I Wish, I Wonder, I Hurt

I wish there was more I could do right now. My husband wishes he could have done more in the past. I wonder if we could have made a bigger difference. I hurt because we’re stuck and feeling helpless.

Afghanistan. We wish, wonder, and hurt for Afghanistan.

My husband willingly answered the call and completed two, 12-month tours in the Middle East many years ago. We were still only dating and had no children. My soldier’s sacrifice was great, and as with every tour overseas, he had its burdens to carry. However, it didn’t anguish our family in the way it has for many others, because my husband didn’t have all of us quite yet.

Still, there’s always the question in the back of his mind: “Could I have done something more to make a difference?”

A few months ago, my husband was scheduled to deploy.

He was ready. Finally ready to feel like he could make a difference again.

I was ready. We were way overdue for a deployment; it was our turn. But the Army changed our orders and chose differently.

And we feel guilty for that.

I don’t bring it up much because it seems silly. Why should I question the challenges we’ve been spared? I should be quiet and be grateful. By talking about how our military journey has been different, I don’t want to hurt anyone who may not understand my kind of hurt.

A hurt that is a tinge of survivor’s guilt, in a way.

I imagine there are others in the military community who feel the same as my husband and me. I bring this up so you don’t feel alone. You wish there was something you could do to make the hurt go away. Maybe you, too, wonder if you should have pushed harder to make a difference. You hurt in the same way we do—a hurt mixed with questions, confusion, what-ifs.

My husband answered the call to join the service. God led me to marry a service member. We’ve been prepared for the ultimate calls. But now, I can only wish I could find ways to help differently. My husband can only wonder what the next few years of his service will bring.

And we sit here and hurt for all who have had to endure more than us.

For those of you who cannot relate to me, I’d understand if you feel angry that we haven’t experienced the same and we don’t know what it’s like.

I’d understand if you asked, “Why me and not them?” But I’ll never be able to fully understand what you’re going through, and I hurt because of that. I hurt that you hurt. I hurt because I know there’s nothing I can say or do right now to help that hurt go away.

I bring this up so I can say that I’m so sorry.

I have friends and other close family members who served in Afghanistan.

I hurt for what they’ve seen.

I hurt for any anger they may have regarding their time there or for the hope that they could see the nation better.

I have friends whose spouses have deployed so many times, they’ve missed, literally, half of their children’s lives. I hurt for their sacrificed time.

I hurt for their children who may never understand why their Daddy or Mommy was gone so much.

I hurt for all who may be suffering in other ways, for physical, mental, emotional scars, for their frustration, confusion, and for the families whose service members paid the ultimate price.

I’m stuck and feeling helpless because we’re going through a slightly unexpected PCS right this very moment. I’m unable to volunteer, to foster, to sit with a hurting family. I can only begin to process, and write, and wish and wonder and hurt a little more with you. Once we unpack our boxes, I will be looking for ways to make a difference in our new location. It’s my only avenue to ensure your efforts were not all in vain.

Your sacrifices mean the world to those of us who have been unable to sacrifice the same. We’ll always remember your bravery, your strength, and your answer to the calls even when untimely and unpopular. You made a difference in the lives you were able to touch, and we greatly love and respect you for that.

Please read Your Sacrifices Mean Something to find helpful resources for you and your loved ones.