There is Beauty in Brokenness
There is Beauty in Brokenness
I do not consider myself broken, yet there are still pieces of me that are missing. Three years ago, my heart shattered into too many pieces to count. I couldn’t see my way through the darkness and it hurt to even breathe. I couldn’t see a day when those sharp shards would bring anything more than piercing pain. I suppose that in my brokenness there was some kind of pull to the macabre for many people looking in. While I couldn’t imagine a day when I would or could trust myself and when I could have a life totally separate from my Phil, I recognized something today.
The broken pieces are slowly knitting together. The pieces will never fit the same again. There will be gaping holes in some places, but the whole will stand stronger and more sure because in the brokenness strength is forged. The default setting of total loss of hope and dreams of a future is that there is a choice. The choice is to give up or to find a way through the flames. I chose to fall into my faith and I truly believe that made all of the difference.
Today, I came back to my lodging room after running. I am staying there this weekend due to how many showings my house is scheduled for. As I approached my car, an elderly stooped man was looking at my plates. As I stretched, I heard he and his wife talking about the plates and wondering who belonged to the plates. I decided to introduce myself. As we talked, the man asked if I earned the plates from my father’s service. I told him Phil’s story. He began to choke up. You see, he served in the Korean War and he had seen so much death and he had lost so many of his “brothers.” It was hard for him to hear that so many brothers were being lost today.
I choose to tell Phil’s story because his life was remarkable, yet he didn’t recognize it. Telling his story is never about me, nor do I want it to be about my own selfishness. I simply want to honor the man who stood for so much. There is strength and healing in sharing Phil with the world. He is remembered and my military family stands strong with me. Instead of being broken, I am bent, gnarled, and shattered in places, but I stand stronger. My roots reach deep to withstand the storms. There is a simple beauty in the choice to reach through the raging battering billows.
In This Dress
In This Dress
I have a dress that sits in the back of my closet. I wear it on special occasions. This dress is special to me not because it is anything stunning to look at, but because of what it has come to represent. To understand the dress and its impact on me, one must look at why I bought the dress…rather, who I bought the dress for. I bought the dress on a whim while my Phil was deployed. I bought this navy polka dotted dress just after I booked what would have been our first trip ever without any of our children. We planned to meet in Venice in October 2011 for Phil’s two week R and R. I made plans to have pictures taken in the dress. I planned to send the pictures for Father’s Day with the simple message, “I will be the girl in the polka dotted dress stepping into your arms come October.” Instead, I wore the dress to his funeral.
In this simple dress, I find bravery and the strength to face down my fears. I find a quiet confidence because instead of reminding me of what I no longer have, it reminds me of what I did have and it reminds me that I cannot let the assassin have me too. My knees may shake, but in this dress, I find the new Linda. I have worn this dress for many interviews, days that poke my heart, my dad’s funeral, and today, I donned this dress to begin a new job. This job is not a job I ever would have considered prior to Phil’s death, and this job required me to return to school for another degree, but this job is the job the dress gives me the push to do because I have changed.
Perhaps it is a choice or a shift in paradigms, but the dress that once represented reconnecting with a man that I will love until my dying breath now shines for the Linda he always knew was there. Today, I donned “the dress” to celebrate my growth and the broken heart that led me to get another degree so that I can work with my military family and help so that maybe some where, some how, I can put a bandaid on someone’s brokenness. Before Phil was killed, I could never imagined standing in front of thousands, being on television numerous times, being published, and being asked about military matters. I loved teaching—still do—but right here, right now, this dress represents the fire that is blazing within. It is deeply humbling to see the woman I am becoming. I still do not feel comfortable in my own skin. I still feel like the girl who was content to live in the shadow of her military soldier and her five children.
In a strange twist of fate, I have become a better version of the girl I once was. I trust myself more and I value my relationships more. My dreams ended on 27 April 2011, but the dreams that have risen from the ashes have given me a voice and vision into meaning making. Where I once could not see myself as anything but as a wife and as a mother, I have become a simple mouthpiece for military loss and personal growth through that loss. The dress has become a beacon of light during some of my darkest moments because each dot represents the tears of my broken heart, but the sea navy blue shines with fire tested iron. I may not want to do some things. I may not feel equipped to do other things, but in this dress, I can do anything.
In This Dress
I have a dress that sits in the back of my closet. I wear it on special occasions. This dress is special to me not because it is anything stunning to look at, but because of what it has come to represent. To understand the dress and its impact on me, one must look at why I bought the dress…rather, who I bought the dress for. I bought the dress on a whim while my Phil was deployed. I bought this navy polka dotted dress just after I booked what would have been our first trip ever without any of our children. We planned to meet in Venice in October 2011 for Phil’s two week R and R. I made plans to have pictures taken in the dress. I planned to send the pictures for Father’s Day with the simple message, “I will be the girl in the polka dotted dress stepping into your arms come October.” Instead, I wore the dress to his funeral.
In this simple dress, I find bravery and the strength to face down my fears. I find a quiet confidence because instead of reminding me of what I no longer have, it reminds me of what I did have and it reminds me that I cannot let the assassin have me too. My knees may shake, but in this dress, I find the new Linda. I have worn this dress for many interviews, days that poke my heart, my dad’s funeral, and today, I donned this dress to begin a new job. This job is not a job I ever would have considered prior to Phil’s death, and this job required me to return to school for another degree, but this job is the job the dress gives me the push to do because I have changed.
Perhaps it is a choice or a shift in paradigms, but the dress that once represented reconnecting with a man that I will love until my dying breath now shines for the Linda he always knew was there.
In a strange twist of fate, I have become a better version of the girl I once was. I trust myself more and I value my relationships more. My dreams ended on 27 April 2011, but the dreams that have risen from the ashes have given me a voice and vision into meaning making. Where I once could not see myself as anything but as a wife and as a mother, I have become a simple mouthpiece for military loss and personal growth through that loss. The dress has become a beacon of light during some of my darkest moments because each dot represents the tears of my broken heart, but the sea navy blue shines with fire tested iron. I may not want to do some things. I may not feel equipped to do other things, but in this dress, I can do anything.
In This Dress
I have a dress that sits in the back of my closet. I wear it on special occasions. This dress is special to me not because it is anything stunning to look at, but because of what it has come to represent. To understand the dress and its impact on me, one must look at why I bought the dress…rather, who I bought the dress for. I bought the dress on a whim while my Phil was deployed. I bought this navy polka dotted dress just after I booked what would have been our first trip ever without any of our children. We planned to meet in Venice in October 2011 for Phil’s two week R and R. I made plans to have pictures taken in the dress. I planned to send the pictures for Father’s Day with the simple message, “I will be the girl in the polka dotted dress stepping into your arms come October.” Instead, I wore the dress to his funeral.
In this simple dress, I find bravery and the strength to face down my fears. I find a quiet confidence because instead of reminding me of what I no longer have, it reminds me of what I did have and it reminds me that I cannot let the assassin have me too. My knees may shake, but in this dress, I find the new Linda. I have worn this dress for many interviews, days that poke my heart, my dad’s funeral, and today, I donned this dress to begin a new job. This job is not a job I ever would have considered prior to Phil’s death, and this job required me to return to school for another degree, but this job is the job the dress gives me the push to do because I have changed.
Perhaps it is a choice or a shift in paradigms, but the dress that once represented reconnecting with a man that I will love until my dying breath now shines for the Linda he always knew was there.
In a strange twist of fate, I have become a better version of the girl I once was. I trust myself more and I value my relationships more. My dreams ended on 27 April 2011, but the dreams that have risen from the ashes have given me a voice and vision into meaning making. Where I once could not see myself as anything but as a wife and as a mother, I have become a simple mouthpiece for military loss and personal growth through that loss. The dress has become a beacon of light during some of my darkest moments because each dot represents the tears of my broken heart, but the sea navy blue shines with fire tested iron. I may not want to do some things. I may not feel equipped to do other things, but in this dress, I can do anything.
The Measure of a Man
When I met Phil, he was a young airman who had just days earlier had celebrated his 21rst birthday. Our youngest child is now older than his dad was then. At the time, I was broken. I had just got out of a marriage in which I was not the person I wanted to be and I no longer trusted military people or men. I had my eyes on a future of status and success which was possible because I was waiting for a slot to the military medical school. When this young muscle bound man walked into my pool, I wanted nothing to do with him. In fact, I was sassy and emphatic as I turned him down over and over again. He asked me out 19 times before I said yes on the 20th time. What changed my mind?
Phil came to the pool one day when I had my three children. I was playing with them and talking. He came over and spent all day with a 3, 4, and 5 year old. He had no exposure to young children, but I saw something gentle and kind. I saw the same thing when he volunteered to coach the Special Olympics with me. He was not comfortable, but his soft heart made every swimmer love him best of all. Those events led me to say yes when he told me that he would never again ask me out if I said no on the 20th date offer. We eloped four months later. It wasn’t easy. He was simply the best father a child could ask for which then made him the best husband a woman could have.
Phil gave up a lot to be with me. His mother never forgave him and it led to a lifetime estrangement. She thought I had married him for his money; he was an airman first class at the time. She assumed he married me because I was good at sex because I had three children after all. Because we were at a small base, people gossiped and assumed many things that were not true. Within the walls of our simple abode, we lived minimally giving what we could to Patrick, Joshua, and Emily. We gave up every luxury as we invested time and what we had into our children because that was how Phil viewed my children. They weren’t mine, he wanted to be their father.
They did not make it easy. Once Patrick spent two hours in the car kicking the back of the seat of the car laughing. Phil did not know what to do. When he came home to me, he was so stressed out, he went to bed for hours. Even doubting his parenting skills, he still invested time in them. He took them every day to the park to play. In the chasing and laughing, he broke through. He became dad. The day that Alex was born and the children came to live with us full time, Patrick took Josh and Emily aside. He insisted that they call Phil dad so that Baby Alex wouldn’t call him Phil. Patrick was on his siblings when they forgot and soon he was just dad.
Being “just dad” was the role he was born to. He was not blessed with parents that set an example for parenting, yet he thrived on being loved—and not just by me. There is something magical in the way a child loves and trusts a good parent and Phil recognized the gift of being more than the label. He bore the burdens of being a parent, also. He never complained about eating rice and beans six days a week, not having cable, clothes, going out, etc. He just simply looked for ways to make life easier. He delivered newspapers and went tdy to help our children have the things they wanted—like sports and scouts, field trips, and the occasional hamburger. He didn’t believe in handouts, thus when our children were little, it was about family picnics, family walks, popcorn nights, reading together, and board games. Phil would patiently explain time and time again that zero did not mean a space needed to be counted. He laughed when one of our boys threw the cards every time he lost. He knew what to say. He simply thrived in the role of being dad.
Phil’s humor shone in his parenting. Once he and Alex and Tim went on a Freezerie camp-out with the Boy Scouts. When they returned home, I heard hollering to come and see Tim’s foot. I ran up the stairs and I could see a black and purple foot across the house. I grabbed my purse and ran to the car. As we drove down the street, I looked at Phil and Tim who could barely contain the laughs. They had painted tim’s foot with markers and shoe dye.
Phil came up with a family motto that we can all repeat verbatim . He uttered these words from the time the children were about five: “Don’t quit. don’t fail. Don’t get anyone pregnant (or “don’t get pregnant”). The children would roll their eyes and mock Phil, but they all laughed.
Poor Emily. As the only girl, she had to put up with the most. Phil would sneak into movie theaters to see if she and the boy she was dating were behaving, he would wait on a bench with the dog for her to come home, and he gave every boy the speech. He told her repeatedly that she was special and worth a whole lot of camels (inside family joke). He once had an operator in Utah break a connection so that he could check on his little girl “who might be in trouble.” He checked on her more than she will ever know when she was at USAFA and he loved that she filled the house with her friends while at the Academy. When we moved her senior year of high school, Emily gave up so much. She could have stayed in Utah, but Phil told her that he would miss her too much. He also looked forward to walking her down the aisle of her wedding. When she was 14, we went to Majorca between his OTS and tech school. He insisted on buying jewelry for her wedding. Yes, she will one day have the gift her father picked out long before her wedding and his death.
As the children grew up and the problems became larger and more out of his control, Phil often felt helpless. He wept when Josh destroyed his knee because he knew what wrestling had done for Josh. He wept when we had a cancer scare with Alex…and he wept when he dropped each child off at the Service Academy or at DU. He felt like he wasn’t done being a parent, either. On our 22nd anniversary, he took me to our restaurant in Manitou Springs. He talked to me and asked me if I would consider adopting two more children. He felt that we were strong as a couple because of how united we were as parents. He felt that we finally had the resources to give children love and resources. We were well into the process when Phil deployed. We were waiting for the Vietnam adoptions to reopen so that our two would look like their cousin, Nate. We even had the names picked out—Hope and Grace. Readers know how the story ended, but Father’s Day brings a myriad of emotions because Phil did spend his whole adult life being dad and sacrificing without complaint. I wanted him to have time and things for himself, but I have come to a realization. Phil got what he wanted and what he did not have growing up. He got a stable life filled with activity, noise, companionship, and love. I am thankful that each and every one of our children witnessed a man loving his wife well and experienced a man giving unconditionally and fully to five children.
The Decision
The last 38 months has been the greatest period of growth in my life, but it has also been the most difficult trek undertaken. This track isn’t over a physically demanding rocky crag, and most of it is hidden from probing glances, but I would have chosen to crawl on bloodied knees up the unending mountain over the journey I am on. There are no roadmaps or formulas for grief. People assume they know from their own experiences, but the internal battles are all mine. Fear often consumes me as I consider my options, my journey, and my tomorrows. This week, I made a decision that has caused me the most distress since Phil died because I know that I am giving up on something I love doing, leaving the best boss I have ever had, and I am opting to establish roots for the long term somewhere I have never even been.
One of the difficult components of a military widows journey is that after years of being married, home is a person versus a place. In the immediate aftermath of the traumatic unexpected death, comes the realization that decisions must be made quickly. I was told that I had one year to decide where to move. If we had been on base, and we always had been until Colorado, I would have been forced out of base housing. If I had children in school, they would have lost a parent, athletic and activity eligibility, their social network, and other important adult connections. I only had myself to think about. I was too old to want to go home to my parents In Boise, ID where I hadn’t lived since the 80’s when I went to Boise State, and I was too young to go live with my children living all over the world with the military. I loved Colorado, but I could not deal with my own grief, let alone everyone else’s at the time. I fled to Germany where I bought myself some time to think about where I wanted to live. I knew that Germany wasn’t forever; it was a stopping ground to catch my breath.
It was in Germany that the growth started to emerge into a passion and into a voice. I wrote as a way to process my journey. My writing was never about a book or to impress anyone. I just felt so alone. I felt that nobody understood what I was going through except other military widows. I no longer fit any where. I was too young to have buried a husband the way I buried mine. I had seen my husband’s body broken to the point that it couldn’t be fixed enough for an open casket and so that it hurts to think about even now. I had to deal with the media from minute one never realizing that I would get a voice and find purpose by speaking about military loss and my military brothers and sisters who carried me then and who carry me now. I never realized that I would change and that my passion and life work would change so dramatically—that I would change to the point that I can barely recognize the girl peering back in the mirror.
I have always been a simple girl who didn’t need or want for much outside of faith, my Phil, my children, and running. I thought I knew what my future looked like and I wanted for nothing more. Something shifted when Phil died. I spent so much time terrified and alone. As time has slowly inched forward, I have become more confident in my decisions and I have developed dreams apart from Phil. A year ago, I went to a course with the military that ignited a fire in me. I had applied for another master’s degree prior to that course, but I was stuck in a state of inertia and pity parties. When the course reignited that flame to speak on recovery, resiliency, and to coordinate resources and to educate on unique military stressors to the member and to the families, I took a step of action. I started school while I was still in the course.
For one year, I have worked full time, gone to school full time, and run. It left little time for anything else, yet I realized that when school was done that I would want the job in the area and that I would want a life outside of work. I never expected to be given the opportunity to do my job on base, but miracles happen and I have been doing the job since December. It is the job I have been called to do the past 38 months. I love teaching PE and English, and I think I am pretty good at both, but never have I felt the need for me to do something as much as I feel compelled to the Community Support Coordinator job. Part of me yearns to run away and to teach so that I can have my summers and holidays off, but I know where my biggest reach is—I see firsthand the impact of deployments, moves, draw downs, etc on families and on the military member. I am in a unique position because I have lived this first as a spouse of an enlisted man with five young children, then as a officer’s wife, now as a mother of military children, civilian worker, and as a Gold Star wife….I know this walk because it is who I am and what I have lived. I have unique qualifications that people gravitate towards because our circles overlap on some front.
I live in MA right now. I have never felt like I fit here. Some of it were the events of last spring, but more than that, I just haven’t found people to hang out with. When I had to spend the night in the hospital in November, I realized how alone I was here. It scared me. It made me wonder how long it would be before someone missed me if I didn’t show up to work. My children live flung all over the world. I do not expect people to include me or to want to be my friend, but I need something more. I have been content because I was detailed (temporarily given) the job I am being called to do. I work for an amazing boss who is patient and genuinely nice. He teaches me and never makes me feel like I have failed. He has been supportive on every front and he took an interest in me enough that when he asks if I am doing okay, I know he means it. Many of you know how rare this is. It is also what makes the decision to leave harder.
I finished school and the job is what this fire is about. I have been watching the job vacancies for a year. There haven’t been any in this position until now. I was told that I didn’t qualify at my level here, thus I applied for the job in South Carolina which at the time was the only job like this open. When my name was referred to the selecting officials, I was up front about it here. The job finally opened here. Meantime, the job in South Carolina closed and my references were checked. I never had an interview. I was offered the job last week with two days to decide. I had prayed that God would give me the job he wanted first never expecting to be hired without an interview. I had to decide based on a concrete job offer versus a “hope to get and hope that nobody bumps me in the priority system” here. When I called the boss in SC, he said the one thing that essentially swayed my decision, “We need you here. We need your story and the way you speak about it.” I never interviewed,thus the information must have come from the internet.
I have never been to Charleston and by taking this job, I am walking away from my dream of teaching PE in CO, a boss that I love, and a condo that I love. As someone wryly pointed out, there is nothing about family or friends or a life outside of work. I want that and have prayed three years for connections. This person knows me from an online group. It was then that my heart knew. it is time to close my eyes and cannonball into the unknown unchartered waters. I am afraid, but I am ready for the challenge. The tears are for what I leave behind and for the closing of the last doors of the remnants of my old life.
ambardpl 
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