J missed the memorial service for his friend due to the fact that he wasn't due back from Iraq until that May which only added to the guilt that only one in his shoes can understand.
During the following months, the burden J carried was evident, yet he managed to keep it at bay. Our summer was filled with many activities we enjoy such as four wheeling, fishing and camping. Things at work were slow that summer, so J was able to relax a lot at home.
His nightmares occurred more often, and were becoming more intense. He was also starting to withdraw socially. Outings with friends became more of a burden than a pleasant activity, and having any people in the house proved to be extremely stressful for him. Because our family time was few and far between, I welcomed the quiet lifestyle.
After the summer of 2007, he went back to work. Things started going downhill again.
Right at the entrance of the building, they made a huge mural of all the men they had lost. He walked past those faces first thing every morning, and couldn't shake the haunting feelings that followed him throughout the rest of the day. He started drinking again. This time first thing in the morning. Upon arrival to work, unbeknownst to anyone else, he put Jim Beam (which he stored in his locker) in his coffee mug before starting the day. Day in and day out. The alcohol was his way of escaping the burden he was carrying.
Starting each day with alcohol, he would often just continue the trend and not even bother to come home after work. There were so many evenings I would watch the sun start to set, and my heart would start pounding in my chest. I knew in my heart he wasn't coming home, and that the night would somehow end very badly. Several things could happen. A: He could go home with another woman, or B: Drive home drunk to me. He could possibly get killed on the way, kill someone else, get a DUI, or C: I would have to drag my children out, find him, and bring him home.
I confess there were times I was tempted to leave him be, hoping he gets that DUI. Sometimes I didn't care either way what happened to him. But, deep down underneath my pain, I also knew there was a man who needed me.
So with a pounding heart, and anger in my veins, I would walk into that bar (children by my side), and bring my husband home. Sometimes he had women on him (which I've been known to shove aside on more than one occasion). Sometimes he'd be alone in a dark corner. But funny thing is, no matter how I found him, he was always happy to see me, and never fought coming home.
(I was always afraid of how deeply my children would be affected by these things, but God is greater than our mistakes. He is greater than our past, and God loves my children more than I do. He has been good, and my children, praise God, do not even remember these times! More on that later. )
During these times, it seemed J's biggest regret was not being there at the memorial service for his friend. It was also weighing very heavy on him that he, along with another man, had to drag (due to their physical exhaustion that night) their friend's body, rather than carry it to the Bradley Vehicle. Dragging a fellow comrade who gave his life was a tremendous burden of guilt that was becoming unbearable for him.
I did some research, and was able to contact the parent's of his friend who was KIA. I called them, and was able to talk with them. I told them about the feelings that J was struggling with, and I asked if we might pay them a visit? They were very gracious, and welcomed us asap! So, in the dead of winter & 9" of snow, we made the 19 hour drive to visit with his family. My father in law was very sweet to come up and stay with our two little ones that week, allowing Jim and I to use that much needed time to reflect, and heal.
The trip to visit his friend's family/ home town proved to be very healing! His parent's were so welcoming. We stayed in his home, looked through family albums, got a personal tour of his bedroom, high school, and met many family friends. J shared with them the guilt he was carrying for having to drag, rather than carry, their son's lifeless body. They shared tears, and hugs and assured J they were eternally grateful that he brought their son home, no matter how he had to do it.
His parent's graciously gave us the dvd recording of his memorial service. When J and I were alone that night, we watched it together, and for the first time in my life, I heard my husband cry. He wept, deeply. What a release. I am so grateful for that moment, and will cherish that trip always.
But even after getting closure, things grew steadily worse.
2008 - 2012 seems to be a blur of drunken nights (always away from home) that almost always included women, bar fights, ANGER, lying, pure deceit.
More war. More death. Attending the funerals of friends/ fellow soldiers was becoming a regular way of life. The times at home he began growing angry. Spills, crying, dogs barking… noise brought him to great anger. If I were to say anything he didn't like, his temper always roared. It was hard trying to keep a perfect home, and quiet little boys to appease him.
It was my birthday, 2009.
I haven't heard from my husband all day. Around 9:00 pm, I received a phone call from the hospital in Memphis. A man that worked with J told me that my husband was coming home, and that I was to meet him at the hospital in the next few hours. He apparently got into a fight with a biker gang and had his face kicked in. His face was crushed, and his eye was dropping, requiring immediate surgery in order to save his eye. Thankfully, a friend was readily available to take our children to her home for the night, and graciously brought them to school the next morning.
When I got to the hospital, J was very angry. His heart was very hard. He was very rude, unloving, and bitter towards me. He didn't allow me to comfort him. He didn't draw closer to me during this trial; he made himself distant. He was breaking my heart.
My birthday, 2010.
Again, I haven't heard from my husband all day. That night, around 11:30 pm, I got a call from the Kentucky jail. "Your husband has been locked up. Please call his chief asap and let him know where he is, so they can come and get him out."
(Yeah, sure I will. I think I'll just wait till the next morning before I make that phone call. It'll be better if I just let him sit a bit…)
2011-2012
He was on the road all of the time. Two weeks in, two weeks out was the norm. Every trip away came more drunken calls through all hours of the night, making it very hard to be the mom I needed to be the next morning. I was exhausted.
When the sky grew dark at night, my heart would pound in my chest not knowing what that night would bring.
Sometimes it brought more phone calls from the police. Sometimes it was the voices of women gathering around my husband at a bar. Other times it was J, speeding from the cops at 90 mph - without headlights - going down dark, Mississippi roads running from the cops (this happened more than once). He would literally put me on speaker phone and sit his phone on the dashboard while yelling, "Hold on, baby… the po po can't get me"!
I would just get on my knees, and beg God not to let him hit a telephone pole, or another car.
He would call me after a bar fight, laughing as he ran through the streets from the scene bragging about how the "other guy mouthed off to the wrong person". Fist fights. Knife fights.
Not all nights were as violent. Many nights he'd call me crying from his hotel room. Asking me to "hold" him as he slept. He would hold the phone, as would I, hundreds of miles away.
I wouldn't go to sleep until I heard the sound of his breathing get heavy as he drifted away. There were trips he couldn't function. At night, he was afraid. What started out as "a drink to help sleep at night" now became a way of life - a way to "chase the demons".
Life was becoming increasingly difficult, especially with him being on the road so much.
He would often ask me to come to him. Willingly, I would pack my bags, bring my children to their grandma's, and meet him wherever he happened to be during that time.
Once I got there, the drinking would stop. I was his comfort. With me at his side, he could then sleep soundly through the night. He found comfort in my presence. He found comfort in being home. The problem was that I couldn't be there all the time, and with his job he would be away from his home quite often!
He needed to find comfort in God, alone. God was the only one who would never leave his side; He is the only one who can give true comfort, and peace. Peace can only be found in the one who gives it. "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, nether let it be afraid." (John 14:27)
Again, while he was at home, things were very different. He didn't drink within these walls. Every so often he'd go to the bar rather than coming home after work, but he didn't actually drink here. The alcohol is what brought the demon out, so I am very thankful he left that at work, or for the most part, on the road. Very often it felt as though I were married to two complete people. The husband that was on the road, and the husband I lived with.
There was not much help for J at the time. There was a point (not sure the dates because they all seem to run together after some point) that I talked to his chief. He promised to check on J, but J told him that he "was fine", so that was good enough for him. Another time, I brought it up a level and called his troop chief. I told him J was having a "hard time", and that it seemed he was struggling with PTSD, etc… I explained that his drinking was heavy, and that he was literally going to work drinking Jim Beam. I told him how he locks himself in his hotel room, drinking himself to sleep EVERY TRIP. I told him of the fights, the running from cops. He laughed and said, "Honey, we ALL are fighting our own demons. It's the ways of the job". That was that.
So, I decided to go all the way up the ladder, and I personally called the Command Master Chief (which is kind of a big 'no no'). I asked him if it was okay with him that his men were drinking on the job, even at times while using a loaded weapon??
Long story short… No help, no concern. They all carried a "tough guy/ warrior" persona, and it was "weak" to be anything less. Their expectations of their men were unrealistic. They are men, not robots, yet they were expected to perform as such. No emotion. No fatigued. No regrets. No weakness.
2012 was an answer to a 8 year prayer.
J had an exceptionally difficult trip, and was arriving home that evening. I asked a dear friend if she would please keep the boys for me a night, which she graciously did.
I picked him up from the airport, and as usual, he had been drinking. I brought him home, and we had a quiet dinner. He sobered up, and I asked him if he wanted to watch a movie (I had a little trick up my sleeve). He said yes. I popped some popcorn, and put in the dvd.
The movie was "Courageous". If you haven't seen it, I encourage you to do so. It is a powerful movie, with an emphasis put on fathers. It is a movie with deep conviction, encouraging men to rise up, and be the MAN God has created/called them to be.
The first thing J asked at the beginning of the movie was, "is this one of those cheesy christian movies with bad acting?". He was less than thrilled, but, trying to appease me he rolled with it.
About half way through the movie, he rolled over off of his bean bag, got on his knees right there, and wept. For a good 15-20 minutes he just wept, begging God to forgive him. I rubbed his back in silence, looking up toward the ceiling with a BIG smile on my face. All I could do was thank God!
J acknowledged his sins, repented, and asked God to forgive him.
He always claimed to know the Lord, but that day was different. It was true repentance - true brokeness. J humbled himself and admitted his weaknesses and his failures, and made the decision to turn from them. He accepted God's free gift - forgiveness of sins, bought and paid for by the sinless, precious blood of Jesus. He acknowledged his need for a saviour!
He says that he "felt his burden lift off of his shoulders". He felt completely different… light hearted, happy. He started to read his Bible every day. He read to the boys voluntarily. He brought us out of our home church (which was fairly large), to a very small church where he felt he could be held more accountable. The pastor's burden in this small church (of approximately 20 people) was discipleship to new christians. His growth in the Lord was evident to all around him.
As he grew in the knowledge of God, he also grew in his love for Him. He was thankful for his new found joy.
However, there was still a struggle deep in his heart. Although we were now on a different path, this was certainly not the end of our hardships. The scars of war were still there, and they had to be addressed in their own way.
Though he repented of his sin and wrong doings, he was still holding on to a part of his heart, his pain. He confessed his sins, yet didn't completely surrender his LIFE, his guilt, his fears.
These last eight years were hard, and they were not yet over. The struggles continued, until that "one dark night it all came to a roaring head" (stay tuned!).
Unbeknownst to us, there were also unseen, physical injuries that comes from serving 39 months of war which effected his thinking, his reasoning, and his reactions.
Eight years of pain have built up until this point. The days were long, and hard. Feelings of resentment, and bitterness sometimes welled up inside me. The temptation to leave was sometimes great. There were times I literally imagined myself ripping off his face, and walking away never to look back. There were times I felt as though I hated him. Sometimes the very words that came from his mouth, even his laughter, made me nauseous.
I hated his job, and all it represented. I hated that his leaders did nothing to help him. I hated that they made his "lifestyle" so easy for him; the refrigerators at work were continually stocked with beer. With every reward came a 6 pack.
It was also easy to resent that he was "a hero" to so many. If they only knew what a jerk he was…
Day after day, year after year. Same ol, same ol. Our children were growing older. It was getting more difficult to hide things from them. Is this the father they deserved? Certainly not. Was it fair for him to treat me this way?? NO. He was rude, inconsiderate, harsh, unloving, and unkind. There were times he was verbally abusive. He was an adulterer. He broke my trust.
But PRAISE GOD that he has never asked us to put our trust in man. Not even our husbands! He has simply asked us to trust HIM. HE is the only who will never leave you. HE is the one who will never fail. HE is the one who will never hurt you, or break your heart.
Our human understanding is so flawed… how foolish we are to believe that man/ women will never hurt us.
I had to trust GOD for the path He has chosen for me. I had to TRUST HIM with the husband he had given to me. I had to put ALL my trust in GOD ALONE, not J. I had to surrender my husband to HIM, and just LET GO of our circumstances. I had to BE STILL.
Sure, what he was doing was very wrong. I COULD refuse to allow J to treat me this way. I had every RIGHT to be bitter, and I certainly had every right to be angry! I had the right to leave him, and I don't think anybody would fault me for it.
Or, I could surrender my rights, and trust my God to take care of me. I could trust that He is sovereign, and nothing has happened that He did not allow for my own good. I could trust that "all things work together for good" (Romans 8:28). I could CHOOSE to "in everything give thanks" (1 Thes. 5:18), and to "not worry about anything, but by prayer and THANKSGIVING make my requests be known unto God" (phil. 4:6-7).
If I stood on my rights, then our marriage would inevitably end in divorce. My children would be reared in a broken home for the remainder of their lives, including when they themselves are parents. Their children would, too, be forced to visit various "sets" of grandparents, and broken homes. Step mothers, step fathers, step sisters, step brothers, etc… We would have shared custody - two homes, two bedrooms, split vacations, holidays…
I knew this was not the legacy I wanted my children to have. I wanted to leave a legacy of VIRTUE. GODLINESS. STRENGTH, and VICTORY IN JESUS. I didn't want to teach my children to run when life gets hard. I wanted them to see that GOD ANSWERS PRAYER. I wanted my children to see God's glory through their parent's brokeness more than I wanted to cling to "my rights". I wanted to CLING TO THE PROMISES OF GOD.
God told me I had to TRUST AND OBEY.
Obey what? His word. The way HE instructs us to think, to act, to speak, to love, to forgive. Like J, I too, had to surrender "my ways".
I knew I had to change the way I prayed. I no longer made my husband the length and the focus of my prayers. Yes, I continued to pray for him, but the focus - the petition of my heart - changed from "Lord, change him", to "Lord, change ME…"
Proverbs 14:1 says, "Every wise woman builds her house, but the foolish plucks it down with her hands".
I had a choice… would I be the "contentious woman" that the Bible warns so much about (argumentative, open to debate), or the wise, virtuous (good, pure, gentle, noble, respectable) woman God so highly praises? Would I tear down my house? Or build it up?
To be continued…
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