Coffee

The church is packed but quiet. Soft music is playing as people file in and try to find an empty seat. I sit in the fourth row. Sherry and her two boys will come in last and sit in the front row. That's how they always do it. The family left behind comes in last and sits in the front row. We are all there to honor Sherry's husband and Jason's dad, Gregory. As I listen to stories of this great man, I see Jason put his head on Sherry's shoulder. Tears flow. Sherry now will have to live her life alone. My mind wanders, and I think, Who will sit in the front row next? It is a horrible thought, and I try to shake it from my head. No, it won't be me! It can't! But I, like Sherry, am an army wife. My husband is in Iraq. He left eight months ago, in February 2003, and here I am attending another funeral.

That February seemed to be years ago, yet it is still so vivid in my mind. Things were heating up in Iraq, and many were asking, "Why is the United States waiting?" It had been twelve years since Desert Storm, and Saddam was still flicking his nose at us. The rumor on the post was that the 101st Airborne Division (our husbands) would go soon, before the war started. But rumors were always flying around the post. Operations in Afghanistan had started just the year before, in 2002, and we constantly heard that the entire 101st would go. Then they sent only one of the three brigades from the 101st to Afghanistan. After Third Brigade left, the rumors bubbled that the rest of the division would soon join them. At that time, Verner, my husband, was working in the division assault tactical operations center (TOC). Verner was told several times that the assault TOC would probably join the fighting in Afghanistan within a month. The rumors were so strong that Verner was issued the desert camouflage uniform, something that was not normally done until deployment orders were issued. Like many of his coworkers, he got his will in order and signed a general power of attorney for me so that I would have it if he went overseas. He never went to Afghanistan, though.

A year later, we were in rumor land again. The talk and the activity on the post seemed to point to deployment. Training exercises were canceled, and family support groups were refined. But no orders were given. Could it be that the leaders on the post just wanted the division to be ready? After all, they were soldiers, and if the country needed them, they wanted to respond quickly and strongly. Everyone knew the 101st Airborne Division was one of the army's best units. The 101st fought against the Iraqi army in Desert Storm, but they were stopped from going into Baghdad and finishing the job for political reasons. We watched the news, hit the Internet, and tried to get a clue about when or if the division would go to Iraq.

I attended a wives' coffee on February 5. The coffee is a long-standing military tradition. Once a month, the officer and senior noncommissioned officer (NCO) wives would gather, but we didn't drink coffee. We normally met in one of the wives' homes, discussed unit and community events, ate a snack, and visited. It was a chance to meet with other wives who shared a common bond—all of our husbands were leaders in the unit and were responsible for the health and welfare of soldiers, on and off duty. I looked forward to the coffees. Verner was an artillery officer, assigned to an artillery battalion, but his new job required him to work directly with an infantry brigade, so I actually belonged to two coffee groups, an infantry group and an artillery group. Verner had encouraged me to join the infantry coffee group, and he made sure my name was included on the membership list. Attending the infantry coffees was not mandatory, but I respected my husband's suggestions, so I went willingly. I had only been to a few of the infantry coffees when I went to one I would never forget.

It was held at Jennifer Warren's house. Jennifer was in her late thirties, seemingly shy, and very family oriented. She was a stay-at-home mom with three preschoolers, and she always had a huge smile on her face. I soon learned that it was safe to call almost any of the wives Jennifer because the guests included Jennifer Franks, Jennifer Cook, and Jen Romaine. There were about twenty wives in the coffee group, but only about ten were present that evening. It was the usual crowd. Terri Seifert brought her three-month-old son, and Roni Roberts came in late after she ensured her month-old son would be okay with her husband.

The brigade commander's wife, Holly Hodges, ran the meeting. Holly was a treasure, very down to earth. She always made me, an artillery wife, feel so welcome. Her husband, Col. Ben Hodges, was in charge of the First Brigade of the 101st, which numbered about 1,500 soldiers. His job carried many responsibilities, but it meant that Holly had many duties as well. She was the wife of a MUC (pronounced "muck"), a major unit commander. The responsibilities of an army officer's wife were similar to those of a politician's wife. For example, the First Lady is looked to for her leadership almost as much as the president is relied on for his. At Fort Campbell, the MUC wives were near the top of the pyramid. A MUC wife was looked to for her strength and knowledge and was often a mentor for the other wives. Occasionally, she had to stand in for her husband, but Holly's main task was to represent all the wives in the brigade when the MUC wives met with other officials. Years ago, officers actually received a mark on their annual rating to reflect how well their wives performed their duties. The work a wife did was all voluntary, but the responsibilities normally fell within her spouse's job. Holly was the best. She was strong, but silly at times, and she didn't wear her husband's rank on her sleeve. It was a great balance.

Holly stood up and said, "Ours guys are going."

The room was silent for a few seconds. Everyone's eyes were frozen on Holly.

"The press release is tomorrow," she continued. "I think we all knew it was coming. I don't have a timeline, but they should be leaving sometime in March."

Why didn't Verner tell me before I left for the coffee? Does he know? I definitely hadn't expected this tonight. Some of the ladies began to ask questions; others talked among themselves. Holly told us that she didn't have any other information but would try to keep us informed.

Terri Seifert got up, her son on her hip, and told everyone she was going to move back home. "I don't think I can do this alone," she said.

I was struck by her comment. I wondered how many others would go back to their families. Should I go home? Back to my family in Florida? No, it wouldn't make sense. Pulling the kids out of school ... moving ... Plus, our lease in Clarksville wasn't up until the summer, and we'd just rented out our home in Florida a few days earlier. The cost would be exorbitant. I guess if I'd just had a baby like Terri, I would have considered it. It probably would have made the separation much easier, but it was going to be a test. Could I do it alone?

Verner had never been deployed before. He had been away for months at a time when he went to the field for training. About ten years earlier, when I'd been in the military, we'd been stationed at different posts. I'd done it on my own before, but now we had six kids—the oldest in high school, the youngest a preschooler. Doubts quickly went through my head. Can I ... really? Yes, I was convinced I would be strong. Since 9/11, I had talked with many wives who were experienced with deployment. Some had husbands who'd left during Desert Storm; others had husbands who recently dealt with the Taliban. Deployment didn't seem too bad. The women always talked about the fun side of living on your own, not being tied down, and the extra money the family earned while their husbands were away. So why did Terri's words stick with me? Terri left, and the rest of us went into the kitchen, ate a snack that Jennifer had prepared, and talked. The coffee ended early, and I headed home with tons of questions on my mind.

At home, Verner was surprised when I told him about Holly's announcement. He had heard the same thing at work, but wasn't sure that it was official. We discussed what might be ahead. We stayed up late, but that was the norm in our home. Once the kids were in bed, there were still so many things to do. But that night, it was little work and lots of discussion. That night I didn't sleep well. My dreams were wild. In one dream, I was fighting in a war, and our kids were there too. Verner was absent. The enemies I was fighting were fierce, and I saw only hate on their faces. They didn't seem to mind that the kids were in the line of fire. I woke up. It took a few seconds to realize that it was just a dream. I moved closer to Verner and closed my eyes, wet now from tears. I fell asleep again.

The next day the news was released to the press, and every local station carried the story:

101st Airborne Division (Air Assault) Receives Deployment Orders, Fort Campbell, KY, February 6, 2003.—The 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault) and associated units stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky, have received orders to deploy to the U.S. Central Command area of operations (AOR) to support possible future operations in the global war on terrorism. The specifics of any such operations are not known at this time.

The report explained that the 101st was an elite force, but the only message I heard was that Verner was going to war.

Return to Duty

Verner—my husband, my love, my partner for life, the father of my children, the spiritual leader of the family—is an incredible man. We met in college. We were cadets at the United States Military Academy at West Point, New York, and were both assigned to the same company, I-4. I was in the class of 1985, and he was in the class of '86. We started dating in my senior year, and I knew then that he was the man with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. After my graduation, I went to the military police (MP) course in Alabama, and we continued a long-distance relationship. We got engaged on Thanksgiving Day 1985, before I left for my first duty station in Berlin, Germany. Verner graduated in May 1986 and went to the field artillery course. I returned to the United States that December for our wedding, and we both headed back to Berlin (on separate planes) to serve in the elite Berlin Brigade.

We wanted a big family, but our plan was to wait for five years. A few weeks before our first anniversary, however, we found out I was pregnant. Our first blessing, Laura Beth, was a late birthday present for Verner, born a day after his twenty-fourth birthday. Almost a year and half later, five months before we moved to our next duty station, the Berlin Wall fell, and we were there. The day they opened the borders, we went to Checkpoint Charlie and the Brandenburg Gate. I will never forget seeing the joy of people crossing into free West Berlin for the first time. It was an incredible experience.

We left Berlin and headed to two separate locations, Verner to another artillery course in Oklahoma, and I to another MP course in Alabama. I took our precious Laura Beth with me, and Verner took our beloved dog, Trooper. Both courses were six months long, and we quickly found out the distance between the two posts was a day's drive. We got together as often as we could, which was only about once a month. Shortly after one of those weekend visits, I took a pregnancy test, which was positive. Our sweet Susan was born nine months later in Oklahoma, while many soldiers were returning from the desert after the first conflict with Iraq. Two years later, while Verner was commanding a field artillery battery, and I was commanding an MP company—battery and company are similar in structure—we were thrilled to discover that I was expecting again. Verner left a couple months later for military-sponsored graduate school at Georgia Tech, while I finished up five more months of my command. I joined him in Atlanta less than two months before our first and only son, Christopher, was born. That move also marked the end of my military career; I became a stay-at-home mom. Lindsay was born eighteen months after Christopher. Another move and ten months later we were expecting a fifth blessing. At that time, while the military was still in the process of thinning out the forces, we decided to leave the army and settle down—somewhere—to become civilians.

It was scary to leave the service and the security of a job. We settled down in Orlando, Florida, since my family was there. After three months of looking for a job, Verner started working for the "big mouse" as an industrial engineer. Alison was born, Verner moved to a position inside EPCOT, and we started building a house. Before we moved into our first home, we were expecting again. Number six, Amanda, was born exactly fourteen months after Alison, and only one month before our oldest, Laura Beth, turned ten. We were blessed with six beautiful and healthy children.

Disney was a great company to work for. We had a silver pass that allowed us to get into any of the parks almost every day of the year free of charge. In addition, employees received a good discount on all the merchandise Disney sold, which was great with six young kids in the house. When one of the new cruise boats was being tested, we won a free cruise for eight people. Once we received a free night's stay at one of the premier resorts; the benefits went on and on. Verner's specific job, however, was difficult. He worked different shifts on each day; by the end of the week, he was exhausted. Holidays and summers were Disney's busiest days of the year, so we often celebrated without Verner's presence. As a front-entrance manager, Verner had to deal with guests who were trying to scam the company, and others who had been tricked into buying invalid tickets. He usually dealt with the customers who were upset or complaining about something, and Verner did not enjoy that aspect of his job.

One of the biggest challenges for Verner when he moved from a military to a civilian job was that he was no longer responsible for his subordinates' lives after work. He had to be told several times that when his staff clocked out, his influence ended. Verner has always been concerned about people; in the military, leaders are responsible for their soldiers' health and welfare, 24/7. He didn't meddle in his soldiers' lives, but he did know, and sometimes had to get involved, when soldiers got in trouble or needed help when off duty. This made it frustrating for him to ignore the personal problems of his Disney coworkers. One woman had to move with her husband and four girls into a homeless shelter. This upset Verner so much that we agreed to open our home to them. We had ten children under the age of eleven in our home for about a month, until our church was able to find a house for them. It turned out to be a fun time, and I know my kids benefited from the experience and remember it fondly.

Verner actively looked for another job. He was also taking a military course to stay current and competitive as a member of the reserves. One of the active-duty guys told him that the army was looking for officers who had left the service and were willing to return to active duty. The army had thinned the forces out too much during the downsizing of the 1990s. Verner submitted a packet and was surprised when he was accepted. The army allowed us to pick the date and the post to return to, or to turn down the opportunity altogether. We knew if Verner returned to active duty it would be life altering for the entire family. We had lived in Orlando for four years, and most of our kids did not remember when we were in the military.