Page 88 of Salute, To Bravery
During my stay this past week, I have been bombarded with questions about Brandon’s death from the investigations team. Thankfully, they stopped coming, seeming to have gotten all the answers they were looking for—or my sister finally chased them all off again.
The questions were getting more redundant. I know they needed to try and find answers, but we were just the rescue team, I don’t have any of the information that led to his death. They were more likely to find them out of the others, who were probably back and ready to get back out on missions.
“Let’s do that over, but this time let’s be honest this time,” she scolds.
“I had another bad dream,” I finally relent.
She nods, showing her understanding. These nurses knew how to handle us even in the worst moments.
Tears prick at my eyes as I try to focus on the physical pain and push away the emotional pain that may not be my life anymore. Even now, I still can’t talk about what happened, everything I have seen and done.
Not even my wife knows, though she encourages me to open up about it; I want to protect her from the dark side of an operator’s life. My therapist checks in weekly and tries to gently push me to open up about what happened and my feelings, truthfully not sure if I will ever be ready. Ironic really, since we never have as much time as we think we do.
“Don’t forget, today is your appointment with the doc,” she gently reminds me while taking my blood pressure, going through her routine morning checks. “Your wife went to get some coffee, but if you need anything before she returns, just hit the call button.”
I nod in acknowledgment, feeling grateful for her presence and care. “Thank you, Rose,” I call after her as she walks back out into the hallway, leaving the door open a crack.
I must have closed my eyes again because the smell of coffee near my face alerts me to Jane’s presence before I see her.
“Black, just like you like it.” She hands my typical black cup to me with a smile. Her long dark ebony hair pulled back into a braid, and her tired green hazel eyes alight with hesitation. I hate that I put that there. But I have no idea how to make things right, choosing instead to lean on sarcasm.
“Like my soul.”
“Nothing could be further from the truth.” As she leaned in for a gentle kiss, I pressed my lips harder against hers, pulling her closer, needing to feel her body against mine. Needing the calm she provided. The taste of her strawberry lip balm explodes on my tongue while reaching around her hips to grab her firmass. She lets out a soft moan and then swiftly pulls away, her cheeks blushing with embarrassment, turning towards the door, making sure no one saw.
“Hey baby. How are you feeling?” She tries to mask the concern in her voice, but I can see the stress wearing her down. The pain etched in her eyes highlighted by the faint dark circles barely concealed with makeup.
She didn’t deserve this life, nor the man I have become.
I know she cries when she thinks I’m asleep. It isn’t something either of us talk about, and I just add that to the growing list of everything I am failing at lately. I have no idea how to even begin talking about everything I feel and worry about. It’s my job to shield those from the worst of war; I can’t lose her to my pain or even ask her to shoulder the burden I carry.
Instead of telling her everything I need to, instead a quick and simple, “Fine,” but deep down, she and I both know it’s not entirely true. I couldn’t bear to add any more weight to her already overwhelming load. With the kids currently staying with my parents in Washington and my constant stream of medical appointments, she is juggling a lot.
Not to mention the drastic changes in our lives. She didn’t expect to be married to a man who could barely keep up with her, a mere shell of my former self. That’s why I needed to take as much off her as possible. Be more independent and learn how to do this on my own. I wouldn’t always have someone able to help 24/7 like in the hospital. Lord I really hoped the doc discharged me today.
I was ready to get started and walk again, get back to some semblance of me again, whatever that looked like. “Really, I’m just trying to process everything,” I explain. “It’s only been a few weeks, and so much has changed. I don’t know how to navigate this.”
In less than a month, my sister could have been captured, my best friend was gone, and I wasn’t the man she married anymore. Shit, I didn’t even know who I was. If I wanted to fight to stay in and continue on with missions or if it was ready to start something new.
“No, but there should be.” She nods, but her eyes betray her hesitation. “Truthfully, I am not sure either one of us knows what to do about this. But we are here and can’t change what happened. I need you to open up to me, tell me how I can help support you. All the wives keep saying to give you time, but I feel like I am sitting and waiting. I need to do something.”
She settles onto the chair beside me.
I reach for her hand, desperate to show her I’m trying, that I care. Our marriage is a constant struggle, held together by a fragile thread. I long to confide in her about my job, the things I’ve witnessed.
I envy people who can come home and tell their spouse about their day. But I have to keep protecting her from what I do, the horrors we see, the things we have to do. Being in Delta Force, constantly deployed at a moment’s notice to some distant corner of the world, leaves little room for any kind of stability for our family.
Jane has had to bear the burden of raising our two children alone while I am away, always wondering if I’ll make it back home. The guilt and uncertainty of staying in the military or getting a medical separation weigh heavily on me. I feel lost and directionless, with no clear path to follow.
I’ve heard stories of marriages crumbling under the weight of injuries like mine. I couldn’t let that be us. I needed to try and bridge the sinkhole that had begun to form.
“Jane, sweetheart. I don’t even know where to begin. I promise I will be okay; I just need time. Maybe now is the perfect time to get your real estate license like you always wanted.” I try toassure her, but I know I am throwing duct tape over a gaping hole trying to redirect into anything but talking about me. “How are the kids?” Steering the conversation to our default.
“They’re good, still with your parents. Despite everything, they’re having a great time. They keep asking to talk to you, so whenever you feel ready, we can do a video chat.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want them to see me like this.”
“They love you and miss you so much. And it’s not like they don’t know you’re in a hospital injured. They want to see their dad. It’s hard on all of us, Craig.”
