...his wife.

29 May 217

Today is Memorial Day. It's roughly 0200 as I'm typing this words, and watching them appear on my screen.

I once talked to a 1SG of mine whose name I won't mention because I don't have his permission to. He suffered from PTSD. He told me how when he came back from a deployment, he was torn up. He was drunk almost every night and almost lost his marriage. I asked him how he managed things, and he gave me some interesting advice.

He told me that he allowed himself a couple of "bad" days a year. Days where he would take a six pack to the grave of his lost soldiers and just cry. Get it all out at once. Then, when he starts to break down, he just looks forward to and reminds himself that there's a day coming when he will let it all out again.

I've tried to do that myself. It hasn't had as much success for me as it has him. Different people respond to different things. But, in an attempt, I've allowed myself three "bad" days in the year. Memorial Day, Veteran's Day, and October 15th. I won't go into why October 15th here. That's not the purpose of this post.

I was thinking of shaving my beard and trimming my hair to acceptable AR 670-1 standards, wearing my dress blues, and going to the local national cemetery tomorrow. And that got me thinking of another time I visited a national cemetery. And I want this blog post to be a happy one. So we're going to talk about that visit.

The tombstones at this cemetery had the usual markings. Rank, name, DOB and DOD. But in this cemetery the wives of the veterans were buried on the other side of the tombstone. And the inscription over the wife was, "his wife".

At first I was appalled by it. That the wife would get just those two words. His wife. Then I started thinking, and I pointed it out to my wife. Those two words, to some may not mean anything. But, to those who know, it means so much more.

If they were to attempt to put a description of who that person was, it would take up three or four tombstones. Supporter. Lover. Mother of his children. Financial Planner. Caregiver. Listening Ear. Patient. Someone who could hold a house together while he was away for six, nine, twelve, fifteen months, or more. Someone who didn't kick him when he was down. Someone who shared his darkest secrets that he couldn't tell anyone else. Someone who loved the person he was, yet pushed him to be the person he could be. Someone who stayed with him, despite all the troubles of a normal household, much less a military household. The woman who had to keep it all together when he was either absent, or couldn't keep it together himself. Someone who welcomed him home, and helped him through the transition from deployment to garrison life. Someone who held him when the nightmares started. Someone who calmed him when the thunder woke him up. Someone who understood when he was startled and acted out of training. Someone who acted as a liaison to help him reconnect with his children, who didn't know him when he returned from deployment. Someone who loved him, despite the changes that occurred while he was away. Someone who kept their marriage vows to him despite the hardships. Someone who showed him the good side of life when he could only see the bad.

So, yeah. "His Wife". Two simple words, that mean so much more. Those two words are the simplest, yet most profound things to read on a tombstone.