As I am close friends with a large group of Americans, and this is their Memorial Day Weekend, I decided, with a little prodding from a friend, that this would be my topic of the day.  I am in a rather unique position, in that I can speak to the experience from the perspective of a daughter, wife, and mother.  I have been surrounded by the military my entire life, for better or for worse.  It has shaped me as a person, I am sure of it.  The military of my father’s day, is a far cry from the military of today, however.

I don’t remember, as a child, or even teenager, being afraid of my father being in the Canadian Navy.  My father was a naval medic for 32 years.  We lived on both coasts, and at one point, he wore the only naval uniform on an air force base in Lahr, West Germany, as it was still called then.  In our household, when Dad came home from work, he checked his uniform at the door, and we rarely, if ever heard a thing about his job.  Sure, he told stories of having to sew drunken sailors’ ears back on, after they had fallen, and when he was the medical personnel who helped sailors retrieved from a sunken ship, but on the day to day, we were rather sheltered from the reality.  I remember him having to go away, at one point to receive a medal from the Governor General, but it didn’t really strike home as a youngster, what exactly that meant.

Being a child of a military parent, meant that I was used to my father being away, a lot.  He did an eleven month tour in Africa when I was only 3, and many, many NATO tours where he was away for many, many months.  We rarely ever heard from him when he was away at sea, except for letters, on these weird green sheets that all folded up into  the envelop as well. There weren’t cell phones, emails and webcams, and unless there was a dire emergency, the use of satellite phone systems was almost non-existent.   I can recall, on extremely odd occasions getting to quickly say hello, and having to make sure you said “Over”, when you were done speaking.

Dad missed birthdays, and anniversaries, Christmases and Easters, our whole young lives.  And, it was tough on my mother.  She had to be Mom and Dad, to myself and my brother, with a very small support system, especially when we lived in BC, and overseas.  She never learned to drive, never even wanted to. One thing I distinctly remember, was how big of a deal she made when he was coming home.  We were very often, freezing our tails off on the wharf when the ship came sailing into port, waving flags, while the band played.  It was a fabulous game to see who would spot Dad first, and he was always up deck. Sometimes we wouldn’t recognize him because he would grow a mustache, which Mom would promptly make him shave off.

It wasn’t an easy life, but it was happy.  We got to see places we never would have otherwise, for sure.  I missed my father very much when he went away, but again, I was never afraid.  It didn’t mean anything to my young mind when he got stuck in England one Christmas because of political unrest in Europe.  I didn’t understand, that when I went on a school trip to Switzerland, and we had to be rerouted off our train, and be bussed around a section of track that was damaged, that it was because we had been targeted, by terrorists, because we were Canadian school kids.  Our train was late, the next train went ahead, and hit the bomb on the tracks.  That didn’t mean much as an 11 year old.

I guess I mentioned fear, because, as a military wife, that is very real.  I married into the military when I was just 21.  When they shout, there’s no life like it, that is an absolute truth.  As a child, we lived in military housing up until I was about 5, and again when we lived in Germany, when I was 10-13. My parents preferred us to live off base as much as possible.  Mom hated the term “army brat” , and didn’t really want us exposed to that “element”, but as a young, newly married couple, with one child and, very quickly, another on the way, it was all we could afford.  I remember rent being 232 a month, for a three bedroom townhouse!  We lived in a court, and everybody knew everybody’s business.

When I moved into this court, within days, my husband was off on exercise, and I was alone for 6 weeks.  Welcome to the neighbourhood, and to the world as a military wife.  I have said this before, but when the military coined the term “dependent” for the spouse of a member, they had no idea what they were talking about.  Financially, maybe, emotionally, and physically, no way. Living through special events and holidays without my father never even slightly prepared me for living through them without my husband.  In the first few years of my youngest son’s life, his father was away more than he was home.

To touch back on fear, my ex-husband was sent to OKA, Quebec, during a native unrest incident in the early 1990’s.  It was top secret, and they were on alert to move for days, before they were shipped off, to an undisclosed area, for an undisclosed amount of time.  They rotated home for long weekends, but it was scary to watch the news and see how heated things got, how dangerous it could have become.  It was far worse when he was sent to Bosnia, on the second tour of duty, we as Canadians were involved in.  That was probably some of the toughest times of my life.  There were no phone systems in place.  The news coverage was crazy insane.  I sat day after day, glued to CNN and CBC Newsworld watching for news.  I didn’t know where my husband was.  I wrote every day, sent parcels at least a couple times a month.  He would be so excited to have Mr.Noodle cups so he could have something to  eat if he missed a meal.  Fighting was heated back then, and I know he suffers, today, from the things he witnessed and heard over there.  I was very nearly, paralyzed with fear, for the majority of the time he was over there, and had two small children to hide it from.  I remember transferring all my home phone calls to my cellphone, to make sure I didn’t miss a call, because they were so few and far between.  I went more than 2 months without hearing from him except for just a couple of letters.

So, again we go to fear, or should I say terror.  I have been afraid of losing a husband.  I am absolutely terrified to lose a son. As I said to begin with, the military of today, is far different then that of my father’s.  Canada has always stood out to the world as a peacekeeping nation.  Now that we are in Afghanistan, where there is no peace to be kept, that is no longer true.  Our soldiers have targets painted on their backs, and crazy people looking to take them out.  My son is very good at his job.  He has gotten glowing performance evaluations, and commendations from officers he has driven for.  He will very likely, get his advanced promotion to the rank of Corporal.  He is constantly doing courses, and being qualified to drive and operate, bigger and better vehicles and equipment.  Bravo, job well done my son, but every time I hear him tell me one more thing he can do, I think it gets him one step closer to a war zone.  He is 21, married, with a baby on the way, very much the same as any of  a number of the recently killed Canadian soldiers.  Our death toll rises steadily, and each time I see another flag draped coffin lowered from a aircraft, onto Canadian soil, I weep for the family.  I would be destroyed, as a mother, to lose my son to a war, that I don’t believe we have any business in.  Probably not a politically correct thing to say, right here, right now, but I am very much not about politically correctness, when my baby’s life is what we are discussing.  I am very proud of my son, but I do hate the profession he has chosen.

That all being said, I say loudly and clearly, that we need to always support our military, and their families.  The member is not the only one in the service of their country.  The people they leave at home, flaming the home fires, and missing them, loving them, have it every bit as hard, if not harder.  I do not support the decisions that are made, and the places they are sent, but I give 110% support to the men and women who defend our way of life, every minute of every day.  If you have a family member serving, bless you, and I hope they always return home safely from wherever they are sent, and if you need some support, ever, look me up.  I have a threefold perspective on this whole lifestyle.  No life like it…absolutely!