36. A Little Bit Older, Wiser, and Smarter

"You were the one who gave me life, a reason to wake up and try. 

So why'd you have to die?? 

You were the one who gave me wings, a reason to wake up today and sing, 

The song of your life. 

Oh, we'll miss you, baby boy.  We'll miss you, baby boy." 

~Colleen McMahon, Beautiful Boy

When Jon died, he was 25 years old.  His birthday is August 18th, just 4 days before mine, but in terms of age, we were three years apart.  When I turned 26 and officially became older than Jon was when he died, it felt wrong - so wrong.  I wondered how I could possibly be older than the man who was always just a little bit older, a little bit wiser, and a little bit smarter than I could ever be.


On the day Jon and I first met, the first emotion I experienced was respect because there I was, a brand new Cadet without a clue about how the Army works, and Jon was the commander of the entire ROTC unit.  I often think about how far I've come since that day and how much of it can be attributed to the example Jon set and the things he taught me.  I may now be "older" than him, but I definitely don't feel wiser - just somewhat hardened by the experience of spending the last several years wondering why he's gone and how I will make it through the interminable future without him.

As I was explaining my career track to a fellow officer the other day, I was struck by the unusual and somewhat unconventional nature of the journey that got me to where I am today.  When Jon died, I had already fulfilled the requirements of becoming a commissioned officer, but I had elected to attend law school on an educational delay in order to serve the time I owed the Army in the JAG (Judge Advocate General) Corps.  I was only about three weeks from the end of my first year when I was notified of Jon's death.  Although I was encouraged by family and friends to take my final exams whenever I felt ready, I was unable to focus on anything besides getting out bed and numbly making it through each day, never mind the hours of preparation and mental focus that those awful exams require.  


My decision to enter onto active duty and serve at Fort Bragg was not a popular one, but it's one that I haven't regretted when I reflect back on what I've learned, mostly through making mistakes and promising myself I won't make the same ones again.  During my first few years in the Army, I wasn't sure if I'd ever return to law school and declared adamantly at one point that becoming a lawyer was no longer a dream of mine now that Jon had died and my future was so uncertain.  A year or two and a deployment to Iraq later, however, my plan changed again and I thought I'd maybe get out of the Army and return to law school as a civilian.  In the end, practicality won out; in light of the dismal job market, the lure of the Army's Funded Legal Education Program (which would allow me to stay on active duty while attending school with a guaranteed job as a JAG attorney) turned out to be pretty persuasive.  Plus, in truth, I still wasn't ready to get out - although it would be easy for me to hate and resent the Army for what happened to my husband, I still retain the idealistic feelings of pride and patriotism associated with serving my country during a time of war.  Above all else, it always bothered me to have started and not completed something of the magnitude of a law degree, and I felt I owed it to Jon to finish it since he was always so supportive of my goal of becoming an attorney.


Ironically, one of the key events that triggered my change of heart occurred when I helped to save the career of a Soldier whose story of injustice I believed but later discovered to be questionable and, quite possibly, completely implausible.  The charges against this Soldier originated at his previous duty station and were substantiated by the investigating officer assigned to his case.  The substance of the allegations was serious; this Soldier's future career essentially rode on his ability to poke holes in the investigator's findings.  Given the Army's aggressive reductions in personnel strength, there's a good chance he would no longer be serving in the military if he had been unable to rebut the charges against him.  In a nut shell, recent troops draw-downs overseas have prompted the Army to identify individuals with unfavorable actions on their record and send them home with the dreaded pink slip that essentially says "thanks for playing - have a nice life!"  Bottom line, in order to save his career, the Soldier's rebuttal had to be good.  When this whole dilemma arose, I'd known the guy for a couple of months and he seemed competent and likable enough.  I had no reason to doubt his integrity, and so I listened to what he had to say and helped him to strategize an approach to his rebuttal.  After giving him a couple of days to jot his thoughts down on paper, I revised and rewrote the document to make it as logical, coherent, and persuasive as humanly possible.  As I typed and proofread my work, he sat in the chair next to me and claimed to be fact-checking his timeline of events.  The finished product was solid, and I was hopeful that we would be successful.  We were.  The Soldier was exonerated of all charges and his career was safe.


I felt incredible satisfaction and excitement at the fact that I'd been able to help a Soldier in need.  In the grand scheme of the big Army machine, it's easy to feel that you as an individual are not making much of a difference.  Thus, when there is a tangible, readily identifiable, positive development that results from your efforts, the sense of elation you feel is a high like no other.  That's how I felt when I succeeded in helping to redeem this Soldier's reputation and ensure his future retirement benefits would be safe.  Imagine my disappointment, then, when I later discovered through a series of events that this individual lacked the trustworthiness I had previously attributed to him, not only as a Soldier but also as a person.  To add insult to injury, by the time I came to this realization, I'd already helped to relieve him of a second set of charges!  Although I was never able to confirm that he lied to me about his involvement in either incident, his behavior several months after the fact is highly indicative of a person who is simply incapable of telling the truth.  Some might even call him a pathological liar (Oh my God!  Would you believe it?  I'm sorry to break it to you, folks, but just because someone signs up to join the military - and thereby reaps the reward of all its wonderful benefits - doesn't automatically make them a saint!).  It's sad because he will undoubtedly continue to manipulate other unsuspecting bystanders into helping him when he gets in trouble again in the future.  Again, the irony of the whole situation is the fact that my role in his exoneration is what rekindled my passion for the law and pushed me down the path I'm currently following.  I'd like to say that I won't let future clients fool me the way he did, though I guess I should prepare myself for the fact that I'll deal with other Soldiers who don't tell me the whole truth - that's the reality of the justice system...and of people in general.  On a positive note, however, my unfortunate experience with that one bad apple makes me determined to prevent people like him from avoiding the consequences of their actions, and I'm hopeful that the lessons I've learned over the last few years will help me to be a little more discerning when it comes to judging credibility.


It's funny - for some reason, I used to think my decision to go on active duty would somehow be easier than trying to cut it out in the real world.   When I chose to go this route, I felt incapable of committing to anything or anywhere without Jon, so I figured I'd just let the Army tell me what to do.  I also assumed fellow Soldiers would understand my loss better than others out there in the civilian sector, but, really, it's all the same - the Army is just a magnified version of the rest of society.  As is the case for the rest of the population, there are both good and bad listeners within the military community; some will get it and others won't, perhaps because they don't want to acknowledge the fact that it could just as easily happen to them too.  I've been fortunate enough to befriend some wonderful, kindred souls over my last few years on active duty...and I've also come across plenty of misinformed know-it-alls.  Just the other day at work, for example, we were listening to a presentation on family law issues and the officer giving the briefing emphasized the importance of being sensitive to the needs of clients going through a divorce.  In his words, divorce is the most difficult, stressful, and emotional event a person can possibly go through.  I silently disagreed with him on this point, but then, just to hammer his point home, he continued on to state explicitly that divorce is even harder than losing one's spouse because of the betrayal and disappointment associated with divorce.  It's not the first time I've heard someone make this kind of ridiculous blanket statement.  I wanted to ask him if he's been through either experience himself and could truly make a fair comparison (even though it's like comparing apples to oranges)?  Or if he was just trying (and failing) to imagine something that no amount of imagining can ever really prepare you for?


On my sixth wedding anniversary this past weekend, I didn't even bother to take a shower.  Yeah, I know, it's gross, but I had little energy to do much of anything besides sit, read, eat, drink, and try not to dwell on my husband's palpable absence.  I wondered for the millionth time - selfishly, I'll admit - why it was Jon, of all people, who had to be taken from this world when the best part of our lives was only just beginning.  According to my best friend (with whom I spent this past weekend, trying in earnest to remain distracted), the first words out of the mouth of a mutual college friend when he found what happened to Jon were, "oh, God, why him?  Why them?"  She told me that the love Jon and I so clearly shared was emulated by others as something to aspire to in this life, for it seemed that with that kind of love, anything was possible.  This is why I sometimes get frustrated with my family and friends for telling me that they just want me to be happy again - oh is that all?  Well, I'll get right on that!  Or when they ask me what's wrong when they find me in tears.  Nothing has changed - what's wrong (and what will always be wrong) is that I love and long for Jon.  Things are never going to be the same and there's never going to be "another" Jon, so please stop trying so hard to make these things sound so simple!  To experience the weight of the world without my husband and soul mate is, quite simply, a new kind of "normal" that I neither want nor enjoy.  Yet, it is mine - my new "normal" - and as I continue to get a little older (and perhaps just a little wiser and smarter), I hope that others will accept it too.  In a couple of months, I will turn 28, which will officially make me three years older than Jon was when he died.  Baby, if you can hear me, help me to make it through however many years I have left without you in this life...no matter how old I may become, I will continue to need your guidance and your love - always and forever.