Returning Warrior

Last night I had another bad dream: Adam and I were walking around Ft. Benning together, when he bumped into a commanding officer he'd known back in Iraq. When they greeted each other and started rehashing names, places and events, Adam brought up a good buddy of his who he thought the CO might remember. She blinked and responded, "Edentom got snapped."
I knew right away what she meant from the expression on her face, but Adam didn't quite get it. He thought she meant his friend had been pulled to another unit or had had a mental breakdown. When she realized his confusion, the CO said again, "Edentom got snapped, Mittman. He's gone."
Adam stepped back as if he'd been punched. "Steve Edentom??" he asked, his voice choked by his closing throat, and his eyes welling with tears. I'd never seen him react this way before; I felt helpless to do anything.
The CO nodded. "Yeah, his head was still attached, but where his face should have been--it was all gone. Blew his face right off of him." It was as if she didn't know when to stop talking.
Adam was shaking and his eyes were red, and he kept saying, "I can't believe it..." over and over again. It was awful.

At some point after that, around 4am, I woke up to the sounds of Greg House puking all over my living room couch. I jumped out of bed to take the Elizabethan collar from around his neck as he wretched on one of the blankets we keep for the animals. Poor boy, first his skin itches him, now his tummy's upset. I was glad to get away from that awful, awful dream, so I just sat with House in my arms, listening to him purr as I nuzzled my cheek into his fur. All I could think was how much I hoped Adam didn't really have an old buddy named Steve Edentom.

An hour later, my phone alarm went off signaling me to give Adam his wake-up call. I was groggy, as it had taken me a long time to go back to sleep with thoughts of that dream lingering. When a very sleepy Adam picked up (he had had a difficult time sleeping, too--those damned rattling windows!), I told him about Greg House's vomiting episode, then tentatively asked him if the last name "Edentom" meant anything to him.
"Edentom?" he asked.
"Yeah, Steve Edentom," I replied, hoping against hope he'd say no.
"No, why?"
I breathed a sigh of relief. "It just would have been something bad," I responded. "I would have had to give you some pretty bad news."
I was thankful and sad all at the same time. Maybe Adam had no friend named Steve Edentom. Maybe Steve Edentom didn't even exist. But really, he did. He existed in the thousands of troops that have died in this war, and they were all someone's friend, family, colleague. I returned to sleep with a heavy heart.

This morning, I woke to NPR's "Morning Edition", where they were doing a story on the Navy's "Returning Warrior Workshop". This was the weekend long event that Adam and I attended in Chicago last year, that's geared toward helping service members and their families cope with war, separation, and return to normal life. I remember how jaded and unconvinced I was going into that weekend, not wanting to let my guard down to share my thoughts and feelings. By the end, though, I had, if not fully, gradually immersed myself in the themes of the meeting:

It's okay to be angry at your spouse for having left you behind to deal with life by yourself

It's normal to feel like your spouse is getting the global experience, the travelling adventure and the glory and honor from a grateful nation, while you're at home holding it all together

Feeling happy that your spouse is home, yet feeling like your new-found independence is being squelched is okay

These things take time to overcome and heal

It was nice to hear NPR do a profile on the workshop and to hear that the Navy has now increased the number of workshops that are put on every year to about 25. Obviously, there are still many of us out there who need a little help.