90. Zoo Exhibit

"I find that I stare in wonder at people who have kids and a spouse. It feels a little like being at the zoo, looking through the glass at a little world I can't get to, watching a species so different from my own. I examine them and wonder how they feel. I wonder if they feel lucky to have so much to live for. I wonder if they feel the sense of belonging I miss so much." 

~Cassie, Widow's Voice (May 27th, 2013)

Cassie's words hit the nail on the head - with a simple analogy, she sums up exactly what I can't quite seem to convey when people ask me how I'm handling everything.  When I see happy families and hear people talk about their spouse or kids, it's like rubbing salt in a wound that won't ever heal.  Ironically, my reaction is usually one of two extremes - either I turn away and separate myself from the painful reminder of what I've lost, or I stare, mesmerized by their happiness, and think, "God, I had that once - and now it's gone.  I'm in love with a man I'll never see or touch again in this life.  How can someone be expected to live like that?"

Another author from Widow's Voice wrote about the goodbye she wished she'd been able to share with her husband the last time she saw him.  The problem, of course, is that she had no idea it would be the last time - none of us do.  We don't comprehend the need to cherish every second and every touch until it's too late; only then do we come to the sickening realization that those precious few seconds of physical contact will have to last us a lifetime.  We agonize over every last detail and every last word - did I tell him I love him?  Why didn't I kiss him for longer?  Did he know I felt like the luckiest woman in the world to be his wife?  Why didn't I stop him from leaving?  Would he still have died if I'd done something differently?  There must be something I can do to change the way things played out...

I knew when I said goodbye to Jon that I had good reason to worry because he was getting on a plane to go back to Iraq at the height of the violence, but I convinced myself that there was absolutely no way it could be our last embrace or our last kiss - we still had so much living to do together for it to be over so soon. Now when I look back and relive the moment I saw his face for the last time, I wish I'd never let him go. I don't think I'll ever stop wishing that. He told me in person years before be died that I was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and if I could bring him back for a moment and tell him one thing today, it would be just that. Life ends - love doesn't. I love him more today than I did yesterday and I'll love him a little more tomorrow (if that's possible) than I do today. That's just the way it is. Deep down, I know that no number of tears or "I love yous" will bring him back, but a tiny part of me continues to hold out hope for a miracle.  

Such is the life of a young widow.  Countless people have told me that he would want me to be happy and that he's always with me.  And I get it, okay, I do - hell, I even agree with them.  But what they don't seem to realize is that they have the luxury of detached objectivity.  Offering advice from the outside looking in and living this reality minute-to-minute are two very different things.  In the latter scenario, it's really me who's like the zoo exhibit while the rest of the world passes by, glancing at me from behind the glass with pity.

"Happy" is what I was when he was alive.  There's no going back to the simplicity of how things were after all the emotional trauma and heartache - unfortunately, it's too late for that now.  That may not be what people want to hear, but, as with everything, the truth hurts.  You can create lemonade from lemons, but the bottom line doesn't change.  Some things are just sad, and, quite frankly, I don't always want people to try and make a happy ending out of something that, for me, represents a life-changing tragedy - sometimes, I just want them to say, "Jenna, it's not fair, and he didn't deserve this.  And neither do you.  You lost the love of your life - you have every right to feel sad, alone, and cheated."  And sometimes - well, make that always - knowing that he's with me isn't enough:  I need to feel his embrace and hear him say "I love you," instead of just imagining these things.  I don't think that means I have a bad attitude or that I'm an abject pessimist; it just means I refuse to treat as "okay" something that isn't "okay."  My twenty-five-year-old husband died in a war many Americans seem to have forgotten about, and he was robbed of a long life and the children we couldn't wait to raise together - that's not okay.  It never will be.

They say that losing the love of your life is like a wound that never heals.  It eventually becomes less like a gaping hole and more like a tender scar, but it's always there.  I'd have to agree.  And I'll bite the bullet and play the part of the zoo exhibit if it serves to remind people to be thankful for what they have, because you simply never know when the last time will be the last.  As I've learned the hard way, there are but a few simplistic principles that sum up what matters most in this world:  Love people, not things.  Do good for others, not just yourself.  And last but not least, never miss an opportunity to say "I love you" one last time.  Take it from me - you won't regret it.

89. One-in-a-Million

"Because they've got a broken wing and they're hurt and they're an easy target. And in this case...I think that wing is being fixed. And you gotta make sure if gets mended. And you're getting in the way of that right now, okay? Because she's sensitive and she's smart, she's artistic. This is a great girl and you gotta be respectful of that. Come on. Let me walk you back to your car." 

~SLB

In case there was any doubt, it's hard to have it all...and then lose it.  When it comes to relationships, my view on things is irrevocably skewed. I feel very different in so many ways from most people my age. I'm like a young, inexperienced teenager stuck in a fully grown adult's body. Theoretically, it would be great to be able approach the dating scene with a completely carefree and open mind, but in reality, I've been married, and it's probably too late to turn around and go back to the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed outlook I had when I was 18. Bottom line, I put on a good front, but I'm still pretty fragile.

To further complicate things, I feel incredibly nervous about all the emotional baggage that inevitably accompanies becoming a widow at the age of 22. I realize there's nothing I can do about it, but I do worry it will make it hard for anyone to love and accept me for everything I am. Friends and family always tell me it will just take a really special and understanding person - and that anyone less simply isn't worth worrying about - but the pessimist in me often wonders if that's just something they say to make me feel a little better. They are certainly right about one thing: I usually expect too much from people and continue to take it to heart when they're not who or what I thought they were. Thanks to Jon, my expectations are awfully high, and, to make matters worse, I continue to give the people who disappoint me one too many chances. After twenty-nine years of seeing the best in everyone and hoping like hell they won't let me down, it's hard to figure out how to change gears and completely reverse my strategy.  Either that, or I really just need to stop caring so much about what other people think and do what's best for me.  Or not.  I can't even type those ridiculous words without feeling a pang of guilt.

I've already had my one in a million...and now he's gone.  Is it selfish of me to hope that I might be lucky enough to be blessed with two?  I guess only time will tell.

88. Night Sky

"When you commit U.S. forces, you need to understand that there could be a cost. It is combat, and you need to be ready to stand by those decisions. When you commit U.S. forces to combat, there are bills to be paid." 

~COL (Ret.) Tom Matthews, on Operation Gothic Serpent (Somalia, 1993)

A wise man once said that the world will break your heart three ways to Sunday - that's guaranteed. 13 Soldiers died in Afghanistan this past week...and I've been sitting here worrying about final exams. If that doesn't put things in perspective, I don't know what does. The irony of it almost speaks for itself - a couple of days ago when I mentioned to someone that I was deploying to Afghanistan this summer, they said, "oh, how terrible! But we're pulling out soon, right? And things are a lot better there now too, aren't they?" Yeah, sure, of course - try telling that the to families of those 13 Soldiers. Just because you don't hear about it anymore on the news doesn't mean it's not happening.

For those who know to never say never, it's easy for us to get caught up in the little stuff because it gives us a good excuse to distract ourselves from the big stuff we can't change. Seriously, I sometimes throw a stupid, irrational mental temper tantrum and think to myself, "my husband died...and now I have to deal with something as ridiculous as a speeding ticket or a car problem or a broken phone/etc.?" But the truth is that everything seems ridiculous after your husband dies. And I'm still human. I can forgive myself for being a little childish sometimes as long as I remember at the end of the day what really matters. When I saw that number reported in the news, I literally just started to cry. I didn't know any of the 13 Soldiers, but I do know what their families are going through now and my heart breaks for them. Although I should have been studying at the time, I gave myself a quick emotional time-out to pay tribute to what's really important.

A good widow friend of mine recent told me that she still wishes her husband were here with her more than she wishes she were here. Particularly after this last week, her words struck a chord with me - I don't think I could have said it better myself. It made me think a lot about my own future and the constant uncertainty of everything. I've barely had time to contemplate my upcoming deployment in the midst of the craziness of the Veterans Project launch and final exams, but now it's suddenly sinking in . . . and I hope I don't get there and panic. It's not that I'm afraid of anything happening to me. Why would I be? The worst has already happened, and Jon will be waiting for me in a better place until it's my time to join him there. Plus, I'm a Soldier, and I volunteered for this, knowing all too well what I was getting myself into. People get all wrapped around the axle when it comes to saying these kinds of things out loud for fear of sounding morbid, but believe me, avoiding it is not going to make it go away. We are so good at compartmentalizing the realities we don't want to face. And yet if you're the one who's left behind and you don't take advantage of the opportunity to talk about the "what ifs" with the people you love while you still have time, you'll find yourself wishing you could turn back the clock. The way I see it, if it's my time, it's my time...and besides, I do believe in heaven, and I know Jon is already there waiting for me. What I don't want is to get to over there and have a PTSD-like freak-out moment where I think, "oh God, I can't do this." Fortunately, I do have enough experience at this point to understand how the battle between my brain and heart will usually play out. I've now faced many of the issues I tried to bury for years, and I know the triggers. I just have to be sure I listen to them - they're always there for a reason.

Many years ago, Marcus Aurelius, former head of the Roman Empire, told us all to dwell on the beauty of life. He told us to watch the stars and see ourselves running with them. I hope I can see the stars in Afghanistan. I imagine there might be a night or two (or three or four...) when I look up at the night sky, find the brightest star, and ask Jon to please be with me and tell me what to do. Luckily, he's never let me down yet. And somehow I doubt he's going to start now.

87. To Great Friends

"It's supposed to be hard. If it wasn't hard, everyone would do it." 

~Anonymous

It's that time of year. That time when appearances don't matter and coffee should be administered intravenously. There's even a whole separate "tumblr" for it, so you know that means it's bad (see http://wheninlawschool.tumblr.com/). It's that time when law students brave the toxic fumes of the library, become delirious from lack of sunlight, and collectively endure the suckitude that is finals. Finals have this curious, innate ability to suck all remaining joy and happiness from your soul, leaving you eating cake for dinner and laughing hysterically at buzzfeed articles that aren't really all that funny. Finals are also like the test of a good marriage. People who sequester themselves, turn into self-engrossed hermit crabs, and refuse to communicate or share notes? Bad friends and bad long-term partners. People who embrace the suck with you, post stupid YouTube videos to your Facebook account to make you laugh, and drag you out for a beer after you've spent well over 12 hours staring at a computer screen? Good friends and great life-long partners.

People matter. Period. Other things come and go. People who matter don't. If there's one things this rather painful experience continues to remind me, it's that perspective is key. It's just work, and they're just exams (really, really hard exams given by cruel, Satan-esque professors, but, at the end of the day, just exams). No one is getting shot at and no one's life is going to change as the result of one crappy exam grade. I'd like to think I'm a decent example of that - I don't have the best grades in my class, and I don't spend every free moment of my life studying, but I do have some pretty great friends who would abandon studying for exams in a second if I needed their help. It's these people I've tried to go out of my way to spend as much time with as possible during this rather miserable time before I have to leave for Afghanistan in a couple of weeks. This is my way of saying thank you to those people. Thank you for keeping me grounded in reality and for pushing me to keep at it while reminding me to laugh along the way. Honestly, this ain't shit, people. It's just school. The hard stuff is yet to come. And for me, at least, the hardest thing I've ever had to do has already happened - I live with it every day. We'll get through this, just like everything else, and when all the serious stuff is over and done with, we'll do some serious celebrating. So cheers to another week of suck - and to the wonderful people who will help to get me through it.