice.com/colleens-memories/the-houseAs we grow into adulthood, our childhood memories fade and become blurs.  There are a few events I can remember very well.  I’ll never forget the day we moved into the house on Brandon Hill.  It was our first house and I was seven years old.  After the movers delivered the furniture, Mom told me to stay in the living room and unpack the boxes while she left the tiny Ford Escort to get more boxes of our things.  I looked around the open living room, smelling the fresh paint and new carpet.  Even at seven years old, I knew this was big deal.  I snuck off to look at my new bedroom.  My sister and I would share it, but it was big.  There were two closet doors.  I’d get the one by the window.   I opened the door to look inside.  “That one is yours,” said Mom.  I quickly turned around and saw her smiling.  It would be my closet.  My bedroom.  Our house.  No more moving.  No more apartments.  Dad was out of the military and we were settling for good.  
My sister and I shared that room for seven years.  Over the years Dad built a playhouse for us in the back yard.  Mom cut up an old pillow case to make a curtain.  We dragged our dolls outside and played for hours inside of our beloved little playhouse.  Another year, he built a sandbox, but we used it as a raft for our imaginary adventures in the Amazon Rainforest.  My sister and I played Barbies for hours in the basement.  Dad lost his job when I was in third grade and I worried about losing the house.  I heard them talking about the bills.  I didn’t know how to help.  Not our house!  He found a job a few weeks later and all was well again in our home.  When I turned 14, Dad finished the bedroom in the basement for me.  I got my own room with a HUGE walk-in closet.  Mom painted the ceiling blue “because the sky is blue.  It will be like you are looking at the sky.”  She knew how I loved to daydream.  When I was nineteen, I left that little house on Brandon Hill and married my soldier.  We moved to Fort Riley, Kansas.  We went “home” a lot.  Every block leave was spent “going home” to the house.
When we moved to Fort Knox, Kentucky, we bought our own home.  A few years later, we had our first baby.  Over those years, we changed “going home for the holidays” to “going to Atlanta for the holidays.”  My sister moved out and got married.  There were not anymore children in the little house on Brandon Hill.
When I visited, I often sat on the window seat in my parents’ bedroom and talked to Mom while she sat in bed.  We still sat at our seats at holiday dinners—husbands and grandkids had to find chairs to pull up to the table.  The kitchen had the same wallpaper.  They even kept the same furniture from when they first married until a few years ago when they bought a new couch.  They remodeled the bathroom and had a bigger deck built, but the “nest” was empty.  
A few months ago, my mom called me with super exciting news:  they found a house.  They were going to buy THE retirement home.  The little house would go up for sale after 26 years.  I was so excited for them, but deep inside, I felt sad.  I wouldn’t go home to the little house anymore.  Someone else would buy it and make memories.    
I drove to Atlanta to see the new house.  It was lovely.  The new house is perfect for them—for this new chapter in their lives.  It is on a lake so Dad can fish all evening.  Mom loves the covered porch.  The grandkids have their own bedroom.  I never saw the little house empty.  I decided I cannot drive by it yet.  I’m not ready.  I’m not ready to see another car in the driveway.  I don’t know how I might feel if the outside is changed.  I still have many happy memories of my childhood home.  Now we go to Nanny’s and Pappy’s house.  

]]><![CDATA[Friendship]]>Sun, 26 Feb 2017 23:51:48 GMThttps://www.herwarhervoice.com/colleens-memories/friendship
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“Friendship is born at that moment when one man says to another: "What! You too? I thought that no one but myself . . ."”
― C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

I said, ‘I need my friend.’

She said, ‘Me too.’

Where were your best friendships born?
]]><![CDATA[I Turned 34 This Month]]>Sun, 26 Feb 2017 23:47:53 GMThttps://www.herwarhervoice.com/colleens-memories/i-turned-34-this-monthI turned 34 this month.  It seemed so daunting because next year I’ll be “middle-aged.”  Is this really my last year of youth?  I decided that instead of lamenting about my age, I’d think of 34 things I learned about myself, but I had to start and finish the list on my birthday.  Here’s my list:
  1. I am a smart person.
  2. I am a good mother.
  3. I wear many hats, and sometimes not by choice.
  4. I am thankful to be a mother.
  5. I married my soulmate.
  6. I am a strong woman.
  7. I make a difference.
  8. I am not a neat person.
  9. I am a good cook.
  10. I lack organizational skills.
  11. I can work in chaos and make decisions on the fly.
  12. I am my kids’ world.
  13. I am my husband’s favorite person.
  14. I am still scared to swim.
  15. I am a good listener.
  16. I am a crazy cat lady.
  17. I love weightlifting.
  18. I have hobbies and interests that don’t involve my family and I do not regret that.
  19. I trust myself.
  20. I have a story.
  21. I am a terrible singer.
  22. I am altruistic.
  23. I am a giver to a fault.
  24. I don’t say “no” as often as I should.
  25. I love the mountains.
  26. I love the beach, too.
  27. I love coffee.
  28. I love chocolate.
  29. I am a good friend.
  30. I am creative.
  31. I am an optimist.
  32. I do not regret marrying a soldier.
  33. I forgive easily, and sometimes too easily.
  34. I have a hot temper.

]]><![CDATA[The List]]>Sun, 26 Feb 2017 23:43:28 GMThttps://www.herwarhervoice.com/colleens-memories/the-listHe came down on orders for Korea.  It would be the last time he’d have to leave us.  He would come back here and finish the last 2 ½ years and retire.   We’d get to be a family again.  I’d be his first wife since the Army always takes precedence.  Here is the list of what followed.
  1. He received his orders for Korea.
  2. The transmission in the van went out.
  3. It took 6 weeks to repair
  4. The truck engine blew
  5. The repair shop could not find the fault code so they sent it to the dealership.
  6. An RV backed into it at the dealership.
  7. The dealership could not find the fault code.
  8. We had to sell the useless truck.
  9. I got a serious staph infection.
  10. My cat died.
  11. The gym, my second home, closed.
  12. The dryer burned up.
  13. He left.
  14. I lost the turtle outside.  He’s free now.
  15. The fish died.
  16. I found the weightlifting center.  A new hobby.
  17. The radiator hose busted in the van.
  18. We were rear-ended by a trash truck.
  19. It took 6 weeks to repair the van.
  20. We got head lice.
  21. I got an eye infection during the head lice removal, making it hard to see.
  22. We had a critter in the attic.
  23. I had to get a new phone earlier than planned.  The old one wouldn’t make calls.
  24. He came home for R&R.
  25. We got kittens.  Two kittens.  
  26. He didn’t hear the critter once during those 21 days.
  27. He left.
  28. I called an animal expert.  We had rats in our attic.
  29. I had to remove one of the rats with a friend.
  30. My ID Card expired.
  31. He got promoted.
  32. I grated my thumb in a cheese grater the night before the weightlifting meet.
  33. I attended my first weightlifting meet.
  34. I realized I was suffering from depression.
  35. I bought a new wallet and it was stolen 3 weeks later.
  36. I had to get a new ID card.  And license.  And credit cards.  And a new wallet.
  37. Our oldest started having problems at school.  Her grades were failing.
  38. Our oldest was battling depression.
  39. Our youngest child had to have a procedure done because of gagging.
  40. The youngest child developed Shingles.

  1. The transmission started slipping again in the van.
  2. One of the kittens developed an infection from the spay procedure.
  3. We found termites in the shed.
  4. I bought a new truck.
  5. The oldest child’s 4th grade teacher informed the class she was moving—our daughter was devastated.
  6. The youngest child was diagnosed with asthma.
  7. The youngest child had a stomach virus on the last week of school.
  8. My friend developed a gall bladder infection while her husband was gone, so we had to juggle her and our collective 4 children.
  9. His flight was canceled.
  10. The youngest child vomited over the entire bathroom 4 hours before his plane was scheduled to arrive.
  11. His plane landed.  We hugged our soldier.
  12. The youngest child vomited all over the brand new truck as soon as we pulled out of the airport parking lot.  Welcome Home!

  1. He got orders for another deployment.
This is the list of things I can remember that happened during his year in Korea.  It was a crazy year.  I learned, cried, leaned, sobbed, laughed, growled, grew, hid, detached, shared, and loved this year.  
I fondly call it “The Korea Year.”

]]><![CDATA[I'm Not Okay]]>Sun, 26 Feb 2017 23:18:51 GMThttps://www.herwarhervoice.com/colleens-memories/im-not-okayI’m not okay

It is Tuesday.  I’ll be okay.
I woke up late.  I’ll be okay.
It is raining.  I’ll be okay.
The kids are playing in the bathroom.  I’ll be okay.
There’s water everywhere.  I’ll be okay.
I yell at the oldest child.  I’ll be okay.
She cries.  She’ll be okay.
I yell at the youngest child.  She’ll be okay.
She hides under her bed.  She’ll be okay.
The dishes are still in the sink.  I’ll be okay.
The laundry is still there.  I’ll be okay.
I stifle tears.  I’ll be okay.
I look at the wine.  I’ll be okay.
The oldest child’s room is a disaster.  I’ll be okay.
I lose my temper.  I’ll be okay.
The youngest child hides under her bed again.  She will be okay.
I send angry messages to him.  He will be okay.
I smash a good plate.  I’ll be okay.
I redline the van, hoping for a concrete wall.  I’ll be okay.  
I’m not okay.
They are not okay.
We are not okay.


I wrote this poem a few months ago.  I didn’t know how “not okay” I was.  I’ve read somewhere that getting help is a sign that you’ve been strong for too long.  I think I was already broken.  It took a long time for me to get help.  I look back and realize how broken and scared I was.  I’m okay now.  I really am okay now.  


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