By Ellyn Pak
The couple exchanged simple vows in a back room of the San Diego county clerk’s office, surrounded by a handful of friends and family members.
The bride wore a satin dress that she had worn to a friend’s wedding a few months before. The groom stood tall in a crisp black suit, its pockets containing two matching rings.
A video camera captured moments the pair failed to notice. The groom’s parents fighting back tears. Friends circling around them with digital cameras. The heavy-set commissioner wearing white sneakers and a plastic, orange flower pinned to her black robe.
In less than 10 minutes, the pair cemented a seven-year journey that began when they were college students.
They relished a sweet moment that for a short time masked feelings of uncertainty and dread. In two weeks, the couple would be split apart for nearly a year.
He, a 27-year-old naval officer, would start combat training to prepare for a deployment in Iraq just months after he had returned from a six-month tour in the Persian Gulf. She, a 26-year-old journalist, would remain in California and count down the days to her husband’s return.
That girl — scared and dumbfounded — would be me.
***
As a newspaper reporter, I’ve interviewed family members of Sept. 11 victims; I’ve written about women who have made it their personal mission to send hundreds of care packages to random U.S. soldiers deployed in Iraq and Afghanistan; and, just recently, I met a family dealing with the loss of their 20-year-old son who was killed by a homemade bomb in Baghdad.
My personal feelings about tragedy and the war in Iraq were detached from my job. My emotions didn’t muddle the stories of the people I met. I was an outsider looking in, though on some level, I could relate to everyone I interviewed.
But I never imagined that I would be able to link to their stories. I never predicted that I would be in this situation, wondering what had just happened in the past months.
Rey and I got engaged last September during a getaway in San Francisco. We were excited about the prospect of starting our life together and told everyone we could about our engagement. We had finally solidified our relationship, which had endured previous deployments, a breakup and a reunion.
Just a month later, Rey broke the news that the Navy had volunteered him for a yearlong tour in Iraq. The phrase was “individual augmentation,” or military jargon that described plucking active-duty individuals out of their current jobs and placing them in Iraq to help the Army folks.
Rey was a damage control assistant on the USS McCampbell in San Diego and taking night classes. A San Diego native, Rey was happy to be back in his hometown after years of being separated from his family and living on the East Coast.
The news was crushing and the tears flowed for days. Our plans for a dream wedding were put on hold. Rey’s plans to pursue medical school were derailed. I didn’t know if I could handle another deployment.
But we decided to get married to cement our relationship, and it seemed to be the only thing we had control over at the time. In one week, we planned the ceremony and bought matching rings.
My family members and friends couldn’t make it to the ceremony since it was last minute. It felt like we were eloping, but I had my parents’ support. It was all that mattered.
Rey and I sealed the deal on Oct. 21. He left the first week of November for combat training that would take him to Virginia, South Carolina and Arizona.
***
The first few months as a military wife were confusing.
Trips to the base were adventures because I lacked a sense of direction. There were a few times when I forgot that I couldn’t use my cell phone while driving on the base and was chastised by guards.
And the acronyms. Who can keep track of the military lingo? Rey is a former SWO and DCA but now an EWO who shops at the NEX and MCRD. (Rey is a former surface warfare officer and damage control assistant but now an electrical warfare officer who shops at the Navy Exchange and the Marine Corps Recruit Depot.)
The transition became easier, but I felt incredibly isolated. Our new condo felt empty and looking at our photos haunted me. I missed having dinner with my husband. I missed waking up next to him. I missed everything about him.
I knew only a few military wives, but they were living in different parts of the world. And my co-workers and girlfriends, though supportive and loving, didn’t understand what it was like to send away a loved one to war.
Rey suggested that I join a military spouse support group. I balked at the idea. I thought I wouldn’t have anything in common with these women, most of who have children. Besides, my job kept me busy.
By December, Rey was stationed 50 miles north of Baghdad, in a city called Balad. At LSA Anaconda, one of the biggest U.S. bases in Iraq, Rey was adjusting to long days of work.
Now, during our daily 10-minute conversations, Rey talks about anything from the mundane to what he looks forward to when he returns home.
Yet he doesn’t describe what Iraq smells and tastes like. He doesn’t explain in detail about his missions into the towns surrounding his base. And he failed to tell me that his base was once dubbed “Mortaritaville.”
So my curiosity about Iraq continues to grow. I read any book I can about the country and its history. I religiously watch CNN for hours after I come home from work.
I want to talk to someone who’s been to Iraq, someone who can tell me what Rey might be experiencing. I feel it’s one way to quell my curiosity and it reassures me that my husband will return like many other soldiers and Marines.
A friend in Orange County linked me to Marine Capt. Jin Ki Kim, who was more than willing to share his story.
Kim, who lives in Irvine, Calif., was deployed to Iraq even before the invasion began in 2003. He spent most of his time as an air controller and intelligence officer with a range of duties, including using his Korean language skills to work closely with South Korean and British marines.
He was involved in several firefights in Basrah and depended on his instincts to lead his guys out of several life-threatening situations.
“You just can’t have them look at you and think that you don’t know what you’re doing,” Jin says.
It’s a sentiment that Rey echoes about the group of soldiers he’s responsible for. He says he feels a heavy burden when he sends the young soldiers out to missions. There is no room for error.
In one letter, Rey described candidly his thoughts about a recent mission in a nearby town. He was disheartened by the destitute conditions in which the Iraqis lived and the blank stares on the faces of the people when his armored vehicle rumbled past them.
He described how proud he was of the young soldiers, who venture out of the safe zones every day into harm’s way. Though optimistic that Rey will return home safely, I can’t help but think sometimes that the worst will happen.
Sometimes I dread going back to our condo, fearing the two uniformed service members who might be waiting at my door to tell me the worst of news. I can’t wait until the day that I don’t have to worry daily about Rey’s well-being.
Jin, 31, left active duty in January 2005 and now works for a development company in Orange County. Though unmarried, he understands what it is like to be away from loved ones. His advice is helpful, especially when he says that the material items that soldiers receive are less important than the letters and prayers they receive.
“Regardless of how you feel about the war, you should support the troops,” Jin says. “One year in Iraq is a long, long time.”
***
I have discovered that the military community is a small one, where former classmates, shipmates and fellow soldiers’ paths cross more often than not.
Rey’s former classmate Brian Ko, who recently left the Navy, gave me the names of two who had experienced long deployments in Iraq and suggested I talk to them.
Navy Lt. Matt O’ Hara, who lives in Monterey, Calif., and Marine Capt. Erick Min, who lives in San Diego, Calif., both graduated in the same class as Rey, in 2001 at the U.S. Naval Academy.
The two, who are buddies, have never met my husband. But they understand what it’s like to be sent to war. Matt, 26, was also “individually augmented” like Rey and was sent to Baghdad from August 2005 to August 2006.
Matt had even less time to prepare for his deployment. He received a two-week notice, and left his possessions and life in San Diego.
A trained pilot, he worked mainly on computer networking in Iraq. Luckily, he wasn’t on the frontlines, but he did work long hours: 12 to 15 hours a day, seven days a week. He missed his friends. He craved Korean food. He missed driving a car.
“I was probably a little nervous of what I was going into,” he says. “[But] it was a good opportunity to go where something’s going on.”
His family members were scared yet proud, Matt says.
“Obviously, they were more nervous than I was,” he says. “They know that you’re in the military. You’re more likely to be deployed in your career. It’s part of what you do and it’s part of your job.”
Now in postgraduate school studying computer science, Matt says he doesn’t know if he’ll be sent back to Iraq.
Matt’s close friend Erick, 27, is probably going back this fall. The helicopter pilot has gone to Iraq twice. He returned from his second deployment in October 2006, about the time Rey and I got married.
Erick described the mundane nature of being out there, because of the daily grind of doing the same thing day in and day out.
“As far as my experiences go, there are good days and bad days,” he says. “Everyone out there misses being home.”
I learn the most after talking to Erick, because he is blunt and also a bit of a cynic.
He despises infidelity and says he probably won’t get into a serious relationship during his time as a Marine. He says transitioning back to normality after returning home from a long deployment is more difficult than one assumes.
He also adds:
“People who haven’t experienced it will never understand.”
***
Maybe Erick’s right and it is impossible to comprehend what Rey is going through. So I decide to reach out to an acquaintance who I heard had recently married an Army sergeant, maybe just to see if anyone out there can understand what I’m going through.
I met Kate Whitmore Lloyd a few years ago through a mutual friend during a night of partying in Washington, D.C. We never saw each other again, and I would have kept in touch if I had known that she would be a fellow military wife. Luckily, one of my best friends in Maryland still keeps in touch with her and gave me her contact information.
Kate got married in January 2005 to Jeff, an Army sergeant based in Fort Bragg, N.C. She had met him a year before after he had returned from a deployment in Iraq.
After living in North Carolina for a few months, the couple moved to Columbia, Md., where Kate grew up. Jeff left active duty but signed up for the National Guard, which he reports to every weekend. There must’ve been something in him that wanted to go back to Iraq and be with his fellow soldiers, Kate says.
“I don’t understand it maybe because I’m a girl,” Kate says. “Maybe it’s a guy thing. I don’t understand it, and I wasn’t happy about him joining the guard.”
Kate gave birth to a baby boy, Clayton, in 2005. Clayton, a preemie, died two months later after fighting for his life in the neonatal intensive care unit at the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Md.
Kate, now 25 and finishing up a college degree, says the experience strengthened her relationship with Jeff, 29. But she has another hurdle to jump. There’s a chance Jeff will be sent back to Iraq.
“Having to think about the prospect of a deployment and something happening, it’s overwhelming,” Kate says. “In the back of my mind, he might deploy. I try not to think about it until he goes. You try to stay positive for him. You can’t think something bad is going to happen.”
“It’s not something I want to happen, but if it does, I know we’ll be okay,” she adds. “It won’t be a complete surprise. I think any woman dating anyone in the military knows that’s part of the game. Love it or hate it, that’s the way it is.”
Kate says she dreams of having another baby, buying a house, moving forward with her life. But for now, their plans are on hold because he may have to leave in the fall. For many of us military wives, time often goes by slowly because we count every day, hour and second until our husbands return.
Like me, Kate has never really reached out to many other military wives. Now I’m relieved I can call her to talk about our husbands.
She understands.
