Photo and article by guest writer Amy Lloyd

Thank you, Flight 93: You died so that I might live.

It was 8:30 a.m. on the morning of September 11, 2001, and it started out just like a typical day in Congressman John Thune’s Congressional office on Capitol Hill. Lights still off, the aroma of coffee and the sound of the copy machine firing up for the busy day ahead, we soaked in the quiet before the storm of the phones ringing off the hook or the latest crisis while reading legislative briefings and writing House floor vote recommendations for the Congressman.

The office opened at 9 a.m. with a staff meeting to discuss the day’s legislative schedule, constituent meetings and press calls. A few minutes before the meeting was to start someone yelled, “Turn on the TV! The World Trade Center is on fire!” Instead of turning on our own desk TV’s, we rushed into the Congressman’s office and watched the news coverage together to discover the North Tower was struck by a plane. Was it an accident or was it a terrorist attack were the questions being asked by Congressman Thune and my fellow staffers, by the reporters on TV and by Americans all over the world. By 9:03 a.m., we knew the answer to the question when we watched a second plane hit the South Tower on live cable news.

We tried the best we could to brief the Congressman on the day’s schedule. When we were almost done, my husband Matt called the main line of the office insisting to talk to me. He was across the Potomac River near the Pentagon in Arlington, VA, to get our car serviced. “Great,” I thought to myself, “It’s probably a hefty repair.” When I got to the phone he was panicked.

He saw a low-flying plane overhead, felt the ground shake and heard the impact of Flight 77 crash into the Pentagon. “Evacuate! Get out of there! Just. Get. Out!”

The TV coverage changed to split-screen live video of the attack on America. We decided as a staff we needed to figure out where to go and what to do. The problem was no one knew. My clearest memory of 9/11 to this day was our legislative director on the phone with the U.S. Capitol Police yelling, “What do you mean you don’t know where to send the Congressman? What do you mean you don’t know what we’re supposed to do?”

We decided to evacuate to our chief of staff’s Capitol Hill apartment a few blocks away. The Capitol Complex was formally evacuated shortly thereafter. When we arrived at his place, we learned of the plane that crashed in Somerset County, PA. Some of us tried to make phone calls, but everything was jammed with all of Washington trying to call loved ones. The entire city was under evacuation.

Congressman Thune’s wife, Kimberley, was with us. She rarely travelled to Washington, DC, but she was providentially with us on that day and provided a calming presence for us all. The press secretary’s email and voicemail was full from reporters in South Dakota wanting to speak to Congressman Thune. She set up a conference call and while he spoke to the reporters we all sat there listening, still in disbelief.

The following days revealed that there was a good chance Flight 93, the plane that crashed upside-down almost 600 miles per hour into the Somerset County field in Pennsylvania, was headed for the U.S. Capitol, where I was working.

In the immediate wake of the tragedy, we experienced a coming-together of Americans more than I have experienced in my short lifetime. Americans returned to churches and temples and prayed for our nation. Men and women felt moved to join the U.S. Armed Forces to protect our country and fight for freedom. Republicans and Democrats worked together like no other time in contemporary politics. Amidst the tragedy and the mourning, there was a sweet fellowship of solidarity.

Every year on 9/11, I thank God for the ordinary people that courageously acted to prevent Flight 93 from making it to the Capitol.

But, as the years go by, I wonder if the tragedy of the day has become lost. In recent years, I returned to school to study music. As a graduate student last year I sat in a classroom on 9/11 surrounded by students 20 years younger than me. The weather was exactly how it was on 9/11, a beautiful morning. The professor lectured on instrumental music of the seventeenth century while I acted like I was paying attention, but instead was deep in thought doing the math on how old my classmates were on 9/11 and if they even remember it. I decided that day to take our children to the Flight 93 National Memorial as soon as we could make it happen.

This past July we finally visited the Memorial. As we approached the visitor’s center, there was a Park Ranger at a small exhibit explaining the various areas of the park. She asked after her short speech if there were any personal stories that people wanted to share from 9/11. I told them that I was in the Longworth House Office Building on 9/11. A woman looked at me and said, “Those people saved your life.” I could barely speak, “I’ve always wanted to come here.”

We walked to the overlook before going into the visitor’s center. On the glass of the balcony is the quote; “A common field one day. A field of honor forever.” Matt asked me if I wanted to take a photo, but I couldn’t do it. This was hallowed ground. It was a powerful moment standing there looking down the hill at the boulder that is at the crash site.

I just kept thinking over and over: “They died so that I might live. They died so that I might live.” Seventeen years of life and living since September 11, 2001 flashed before me in my thoughts in a matter of minutes as I stood in that spot.

I realized maybe my children might not have been born had the plane made it to the Capitol. And, as a Christian, one who believes that Jesus Christ, the son of God, died so that I might live, I realized it was the most poignant symbol of my faith that I could ever experience on this side of eternity.

On Sunday, the Flight 93 National Memorial dedicated its new Tower of Voices chime structure including a wind chime to represent each of the 40 lives of the passengers and crew on Flight 93. Their voices will not and cannot be forgotten.

Thank you Flight 93: You died so that I might live.

You died so that 35,000 Americans at the U.S. Capitol might live.

You died so that America might live.

We will never forget.

This article is written by Amy Lloyd. Amy served as a legislative assistant for three Members of Congress from 2000-2006. She is now a singer, speaker and teacher based out of Southern Maryland near Washington, DC. Follow her on Twitter and Instagram: @Lloyd_Amy_. For bookings, go to www.amylloydmusic.com.

The post Thank You, Flight 93. You died so that I might live. appeared first on Stories of Our Boys.

Saddam was captured on the outskirts of Ad Dawr, where most of Saddam’s family lived. You will see Ad Dawr spelled different ways in different places.

*****This post is part of the Real Army Wives of Fort Hood series. A new chapter is published each Monday. (Well, I aim for Monday..) Click here to read last week’s chapter: The Only One Without Mid-Tour Leave*****

On the morning of December 13th, 2003,

I was awakened by a phone call from Alan’s parents. Remember, they watched the news constantly, while I only tuned in occasionally.

“Turn on the news, April!” Nonna urged.

I sat up in bed and turned on the little 19 inch that I kept in my room to watch Lifetime shows at night.

I found a news show, and there it was. The news was on every network and cable news channel there was. “Saddam captured by US forces!”

“That’s where Alan is!!” Nonna explained excitedly, “Ad Dwar!! He gets to be there for this!!”

“Oh, wow, you’re right. That’s a small town, so that’s EXACTLY where Alan is!!”

Everyone was so excited, especially since no one had had much hope. After all, it’d been 2 years since 9/11, and they had yet to find Osama bin Laden. If they couldn’t find bin Laden, maybe Saddam would prove just as difficult.

Thankfully, that proved to not be the case. Do you remember watching all of this on t.v.? Well, special forces soldiers came in and found and extricated the ex-king, but Alan’s unit, 4-42 Field Artillery was there to support them, so Cloe’s husband and Kayla’s husband were involved too. And really this victory belonged to all of 4th Infantry Division. This provided some much needed excitement and encouragement!!

Alan and other members of his unit went over to the hole and took photos the next day.

Saddam Hussein was discovered on December 13th, and for you youngsters, Saddam Hussein was the President of Iraq from 1979-2003. He was a notorious figure due to his invasion of Kuwait in 1990 and genocide of groups of Kurds and Shiites.

editor’s note–Tikrit not Tikrmt. That was an autocorrect error as I retyped this letter since Alan’s actual letter was too faded to photograph.

These photos were all taken on December 15, 2003.

However, our camera was off a month, so the time stamp says 1/14/2004. But in 2004, the hole was cemented over to prevent it from becoming a monument.

Alan, standing by the air pipe to the Saddam hole

Saddam was hiding in a rural area, close to the Tigris River. He was living in a hut, with a trail that led through an orange grove to the river. The hole that we all saw on the news was his hiding hole. How much of the time he spent in the hole vs. the hut, I do not know.

Entry way to where Saddam hid out

The famous styrofoam covering. The rug that had covered the styrofoam is removed.

It was a very thick styrofoam lid.

We ran this photo in several publications in the U.S. following the capture.

Let’s take a tour of the famous hole and hut, shall we?

Going in

As you can see, the hole had an L type shape to it.

You can see the air pipe.

The hole was walled in concrete.

Doesn’t it seem like this bed shelf beside the hole would be a giveaway? But I suppose Saddam had many many friends and family members covering for him and taking care of him here.

The bedroom…..not very presidential, eh?

Not the ritziest part of town…a far cry from his palaces..

You can see where Alan labeled his bedroom and kitchen in Saddam’s hut.

a peek into the presidential hide-out kitchen, complete with bug spray and dusty shelves..

Note: This is how it looked AFTER being ransacked by American soldiers for intelligence gathering.

pathway through the orange orchard to the river

I asked Alan a few burning questions:

“How many times do you think you walked super close to the notorious Saddam Hussein and never even knew it?”

Maybe once.

“Did you ever go to that orange grove before?”

We’d been within 20 feet of it, but only once, and only a week before that. I’d never been to the back of the grove.

“Had you ever seen that shack?”

I had never noticed it.

path to Saddam

Looks like a beautiful pathway, doesn’t it?

!

Locals Protested.

This is Saddam’s hometown, so yeah, of course they came out to protest this event. This was the whole crowd. Alan said he went into his base, and saw soldiers gathering around the t.v.

“They are making this look like a huge protest of 100s of people on t.v., when really it’s like 50 people.”

The soldiers often became disenchanted with American media coverage of this war.

Alan said that just the day before he’d talked to this boy in front and given them school supplies. Now here was the boy protesting. Alan looked at the boy like, “What??” And he said the boy just smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

All the school books were riddled with pictures of Saddam Hussein; he was a little less than humble! In hindsight, Alan said there were some older males in back that were putting the school teachers and students up to the trouble by tearing out pictures of him and just causing a raucous to just see how the Americans would handle it.  The armed guards in front of Alan were of the Iraqi Civil Defense Corps. These were newly trained males by allied forces such as Alan’s unit, to handle general security tasks alongside our troops and the new Iraqi government.

The timing of this capture was perfect. It gave us all a sense of progress and victory and hope going into Christmas, for everyone involved.

It was such a surreal thing to be closely involved in an event of international importance like this. I remember being very aware of the enormity of it all.

And what became of Saddam Hussein?

Well, he was tried by 5 Iraqi judges as part of a special tribunal. He was found guilty of the 1982 Dujail massacre, and he was sentenced to hanging. The hanging was carried out in December 2006, 3 years after his capture.

For more information on Saddam Hussein’s history and capture, you can read these articles which were also my sources.

Saddam Hussein Trial Fast Facts–CNN

Seeking Justice in Dujail–BBC

The post Inside the Saddam Hole, December 2003 appeared first on Stories of Our Boys.

I love telling you the sweet, happy stories every week, but the truth is not everyone’s story is either of those things. When one tells a story, one must tell the whole entire story. I would be amiss to leave this part out.

Shelby, the duplex neighbor I mentioned here, was still in this downward spiral. Her husband, Dylan, was overseas just as the rest of ours’ were, but she’d taken up with this Muslim man. His car was always parked in her driveway, so Shelby wasn’t bothering to hide this.

Meanwhile, she was still cussing her husband out on the phone, as well as occasionally cussing out the new boyfriend, and this was all Shelby’s general pattern so it didn’t feel like anything new to me.

One time Katherine, my other next door neighbor, asked me, “April, what about Shelby, are you not going to try to save her?” Now Katherine was saying this half-sarcastically anyway, as she had sworn off all “organized religion” for herself.

I just looked at her with big eyes.

“Nooooo, no. I am not about to deal with that level of crazy.”

I could not save Shelby. Dylan could not save Shelby. The new boyfriend couldn’t save her either. No one but Shelby and Jesus himself could save her.

My actual interactions with Shelby were few and far between, though I heard her everyday on the other side of our ridiculously thin wall.

I could count our actual conversations on one hand. There was the time I mentioned before when the police came, the time she borrowed my vacuum cleaner (and two months later I was STILL waiting for her to return it…), and the day of the spider incident.

Did I ever mention the spider incident? Well! Let ma tell ya.

I had just returned home from the grocery store. After bringing all my bags in, I was putting groceries away from off the table, and there in the middle of my dining area floor, was THE spider. I was later told that this was a garden spider, but to me it looked like some sort of gigantic Harry Potter spider. This thing was as big as my hand, and I am not exaggerating a bit!!

Terrifying!

So there we were, and what was I to do? Alan wasn’t coming home for months yet, and I certainly couldn’t kill it. No way could I get close enough to it to kill it. I do NOT handle creepy-crawly things. I do NOT. It is not in me.

“Who in the world could take care of this for me,” I thought, and it came to me. Shelby was 2 things:

1. She’s a mom, the only mom on the street, and moms do gross things… and

2. Shelby is scary herself. She could totally take this spider.

I was desperate, so I knocked on her door. It was 12pm, and she answered in her bathrobe. I’d clearly woken her up. Her bleached blonde hair was all catty-wompus, her eyeliner which is usually an inch or two thick, was all over her face, and she looked annoyed. Ha! But who was I to judge? Back then, I routinely slept until lunch time.

“Um…” I definitely stuttered through this, “Do you, um, kill spiders? There’s this ginormous one in my living room.”

Then it was her turn to get the wide eyes..”uh..Okay, I’ll come see.”

I escorted her into my living room and pointed at the offending monster.

“Ewwwww, do you have paper towels, or a napkin?”

“What!!!???” I thought, and probably SAID out loud. A paper towel!!?? I had thrown a lamp at it, and that hadn’t worked. How was she going to kill this thing with a paper towel!!??

I dutifully rolled off literally 20 paper towels and quickly handed them to Shelby.

She looked at me like I was complete bonkers and tore off ONE.

And then, y’all! She grabbed that spider up with that one little old paper towel and squashed it.

My eyes were popping out of my head. This was both horrifying and amazing.

I don’t remember if she flushed it or threw it away, but wow.

So…..all people have their redeeming qualities….and I had to respect her for this!

******

Shelby didn’t know much about me either. She knew I helped her out with her kids sometimes and the cops that one time, and she knew my husband was gone too. She probably knew all the neighbors hung out without her.

Also I should confess…..I used to sing to Shelby.

Say what?? Okay, I know that sounds weird, but it wasn’t really. See, remember we had the  thin walls. The bathrooms and the master seemed to be the thinnest, and by nature I am a singer. I can’t help it. It’s what I do. If I’m not singing, I’m humming or whistling.

I keep it in check in public, but at home, that’s my space to sing out as loudly as I want. And we all know that bathrooms have the best acoustics, right? So that’s where I sing the loudest when I really want to belt out a powerful song.

Shelby’s family needed some powerful songs, but not just Brittney Spears. They needed the gospel. So what do you think I sang? I sang How Great Thou Art and It is Well and my favorite Jaci Velasquez and Point of Grace songs.

So you might say she knew me better than you think. Was it annoying or endearing? Judging by the state of mind she was usually in, I’m guessing it was annoying. But I could no more not sing than I could just not eat, so it was what it was.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=By-8BN316mM

************

Fast-forward a few months, and one gossip talking to another gossip who talked to another gossip. Rest assured, I was not involved in this particular gossip trail, as I didn’t know any of Dylan and Shelby’s friends or co-workers….but the thing is your sins really do eventually find you out.

And Shelby left a steady trail. Dylan’s superiors in Iraq knew all about her affairs, and they did something that might surprise you.

They shipped Dylan home to get his house in order, and they switched him to rear duty, so he was home to stay.

Around the first of October, Dylan just showed up at home one day.

First, there was an epic fight. Of course. Then Dylan packed himself and his two children up and left.

For two weeks, things were fairly quiet, and the boyfriend’s car was never seen there again.

Then as suddenly as they’d left, they were back, both Dylan and the children. They moved back in with Shelby. I guess this was their attempt to work things out.

Shelby’s defense was that their marriage was over even before he left. Emotionally that was true for her, but technically it wasn’t true at all.

It didn’t take long before Shelby moved out, and for the rest of our time there it was Dylan and his kids living there. Actually, it was them PLUS Shelby’s oldest son, who wasn’t Dylan’s, but he said he was the only person that kid had who’d really take care of him.

Elsie and I went over and introduced ourselves to Dylan. He asked us if we’d be willing to testify if it came to court as a custody battle. We said we would, but we never had too. Shelby willingly surrendered them over to him.

All in all, it was a heart-breaking saga to watch play out from the very beginning, though I’m thankful that those kids do have a dad who cares for them and was looking out for them.

In situations like that, you hope for the best, but I’ve always wondered if there was a happy ending of any kind for that family. Did Shelby ever face her demons and calm down? What ever happened to them? Did those sweet children go on living with Dylan?

I like to think they did.

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There is life after teaching.

With the decision made to not ever, ever be a teacher again, I adjusted quite well to my life of new-found freedom. My house became a hub of activity again. We Army wife buddies were always eating at each other’s houses and watching movies and even planning trips.

We had our own little clique. In fact, we spent so much time together that sometimes we did have jealousy and little gripes spring up, but they were never anything big. Usually, someone simply didn’t like something someone else said, or someone got mad because they weren’t included in a fun trip.

We took day trips to San Antonio to go outlet mall shopping, and one of the girls was pretty mad at us for not inviting her to the first one. That sort of thing happened, but in the end we all knew that we needed each other, and in general, we had a ton of fun.

It was around the day of the San Antonio trip that Alan called me with sad news from war.

On September 26th, Alan and his roommate, 1LT Arizona, worked out together as usual, and Alan went around to every company in his unit putting together enough up-armored humvees to make a safe trip up to Bayji. For some reason, he met with a great deal of resistance in acquiring the heavy-duty humvees, but if you know Alan, you know that persistence is one of his greatest strengths. Therefore, he DID acquire his humvees after all.

You see, that day Alan was the designated Officer in Charge for the 3-truck convoy, and he intended to keep his men safe.

(Now when I say men, I literally mean men. His entire unit was a field artillery unit, which is a combat branch. In those days that meant that the entire unit was male.)

On the way back from Bayji, Alan, who was in the lead vehicle, heard an EXPLOSION, and looking in his rear view mirror, he saw the last vehicle with all the doors open and smoke coming from it.

Alan’s captain yelled over their radios, “Go! Go! Go! Get out of here!”

However, while Alan was outranked, he was still the designated OIC, and he had no intention of leaving his friends behind. So Alan commanded them to turn around, establish a security perimeter, and get the men from the third humvee, which had obviously been hit by an IED.

Thankfully, Alan had insisted upon those up-armored humvees, so everyone lived!!

The four men in that vehicle were all injured, though, of course. They were all friends of Alan’s. One of the injured men was Alan’s battle buddy and roommate, 1LT Arizona.

Shortly thereafter, Alan and his captain butted heads on how to handle this situation. The captain was desperate to get the whole convoy back to the home base in Ad Dawr.

The problem was that Alan assessed that the injured men seemed to be in need of more urgent medical attention than the captain did and their unit’s assigned medical officer was back home in the states on leave. Alan did not want to risk making them wait out the long trip back only to have a medic evaluate them, require evacuation by helicopter right back to here…all the while worsening potentially time-sensitive injuries. Alan had to convince the captain to take them to the nearby unit’s medical clinic and get them seen right away.

Again, Alan had to override the captain. “No sir, we’re going to get them care now.”

Done. Don’t worry. This wasn’t insubordination, this was Alan pointing out the hard right because this incurred additional tasks such as them finding a place to sleep the night on the local forward operating base, or “FOB”, send word back to Ad Dawr why the humvees (one of which was damaged) weren’t going to support the next needed mission by being delayed…and other various reasons…but it was the right thing to do based on the situation at the moment.

It was a good thing they did. Lt. Arizona’s ear drum was busted. The men were all in need of medical attention. Two of them had to remain in a field hospital.

Lt. Arizona actually ended up having to go home for a month or so before he returned to the war.

Several of the men, including Alan, received medals for their bravery that day.

The captain actually put Alan in for a much greater reward than he ended up receiving, but either way I was so proud of him.

There’s no such thing as sending your husband to war repeatedly and nothing ever happening. Alan was serving in the hometown of Saddam Hussein. There were plenty of enemies all around, but that was, thankfully, the last time Alan’s own convoy got attacked.

I’d always had this feeling that Alan would come home without a scratch, and he DID, so long as you don’t count the damage the desert did to his eyeglasses! This convoy attack news shook us all up and challenged that assumption of safety quite well. I didn’t even learn about the incident until several days after it happened.

It’s a helpless feeling, being the family back home waiting. What could I possibly do to help, way back there in Texas? Nothing– but keep up a positive attitude and do a great deal of trusting. I had to trust God, trust the Army leaders, trust Alan, basically just trust that everything would be okay.

Click here to read the next chapter: Fork in the Road

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Girls:

Gracie Elizabeth  (my favorite) Kathryn Jennings (Call her Katie.) Autumn Faith

Boys:

Cody Alan John David David Alan  (but David is such a common name.) 🙂 I know I said we’d wait 5 years, but I hope you don’t really plan on sticking to that… 🙂 I just can’t wait for you to get back! I got a letter from you today. It was written June 23, and the CMIC had been attacked in broad daylight. : ( I’m wondering if you are in Ad Dwar yet and how that is going. I REALLY hope you like your new job. I know you’ll be great at it. You’re great at everything you do. #1 Cadet–RA of the Year–Cum Laude—You are amazing. I love you, April

*******

July was an exciting month.

My house was an active hub where we came together when we were tired of being alone. The house next door was also a hub because it seemed like Katherine and Nick’s (The Beefcake’s) house was always hosting one or several long-term house guests. First, Nick’s cousin Jay moved in. Then there was Phan. Jay stayed the whole year, but Phan was only there for a few months. Later they also introduced us to Tegann and Josh. Between Katherine’s house and my house, our little corner of the street was a regular YMCA for 20-somethings.

Those duplexes were an unbeatable support system.

On the flip side, Shelby, on the other half of my duplex, was not handling the deployment so well. By this point she was having an obvious affair, with her new boyfriend’s car always parked in the driveway. I remember saying, “Well, if it’s any comfort to her husband, she fights with her boyfriends just as much as she ever fought with her husband.” I never got to know Shelby. I did help her out with the cops once.

It was in the middle of the day when a lady cop knocked on my door.

“Do you know the people who live next door? I keep knocking, but no one answers.” “Yes, I know them. She’s at work right now, and the kids are at school.” “We received a complaint, and do you know if these kids spend a lot of time at home alone?” Oh, boy. “Well, usually if they get home and Shelby’s not there, they come over here, and I watch them.” This was true. “Our caller said that there’s a two-year-old and a baby?” “No. no. They are like 10 and 7. There’s no babies, and I would know. You can hear everything through these walls. That is so weird that anyone would say that. It’s not a perfect home, but I don’t believe there’s any neglect, and I know there are no babies. They are home alone sometimes, but not for long, and the oldest is very responsible.” The cop was satisfied and left. Yes, I watched those kids sometimes, but as their neighbor,  I felt like that made me part of their ‘village’, their built-in support system. I wasn’t about to start buddying up to Shelby, but I was happy to help her children. That afternoon, Shelby and her two children knocked on my door. She apologized for the cop showing up and explained that her dad was crazy and was trying to get back at her. He was the one who called the police. I’m sure Shelby knew that I knew what a wreck her life was, but I knew in my bones that for some reason I wasn’t meant to be the person to help her, even though I did want to. I focused more on the children.

*********

I also had my own, much less troubling, problems to sort out. I was talking to Elsie about how I’d missed Granny Mary’s funeral, which kind of put me in the dog house with my family. I was thinking about going down on July 26th weekend for my other Granny’s 90th birthday party.

Elsie thought quickly, “Fly down on the 25th, and we’ll be on the same plane!!”

We got Elsie’s flight numbers and I booked it. Up to that point, I had flown a few times, always by myself, except for our honeymoon. Elsie and I were so excited to get to fly home together! I wrote Alan all about it, and I told him, “How cool is it that there is a girl–my age–across the street–who I like being around–whose from my home town–and whose husband is deployed too????? That does NOT just happen. That’s God working. And you know, during this deployment, I’ve only seen Elsie get teary-eyed once, and that was the day she was here, and you called me while she was here. It wasn’t jealousy or sadness or anger. It was just pure emotion because she was happy for me. It’s so weird when you know EXACTLY what someone else is going through.”

************

Meanwhile, I began interviewing for teaching jobs and continued my teacher classes, and I felt happy. I didn’t need Ambien to go to sleep anymore.

In my letter to Alan, I explained,

“Our relationship has just put my life on such a—an unusual course, but you know what? I wouldn’t trade it for anything!! Not only do I have a man who I know loves me more than anyone, but I have a life that matters. It matters. It matters to the kids next door. It matters to the kids I will one day teach. It matters to Sarah, and Cloe, and Elsie. And of course, it matters to you. Isn’t that what we all want? To know that we matter? The FRG (Family Readiness Group) people are telling us not to expect y’all home until next March, though nothing is official yet. I’m choosing not to believe it because it is still up in the air. So I’m okay. For now, I’m better than okay. I’m happy. And you are still such a big part of that. Your letters–wow–your letters are a lifeline to me. Keep those bad boys coming.”   Last week’s chapter

Click here to read the next chapter.

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I tell you this particular chapter with hesitation and humility. It’s an embarrassing story, but at the time, this was my reality. I hope you can laugh with me now, and rest assured that I am not normally this paranoid. I promise.

When Alan first deployed, it was suddenly like….cue the sound of crickets.

The night of the deployment dragged on until dawn, so first, I went to bed and slept until the afternoon. (And thus began my new problem of having my days and nights mixed up.)

That first morning, Alan called me from the Killeen airport around noon, which woke me up. Even then, I was already so excited to hear his voice, and he hadn’t even left the country yet!

I didn’t know it at the time, but it would be a MONTH before I would hear from Alan again, except in letters, real snail-mail letters.

So there I was in Texas, alone, 22-years-old, no job, no children, and no plans, a brand-spankin’ new military wife.

What to do now? I had no idea. It sounds like bliss to have zero people depending on you and almost zero responsibility. Wow! Each phase of life truly brings something different to the table. But blissful is not how I recall feeling.

Instead, I began to be depressed, and I didn’t even know why. Obviously, it had something to do with this crazy start our marriage was off to and anxiety over sending my husband overseas to a new war. I had also developed a miserably painful case of TMJ, seemingly the moment I said good-bye to Alan, which would not go away. I could hardly chew anything.

Plus, I was a little isolated, having been in Texas for only three months, with almost everyone I knew in the world still in Alabama.

People I met asked me uncomfortable questions, over and over again.

“So what do you do? Do you have a job yet? Are you staying here?”

Everything in me knows that it isn’t wise to let what others think you should do affect your decisions, and yet it did.

Why was my answer never good enough?

What did I do, you ask? Well I…..

• kept house
• wrote my husband a letter every single day
• made my meals
• worked on decorating my first house
• typed out every letter I received from my husband for his family to read
• washed my clothes
• bought a new sofa
• watched a billion episodes of Friends
• and played board games versus myself.

Awesome, right?

That’s never what I actually said to people who asked, but I wish it had been!

Instead, I took this all as pressure (whether it was or not) to have some sort of career goal. Look, up to this point, my life goal had been to go to college. But I was done with that now.

Once in college, I’d had one half-hearted career goal to be a physical therapist. But once I closed my eyes through the entire video of a cadaver dissection in junior year biology lab, I knew this physical therapy plan was not going to work out…

…So after that there had been no career goal.

Now I was 22, and finished with college, but there was still so much figuring- things- out to do!

I did have a bachelor’s degree in Psychology, from the University of Alabama, so many people suggested I try out the alternative teacher certification that Texas offered at the time. Anyone with a bachelor’s degree could simply take a crash course in education, pass the “highly qualified”  national teacher exam, and bam! Texas grants you a probationary teaching certificate, and you’re a teacher. Technically, your first year was considered an internship.

Hmmmm….I did always love school….and passing tests was always a strength of mine…so why not?

Did I have a dream of teaching children? No, not at all.

Was I good at managing children? Also no.

But hey! Everyone says this is a great idea, so let’s do it. Let’s make the people happy. I’d always been good at that too.

I enrolled in the classes and was accepted right away. Teacher school started a month after Alan left.

This whole married young adult thing was working out okay. I now had a plan, a few friends, and a goal I wasn’t the least bit excited about. In fact, I dreaded it.

Looking back, all I can think is “why???” Why did I do all this? Was it really just to appease all the questioners? Ugh!

So I had a career goal, but did it fill the husband-deployed void?

No, not at all, because I didn’t even truly have a desire to be a teacher anyway. In fact, maybe that just added to my misery.

I did various things throughout the days to keep myself busy, like joining a ladies Bible study where no one really spoke to me much, attending an aerobics class with my friend Theresa, even though I dislike aerobics classes, and I often played Skipbo versus myself….(Skipbo is a card game, sort of like Uno. Yes, I know that sounds a little sad, but this was the pre-Facebook, pre-Skype, pre-iPhone world. No one had to know!!)

Okay, it’s true. I didn’t have much to be all that happy about.

But every night I looked forward to watching the Lifetime evening line up. There was an hour of Designing Women followed by an hour of Golden Girls. How I loved it, but I also lived in dread of it.

The thing is that once the credits rolled on Golden Girls, there was nothing else on that I wanted to watch, and I felt like staying up past midnight was the “wrong” thing to do. You know? There’s just something less respectable sounding about being an up all night, sleeping to noon kind of gal. (Silly, I know, but that’s how I felt–guilty about every silly little thing!)

I didn’t want that to be me. Before I had always been such a hard-working well-respected member of society! My first job was at the age of 15!! The day care managers called ME and asked me to obtain a work permit and come work for them after school.

I had a job ever since, even in college, even when I was taking 21 hours of classes. My on campus job was a cushy one, working at the University of Alabama National Alumni Association, with the sweetest boss ever. But still, I had always been employed.

Not only was I employed for all of my time as a teen and young adult, but I had also maintained a strong GPA, earned scholarships and grants to pay my way through college, and worked an a Resident Assistant in the dorm.

The transition to unemployed, geographically alone, housewife knocked me for a loop. There was just so much to decide and change. It was exciting, but it was terrifying.

Come 12am each night, I became all squirrelly in the head. I heard every little sound. Every little bump.

Most nights I could not actually go to sleep until about 4am because I reasoned that by 4am, no one was going to break into my house. It was practically dawn.

Why did I think people wanted to break into my cute little duplex? I have no idea. We owned next to nothing really.

Between 12 and 4 am I was beyond reason anyway. All logic was gone. Every sound was a criminal.

Then it happened.

One night, someone rang my doorbell. I was sitting in the living room a little later than usual. It might’ve been 10 pm. I was up watching endless episodes of Friends.

I looked out the peephole and didn’t see anyone. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang again. I opened the door. No one was there.

At 11 o’clock, or maybe even later, it happened again!!

Now that’s a little odd anyway, but for a depressed woman with paranoia, it was obviously a gang that was stalking my house. Maybe even an ax murderer!!

Well, I did the only logical thing to my temporarily insane brain. I called 911!!!

“This is 9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

“I’m home alone and someone keeps ringing my doorbell, and there’s no one there!”

“Hmm. Yeah, it’s probably just kids. Did you see anyone?”

“No.” I was probably crying…

“Well, we’ll send someone to check the area, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you, thank you so much!”

I hung up the phone. The doorbell rang again.

Why were they here to torture me???? Hadn’t I been through enough????

I turned out the lights and peeked out the curtains. There was little Hannah, my next door neighbor’s 9-year-old-ish kid, crouching behind some bushes.

Relief. Phew! Okay.

That I could handle, but I didn’t go outside and bother her. Though in hindsight, she probably did it because she craved attention.

Hannah’s mother, Shelby, was another source of my misery. I continued to hear Shelby cussing people out on her phone, at the top of her lungs, about 2 or 3 nights per week. No wonder I didn’t feel super safe.

No, I would never utter a cross word to Hannah or her little brother Houston. I felt terribly sorry for them. Who else’s kids would even be out that late, running around the neighborhood ringing door bells?

But night after night, I continued to stay up late, unable to sleep.

I added playing computer games on pogo.com to my list of late-night activities. See I had to stay up so I could scream and run if anyone tried to break into my house.

It made no sense whatsoever, and I knew it didn’t, but I was admittedly a little crazy. I could NOT go to sleep.

Was I spending tons of time in prayer, digging into my Bible for consolation, or seeking help? No. And I was absolutely not about to ‘seek help’. I would admit my issues to no one. I am Southern born and bred. You keep your problems to yourself. Don’t go bothering other people or admitting that you are weird.

And then one night my wake-up call came.

Golden Girls was still on. I had my bedside lamp light and my back yard porch light on. See, there was a door in my bedroom that led to my backyard.

Yet another reason I was certifiable. Of course, paranoid April believed that the intruder would come straight to my back door because it was enclosed in a privacy fence. No one could see into my backyard. Therefore, all the robbers in Killeen were clearly just waiting to break into my house, via that door that led into my master bed room!!!

That is, if the screaming lady next door didn’t scare them away, of course, but that night her place was silent.

I was sitting there in my bed watching my shows when my back door knob actually rattled! It did! It rattled.

I listened as hard as I could, heart pounding out of my chest, not daring to move a muscle.

Yes. There were definitely sounds at the door. Light ones, but sounds nonetheless.

No time to waste! I slept with the phone by my pillow in case of Alan calling or in case I needed to call the police anyway.

“This is 9-1-1. What’s your emergency?”

“Yes! Yes! There’s someone at my door I think. I don’t know. It’s…my door, my back door. It sounded like someone rattled the doorknob. I’m freaking out.”

Well, truer words were never spoken. I was definitely freaking out.

I don’t remember what she said, but she kept me calm. What happened after that, whether or not the police came quickly or not, it’s been so long ago that I don’t remember.

I do remember hopping out of bed, throwing on my bath robe, and going around peeking out windows.

The police came. They assured me there was no one in my backyard.

Somehow I finally snapped out of my insanity and realized that there was simply a bug hitting the glass, a bug that was obviously attracted to that light bulb I left on every night.

How embarrassing!

I could suddenly see myself so clearly.

How had I become such a joke?? Such a walking disaster?? All I thought about were my own problems. Most of my problems weren’t even real. They were imaginary!!

The insomnia and paranoia were feeding each other into a cycle that had to be broken. Plus, my jaw was still killing me. It was time to march down to post and see the doctor.

I resolved this was my last night in Crazy Lady Land. I vowed with every ounce of courage I still had, “Tomorrow I am going to see a doctor and admit this to someone. Maybe they can help me. Maybe I can take anxiety meds or something. I can’t go on like this. Even if they do laugh at me, I have to go get help.”

***************

Read about what happened next HERE.

Each new chapter appears on Monday morning here on storiesofourboys.com.

Want to catch up on what you’ve missed? Click here for last week’s installment, told from Alan’s mother’s perspective, or click here for a more complete list of chapters.

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The post When Alan First Deployed: My New Friends at 9-1-1 appeared first on Stories of Our Boys.

Army sister, mom, & wife the 1st Christmas Alan was in Iraq, 2003. Our t-shirts have the 4th ID logo and read “Ho Ho Hooah!”

*****Alan’s mother, Donna, aka Nonna, is here today to share with us a speech she gave at her church in 2004, when Alan returned from his first deployment to Iraq. This is part of the series, The Real Army Wives, appearing every Monday on storiesofourboys.com.*****

When Alan accepted the ROTC scholarship after his second year in college, we knew that someday he might have to go to war, but war was not in sight at that time and the next war would probably be over fast because of all the technology. His decision to sign up was stressful for all of us, but he had really prayed about it. Alan felt like he owed it to his country, was fit and able to serve, and could use the army as his mission field.

Now how could we argue with all that? We were very proud of him and supported his decision. My husband, David’s, daddy had retired as a Lt. Col. and was gung-ho Army, as well as our nephew who is an Army Major. I had an uncle who had died in Vietnam so our family has always understood how important the military is to us. We have always been patriotic and thankful to God to be Americans.

Alan was a college senior on 9-11 and we all knew what that meant. That’s when we became even more aware of world events.

When Alan was commissioned upon graduation, he promised to support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; to bear true faith and allegiance to the same. He took the obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion, and would well and faithfully discharge the duties of the office upon which he was about to enter…so help him God.

Now when you hear your son take that oath, it really touches you. We were so proud of him.

Sending Our Son to War

When he received orders for Iraq, they were for February, 2003.

He and April had only been with the 4^th ID at Ft. Hood since the middle of January. Remember all the fuss with Turkey about whether or not our troops could pass through there to enter Iraq? Well, this went on for several weeks so their deployment date kept changing.

saying good-bye to Alan at the airport in Killeen–or was it Austin?–Texas, 2003

We talked on the phone with him several times a week. He was packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice. David and I flew out there the end of February for a weekend. Alan’s duffle bags, gas mask, chemical suit, etc. were all in the hall-we just had to walk around them. Alan was ready to go. Like he said, it was like practicing football week after week and waiting for your chance to play and prove what you could do.

He wanted to just go, do it, and come back. It was so hard to leave them at the airport that trip. It helped us so much to know that April was there for him.

I guess the worst part was the waiting for that call to say he was gone.

Our TV pretty much stayed on the news trying to hear something about when they would leave and what they would find when they got there. It was like, well, the sooner they leave, get there, do the job, then the sooner he can come home and things get back to normal.

Then the call came…

Sunday night, March 30. April stayed with him at the gym until early morning, then called us after he left. They had been together for 3 ½ months…that is a short honeymoon. She wanted to stay at Ft. Hood in their house. After all, his deployment was only for 4-6 months.

We anxiously waited for news, phone calls, and/or letters. Letters took 3-4 weeks each way at first.

Alan in Iraq, with the standard camera of the times…

I just kept thinking about what it must have been like for mothers during the previous wars when they did not hear anything for months or even years!

Every time the news said 4^th ID was involved in an incident, then we were really glued to the TV and the internet. David found some internet sites with very up-to-date news and he checked them often day and night.

If we heard about a death or injury in the 4^th ID, we were quite anxious, especially if the phone rang.

April had told us that she would call immediately if she ever had a report of injury or a condolence call. Now that was nerve-racking.

Then you hear “Three soldiers from the 4^th ID were killed this morning in an IED attack near Tikrit.” That was where Alan was. With the news like it is now, we would hear of incidents right away, hours before families had been contacted. We would try to plan so one of us was near the phone until names were released.

David spent many nights sleeping on the floor in the den in front of the TV listening for news updates. There were days when I would leave for school (teaching middle school) and David (self-employed) would stay on the internet, in front of the TV, and by the phone to hear names released. Then he would call me at school to let me know that it was not Alan. Once that sank in, then we mourned for the families of the lost.

This went on for the whole year. Yes, that 4-6 month deployment turned into 12 months.

The first 7 months Alan did not have email or regular phone service. He could only call occasionally on a line relayed through a military station to a stateside military installation and then patched through to us. There was a bad voice delay and service was usually cut off suddenly.

April was great about calling us right after his calls to her. This was so comforting to know that at that moment, at least, he was safe. She would also email us copies of his letters-minus the mushy stuff- as soon as she got them. That was such a comfort for us- she was wonderful.

A family member, Major Jay Nelson, took the time to explain to Nonna how the whole structure of the Army works. 4th Infantry Division is divided into brigades, which are divided into battalions, which are divided into companies, and so on…

The first 6 months were extremely hard, but then David and I talked about our real feelings with each other. We knew God had blessed us with 2 wonderful children and a daughter-in-law who were all strong Christians.

We had reared Alan the best we could. He was doing his duty and what he wanted to do. We were secure in the fact that God could take care of him over there. We couldn’t, and no amount of our worrying could, but God could. And if God saw in His plan for Alan not to come home, Alan would be with Him, we would see him in eternity one day, and God would give us strength to handle it.

That is when we really turned our worrying over to God and really placed Alan in God’s hands.

We were still scared, but God helped us handle it. We could really tell a difference in our stress levels, still high, but lower than before, and easier to function every day.

It meant so much for our church family and friends to express concern for Alan, appreciation for his service for us as Americans, and your prayer support.

So many even sent him cards, letters, and/or packages. These meant as much to us as to him- and that was a lot! Alan really appreciated letters and packages from everyone. He especially appreciated hearing from those that were not family, as he just expected to hear from family.

I remember him mentioning when he called one time about how upsetting the news could be over there. When the troops would hear politicians against the war and saw polls against the war, it really hurt them to think that Americans back home were not behind them. They took it very much to heart.

The news mainly seemed to cover the bad things over there. Alan wished the news would show more of what was really happening. They never showed how much we were improving things for the Iraqi people, nor how appreciative the Iraqis were of our help.

His return was delayed for days too. He could not tell us exactly when he would leave Iraq.

Flights had to be secret for security reasons. It was another exciting time just waiting for him to let April know he was in “the States.” Finally, she called and said he was in Delaware.  Alan would be in Ft. Hood in a few hours.

Was that ever exciting!!!!

April called us when his plane flew over their house and touched down on the runway. Then she talked to us as she was driving to the gym. Then Alan called for just a minute when they walked in the house.

I can’t really describe the relief.

The tears flowed, revealing just how uptight we had been. Just talking to him and knowing that he was in his house, with April, and nobody was shooting at him or trying to blow him up was enough. Lots of people could not believe that we did not fly out there right away. But remember, they had only had 3 ½ months together and we did not want to intrude. We knew she was taking really good care of him for us.

No matter how you feel about the war on terror, please don’t hurt the soldiers and their families, even unintentionally, by what you say. Remember, these men and women volunteered to fight to protect our country. They are willing to give their lives if necessary to protect us.

We are so proud of Alan. They don’t make the decisions about where they are sent. It really hurts them and their families when people say we shouldn’t be there without adding “But I appreciate and support the troops.” Remember, they are fighting to protect us, here in Roanoke, from terrorism.

Fighting over there may prevent fighting in our front yards. Some have even given their lives for us. I appreciate every soldier, both now and in the past, and their families who wait at home.

We are proud of Alan and how he has chosen to live his life.

We will be here to support him and his family through it all. Thank you so much for your prayers and support. As Alan reminds us, please don’t forget to continue praying for those who are still in harm’s way, as well as their families.

To those families who have sacrificed loved ones and to all here today who have served in our Armed Forces, I want to say “Thank you” from the bottom of my heart.

DaddyO and Nonna are now retired. They spend their time taking care of their puppy, visiting family, working word puzzles, reading, teaching Sunday School, visiting their 6 grandchildren, and all sorts of things. They have now been military parents for 15 years and have sent their son to Iraq twice and Afghanistan once.

Next Chapter: When Alan First Deployed: My New Friends at 911

Thanks so much for sharing your story, Nonna! I loved reading the story from a different perspective.

Next week the story continues of handling life alone in Texas, once my husband was gone to Iraq. A new installment of the Real Army Wives series goes up every Monday morning, sometimes even Sunday night! Thanks for following along!

To read last week’s chapter, click here.

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The post Sending Our Son to War in the Beginning of the War on Terrorism appeared first on Stories of Our Boys.