The Secret Muses of a Disabled Vet’s Wife:

“How are YOU?” It’s been 11 years and I honestly don’t know if in these last 11 years I have answered the question completely honestly.

“How are YOU?”

  Being married for 19 years and having 3 kids, it’s easy to answer that question as an all-encompassing family question.  “Hub’s is fine, he tweaked his back again yesterday, but his attitude about it all, as always, is stellar.  He’s working on projects…. yep. He’s a genius.  The kids?  Oh, they’re great!  Working hard, staying busy, the usual.” “Oh me? I’m good, staying busy,” I reply without a pause. 

And I am.  Life is good.  God is good.  I actually love “adulting.” I love my life and love living it.  But as much as I’d like to fool myself, our life is not “normal.” 

Life is good.  God is good.

11 years ago, our lives changed.  My active duty Army husband had a jump out of a plane that ended his promising military career and then ended his short-lived civilian 2^nd career.  The soldier that jumped behind him got his feet tangled in my Jeremy’s risers.  While he was able to get untangled, it sent my husband’s parachute into a pendulum swing and he not only hit with the normal downward force of a mass jump dump, but also hit the ground on the downward swing of the pendulum.  He managed to land in a PLF (“parachute landing fall” designed to land the parachutist safely), but he hit hard.  It knocked him out and the parachute drug him across the landing zone for a ways.  Amazingly, he broke no bones.  He does however have a massive amount of scar tissue from his body tensing to protect everything, a bent spine, degenerative arthritis in his hips and back and a TBI which spins him into vertigo at the most inopportune of times.  His medical records read like a dissertation listing all of his injuries.  It’s a lot.

When you live as a military spouse or family, you know how precious time with your loved one is.  In the civilian world, spouses generally go on errands alone and enjoy “alone time.”  In the military, it’s not uncommon for soldiers to go on errands with their spouses like grocery shopping and dr. appointments together.  That time together is precious, because you know how quickly that can change and your soldier is deployed, or doing training, or at a school and you are single mom-ing or dad-ing it for the forseeable future. 

We went from doing all sorts of things together, day trips exploring or hiking, grocery shopping, movies etc…to me having to go alone. It went from him getting the oil changed, airing up the tires, doing the “guy chores” to me doing it alone.  He went from being able to roll around and play with the kids to having to watch everything he did.  It’s hard to teach very young children that dad can’t hold them or play with them like he used to. 

Looking back, I realized I never really mourned what would have been.  A life where we don’t have to pick and choose our activities and outings together and space them out because of chronic pain.  A life without central vertigo sneaking up on you when you have made plans.  The different life our kids have lived because of pain and injury.  Just looking at my husband, you wouldn’t know he is in pain unless you catch him on a really bad day.  If he’s limping and not “faking” walking normal, he is hurting.  His accident thankfully didn’t injure his cognitive abilities, he is the same Jeremy as he has always been.  All his injuries are internal.  Which is both a blessing and a curse.  People that don’t really know him might accuse him of being anti-social or rude because he can’t jump in and help with things or may be quieter because he is in pain. 

If he does come to the store with me (for a few items) I will unload and load everything on the belt and cart because just him bending down and coming up can throw his back out.  We have to ignore awkward stares because you know they are thinking “why is he just standing there?”

On his “good” days. I.e. the days when his back is behaving and not out, he will exercise and try to get in better shape. It is challenging for him not to over-do because he knows just how quickly things can go bad. That bad may be tweaking his back just walking down the hallway, or brushing his teeth. Luckily, he has found just walking is his best mode of exercise. As long as he is going at a steady forward momentum on a smooth surface, he’s golden.

Throughout all of it, he keeps an amazing attitude.  He is upbeat and positive and it encourages those that know him.  He is an amazing husband and dad.  He loves Jesus.  He is supportive and doesn’t take for granted the things we do when he can’t.

As “normal” as I’d like to think we are, we are not.  Accepting that has been something I’m not sure I have ever done or will do.

“How are YOU?” My friend Kristen asked over the phone this evening as I gave my normal spiel and dodged talking about me.  She voiced what most people will not.  “I know it must be difficult with him in pain all the time, I understand that must be a hard thing as a spouse to deal with.”
I manage to sputter out that yeah, it is a different life and yes it can be hard.  I don’t know if I formed a coherent thought in reply.  I’m not used to people thinking I might not be okay.  Even when I’m not, somehow I must give off the vibe that I am completely fine.  I don’t know what it is, I don’t try to hide it.  And in my “now” life, I am fine.  Like I mentioned above, I love adulting.  I love my family, my life.  But no, my life isn’t “normal” and that isn’t okay.  I am not “fine” with it.  It just is.  You adjust fire and keep on keeping on. 

If you are the spouse of a disabled Vet, I want you to know you are seen, and you are heard.  This injury is NOT your identity.  It can be a lonely life.  Not necessarily lonely as in lack of family and friends around although that may be the case.  Lonely in a sense of you are the primary doer of things.  You do them faithfully and without complaint and you may be tired.  No one quite understands this life and the sacrifice your spouse made.  Heck, no one quite understands the sacrifice you’ve made. 

It’s a funny life, this life.  It never turns out quite like we planned.  There are twists and turns that take you to places you’ve never imagined but if you didn’t go, you wouldn’t be who you are today without them. 

So mourn what once was and what it was supposed to have been.  Because it is a loss and like with any loss, there needs to be time to grieve that old life.  We can be doing all the things but that doesn’t make our veterans injuries okay or normal, and THAT’S okay.