Sisterhood, Strength, and Soldiers

I didn't grow up with a sister.  I didn't join a sorority in college.  Yet I am surround by an astounding sisterhood.  These are the military wives I know.  Those that have sat through deployments, illnesses, injuries, and yes, even deaths.  Different as we may be, we all fit together like the patches of a quilt.  Each of our patches tells a unique story...all of us seem so different. But we have a common thread linking us together.  We are stronger because of each other. 

War widows are often referred to as a 'sorority of the young' and indeed they are.  Many are in their early 20s, almost all are under 40.  All are forced to bury husbands long before they should usually after horrible and tragic circumstances.  Unlike with gang wars or other city crimes, these men are the finest lot...hard workers, with a sense of duty and commitment often mocked by my generation.


It has been a month since a friend of mine lost her husband in Afghanistan.  Just writing these words makes my eyes well with tears. They have two boys who are now without a father.  There is a mother without a son.  There are siblings left behind.  And countless friends and colleagues left with the same empty feeling.

Paul has been memorialized and eulogized many times now.  And he was indeed a fine officer, a courageous and honorable man, and a loving son, husband, and father.  But in all the memorial is lost the amazing woman he married.  Often Traci spoke of how strong Paul was; how he was the rock of the family; that he was her moral support and strength.  But she underestimates herself.  She is the glue that keeps her family together.  She has risen with a strength I think few of us can ever imagine having.  I watch her with so much admiration...but that is not new.  Traci is always the first to help out, the first to arrive, the first to comfort, the first.  Traci you are every bit Paul's equal in strength and courage.  He knew that all along.

So today there stands another tree.  There are 443 now on our walk.  Most other installations have similar walks with trees and mementos piling up.  Each with a plaque; each watered by the tears of friends and loved ones; each the last standing remembrance of a soldier; none of them enough.  As Rob is now entering the tunnel that will end with deployment this is my worst fear.  I hope I never need the sisterhood that I am part of.  I hope I never need to call on their strength in this way.  But I am grateful everyday that it is there, standing ready, always quite and courageous. 

“Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says, 'I'll try again tomorrow.'”
― Mary Anne Radmacher