Military History: A Present Day Tale

As I was writing my last blog about the culture of "time outs" that pervaded my mid-late childhood, I got to thinking about my own "time out" that is present in my life these days.


It is a deeply painful one but I have always felt that if you can't write it, you can't live it, and, thus, you can't be honest about it, so here I am talking about it.

Adults take "time outs" too, I have discovered. I have discovered this most painfully in my own relationship with Scott although as the days of our "time-out" pass, I gain more clarity.

Scott and I have always had a difficult relationship, logistically and emotionally. We met under very trying circumstances...he was in the midst of separating from his wife and I was in the midst of convincing myself that I was, ultimately, never again going to find someone compatible with my spirit.

I, at that point, had worked in my previous job for enough years to have become deeply admirable of the U.S. military but also wise enough to know that every marine or soldier who showed passing interest in me was not necessarily a compliment or a testimony to my amazing powers of feminine persuasion...it was just human dynamics. Sure, guys in uniform are attractive but, seven years on, I was proud of my job but also jaded and wise enough to know when to make friends and when to become interested. I also knew that the marines and soldiers who really respected me...for my mind...almost never hit on me.

I endured years of criticism and teasing from my female friends about having landed the "ultimate job" because I got to be around guys in uniform and an intensely masculine audience all the time...but, honestly, it was the hardest job I have ever had. And also the most challenging and fulfilling, although my job in Uganda is now rivaling that too. By the time last June rolled around, I barely even thought of the "perks" any longer, I was mainly interested in making sure I did the best job possible.

Thus, last year when I met Scott, I was long past looking for love in uniform. Hell, I wasn't even looking for love at all (or so I try to convince myself...but I think we are all secretly looking for love most of the time, although not always in sexual relationships).

Nevertheless, I was proud of my job, the fact that I had spent the past three years as a part-time instructor/guest lecturer at the United States Marine Corps University at Quantico and the United States Military Academy at West Point, but having gotten long past the crushes I had the first years I was there. Something strange had happened to me, no doubt, in that I had assimilated many things, but I had learned to fit in as a civilian in a world dominated by males and that was enough. I didn't need to have a crush on anyone any longer to justify that I had earned my right to also be in that world.

When my boss at the time, Pauline, asked me to accompany her to the United States Army Command and General Staff College in June of 2008 to give a lecture, I didn't think twice.

Of course...that's what I do...no problem.

I hadn't expected to meet Scott.

It was a simple-enough meeting but it was also magical. He was introduced by one of his department chairs and a former Army General Officer as, "One of the most brilliant young Army Colonels that we have."

I looked at him and thought, "No way he is a goddamn Colonel, he looks like he is about 35! He is a Major or young Lieutenant Colonel at best!"

But, he was not 35, he was 45. Still a young Colonel. And a very, very wise one.

(And pretty damn handsome...but that was only a bonus).

What happened over the next year was simple, we just got along and enjoyed a deeply satisfying appreciation for each other's minds and souls.

We had (have) the same sense of ironic humor, enjoyed the same writers and musicians, enjoyed debating everything from military history to current foreign policy, and, despite him being from the Midwest and me being from the East Coast, found that we shared a similar philosophy (close to humanism) on how we approached life and our fellow man/woman.

So, when his divorce became final, we became a couple...it was natural...we had been best friends at that point for many months.

We had traveled to see each other everywhere possible. I had traveled to see him on base in Florida and on post in Kansas, he had come to DC, and we had a trip together to France that made our relationship sing with possibility. We were talking about whether I could get myself into Iraq to see him or whether he could get himself over here to Uganda...

Until, of course, last month.

Ten months into my deployment in Uganda and two months into his in Iraq.

Then we couldn't stop fighting.

We have been separated our whole relationship...never having had the chance to really spend more than a week or two with each other at a time...

Upon his deployment to Iraq, I honestly reacted oppositely than most women do when their beloved goes to war. I think it is because I have spent so much time around those who have done a third or fourth tour, I knew our country needed Scott. I knew that, as much as I would feel the loss, that this was his job and that he was damn good at it.

I am lucky to count several very good friends who are marines and soldiers and Scott is among the best of them. My personal pride at having this man of mine serve and be in charge of something that was very necessary at a critical juncture of U.S. engagement in Iraq overtook my ego for the first few months. I prided myself on the fact that, because I knew so much about this topic, professionally, I was immune from the feelings that went along with it when you were emotionally involved.

Then, surprisingly, I started to shatter.

I kicked it back. I refused to look at how much I missed him. I refused to be angry at the fact that I wanted him here with me more than where he was at that moment.

I tried to drown out the "It's not fair!!" voice that kept creeping into my head on a daily basis.

For his part, he refused to look positively on the fact that I had just decided to renew my contract in Uganda for another year and had decided to remain "away" from him too.

Scott and I both have fiery tempers. It is actually one of the more exciting parts of our relationship when we are both "healthy" and "whole." When we are not, however, we fight with each other to the point where there have been nights where I have felt like I was dragging my bloodied soul into bed with me...coaxing it to come along.

For his part, I think he feels the same way.

"Our relationship is like candy-coated glass these days," Scott opined, "It tastes so good but it cuts us both apart inside, ultimately."

We had been fighting for weeks. I don't even remember what we were fighting about because Scott and I do not have fundamental disagreements. One of the reasons that I love him.

But we had gotten into a pattern of fighting and I had gotten into a pattern of depression characterized by consoling myself with a few too many glasses of wine on nights I felt lonely.

"Why are you doing this?" he would ask.

Because I had no idea what else to do.

Last Thursday night was the culmination of something that had to break.

He was terse and tired and I was effusive and wanting to talk.

I kept telling myself, "He's in Iraq right now, you know better than to ask more than he can give..."

But suddenly it felt so goddamn unfair.

I exploded.

We fought for an hour with me saying, "Why aren't you interested in my day anymore? Why do you always sound so goddamn tired and like you're dying to get off the phone with me?!!"

"Because I AM goddamn tired, Patti. I AM tired!!" he hollered back.

Afterwards, in my fury, I wrote him an email that he said felt like a "Dear John" letter and told him we shouldn't speak for a few weeks.

To my surprise, he wrote back calmly and said, "I agree. That is best right now."

I accept that because I think we are both right.

I also accept that things might not turn out the way we hope because we have worn each other to shreds and there might be irreparable damage done. I also know that my ego might never recover and that forced distance to me has always been a way of saying "good-bye."

But, tonight, as I sit on my balcony enjoying the cool breezes of the Uganda evening and savoring a good book after a great article on counterinsurgency warfare, I miss Scott more than ever. I wish I could talk to him.

Yet I know why we can't.

Still, silence is comforting. It makes you realize how much you really do miss someone.

I am also learning to not be so attached to the outcome of things.

It's a hard lesson, especially for someone like me who is so fond of being in control of things, but it is one I must learn.

For all of my bravado about understanding "military history," this is one personal story that clearly escaped me.

But, for what it is worth, I am trying to learn the lesson now.