53. Mistakes: Proof You Are Trying

"People say you don't know what you've got until it's gone. Truth is, you knew what you had; you just never thought you would lose it."
~Unknown

Why did this happen to us? To Jon? I know I'm not supposed to ask that question - it's a recipe for disaster - but sometimes I get tired of there being no good answer. Maybe the real question is why can't I stop asking why when I know the response will always be the same.

Last week was one of those weeks for me - a "widow week," as one of my friends calls it. They take so much out of you, both mentally and physically. I couldn't look at a picture of Jon or say his name without getting all teary eyed. I ran for miles and miles at the gym, hoping the happy endorphins would kick in. That seemed to work for a little while...until I started walking back to my car in the parking lot and crumbled all over again. And while I was wandering around an outdoor shopping mall and saw a car with "Just Married" written on the window, I literally told myself out loud to look away. I knew if I allowed myself to linger on it that the tears would come. The whole point of the shopping trip was not really to buy anything but, rather, to distract myself and try to keep my emotions at bay.

Usually it helps with the tears when I go to work, but my latest project made we wonder if there's anywhere I can go to escape the constant reminders of Jon's death.  The assignment dealt with suicide - it was as if my work was taunting me.  All of the regulations and programs referred to in the context of my research - The Army Casualty Program, the Casualty and Mortuary Affairs Office, The Army Fatal Incident Family Brief Program - are entities with which I'm familiar on an overtly personal level. I also read about changes to the requirements for earning the Purple Heart Commendation, which is now being awarded to Soldiers for Traumatic Brain Injury and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder in recognition of the fact that serious head trauma leads to conditions like these. In legitimate cases of brain injury, it's no joke - head trauma is ultimately what caused Jon's death. This recent development made me wonder what my old Commander would have to say the changing nature of the Army's wartime valor system - he once said he thought it was "B.S." that the Combat Action Badge is awarded to Soldiers who get blown up by IEDs. He said that in order for them to have truly been "in action," they would have had to fire back at the enemy after being attacked. I told him - with all due respect, of course - that it's hard to fire back after being blown up if you're already dead.

Ironically, an hour or two after writing that last sentence, I ran into my old Commander here at Fort Leavenworth. After a long discussion with him, I'm happy to say I think we've both grown up a lot and moved onto a better time in our lives over the past few years. But I did want him to know that I'm sorry for the fact that I was such a mess back then; when we parted back at Fort Bragg, we weren't exactly on the best of terms. As a young junior officer, I was angry at the world, pissed at the Army for taking my husband away, and thought I didn't need anyone else's help in dealing with my issues. To say that I wasn't handling my grief well is an understatement, and I think I've done a better job in recent months when it comes to making healthier decisions (side note to family and friends: please don't hestitate tell me if you ever do think I'm losing it or taking things too far. That was another startling revelation I had at work after reading the case file of a guy who wants to be exempted from every tasking under the sun due to his major depressive disorder diagnosis...despite the difficulties grief has brought with it, I still don't want to be "that guy," i.e. the one who's perceived by others as the recipient of special treatment).

Anyway, the point is that I don't have the same lingering feelings of anger that used to fester whenever I'd think back on my relationship with my old Commander. I was in denial about the reality of Jon's death then and, again, I know it now. I just hope that what I've been told about mistakes is true: Mistakes are proof that you are trying. I'm not sure if making more mistakes means you're trying that much harder, but on the bad days, I keep telling myself to try and forgive what I cannot change. I'm well aware that I'm often my own worst enemy and harshest critic. It's been that way since I was a kid; as my younger sister (who has somehow acquired an impressive amount of wisdom over the past few years) likes to say, people don't change - they just become more of who they are. I guess that's something I could stand to remind myself of more often...and that being who I am doesn't mean being perfect all the time.

So. I know I'm not supposed to ask why...but why? Why is my sweet Jon gone? And why am I still here without him? I don't know. I didn't know five years ago and I still don't know now. I just know I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I know I miss him with a deep, aching sense of longing that never seems to subside. And I hope tomorrow is a little easier than yesterday because the thought of another "widow week" is exhausting...