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Iraq's Echoes

Snow!!!   I can't fucking stand it!

I drove home tonight, on a solid sheet of ice.   Snow removal in the towns that I pass through on the way home's about as useless as tits on a bull.   When I pulled into my driveway, my knuckles were literally as white as the snow.

So, no diner tonight.

I'm in my basement, relaxing to some music...the latest album from David 'Fathead' Newman.   Man, the guy's been playing fifty plus years!   He's a truly blessed talent.

Dawn Rice's here, too.   Exiting out of my bathroom after using it, she comes down to the basement.   Before that, she spent a good twenty minutes schmoozing with The Missus about scrapbooking.   More than once, she's told me that she's not a scrapbooking enthusiast.   She says that it's for girls.   "So, why aren't you going to the diner tonight?"
"I don't feel like driving in the snow."
"God, George, man up!"
"I'm just sick and tired of it.   Last time it snowed, I went off the road.   I don't need snow anymore."
It's Dawn's night off, from work, from children, from everything.   So, she decided to come over and hang out, and nibble from a bowl of pretzels in front of me.   "You work in Princeton, so of course the trip sucks."
"Because I don't have an old Toyota Land Cruiser like you do."
"True.   But then, you're gettin' better than twelve miles a gallon, too."
Right.   "So, how's Rob?"
Dawn sighs.   "I'm losing him.   No, I've lost him."
"Huh?"
"He very rarely talks to me anymore.   He only talks to his buddies, but that's harder now, since they've deployed again.   All that's left's Debbie and Elmo."
Debbie lost her legs, courtesy of an IED.   Elmo's a quadropelegic, due to a freak spinal cord injury.   All three- Debbie, Elmo, and Rob, talk on the phone all day, when they're not visiting one another.   Elmo- Cpl. Edmund Perez, and Debbie- PFC Debra Marie Myers, are, despite their disabilities and their status, very, very proud United States Marines.   Debbie lives down in Mount Laurel.   Elmo in Bridgeton.

Semper Fidelis.

"I wish I had some good advice for you, Dawn.   Really, I do..."
"It's not the advice I need.   I just need you to be here.   I have very few good friends I'm close to...after you and Carolyn, I don't have much out there."
"Hey, I'm here.   We're here.   Always."
"Thanks."
"He's only talking to Debbie and Elmo and nobody else?"
"Yep.   The rest of the world's not here anymore.   There's only them, and the guys in the unit, when he can keep up with them."
"I remember your brother Bob telling you that this is very common."
"I know it's common, but I'm his wife, and he's got three kids.   He know's he has three kids.   He was there in the Delivery Room helping out."
"Right."
My wife, Carolyn, comes down to the basement.   She takes a seat in front of her craft table.   "I'll just settle for him saying hello to the kids.   I've lost him, but shit, at least say hello to the kids!"
"Rob?"   Carolyn asks.
"Yep."   Dawn pops the top off a can of A&W root beer that I've given her.   "Rob.   I'm scared."
The Fathead CD ends; there's silence.   "How are the boys handling it?"   I ask.
"Not well at all.   Abbie's very angry and very confused.   The twins seem to be snippy with each other a lot more."
Carolyn asks, "do you think Rob's gonna...like...do anything?"
"Do anything?"   Dawn inquires.
Carolyn looks away.   "Is he going to hurt himself," I say, treading carefully, "or anyone...else?"
"I hope not."   Dawn sighs.   "He starts counseling again on Thursday.   A fat lot of good it's been for him.   It's all we can do, though."
"Right."
"George," Dawn says softly, her eyes welling up, "I'm scared.   My boys are scared.   I'm so fucking scared."
I reach over, and begin gently massaging Dawn's back with my fingers.   Up and down.   Up and down.   "You're not alone.   There's so many other wives...husbands too..."
"Yes."   Dawn's in a full cry now.   Her chest is heaving with sobbing.   She has her face buried in her hands.   "I'm sure they're all crying, too."
"Are you talking to other wives going through what you're going through?"
Dawn's crying ebbs.   "No, not really."
"You know, joining a support group might be the best thing you ever do."
"You think so?"
"Yes," Carolyn says, coming over to the couch.   "It's a great idea."
"I never did that because joining groups of anything's not what I do."
"Well, it's what you should do now.   Because, yes, you need the both of us, and we're proud that we can be here for you, but joining other wives in a support group means you'll be with people who you share bonds with even before you walk in the door."
"Yeah, I think I need this."
"I think they have one down at the hospital here."
"Yes, they do."
"Do it, Dawn," Carolyn says.
Dawn sighs; she takes tissues from a box dispenser next to the couch.   For Dawn, the ordeal is ceaseless.   For the rest of America not personally affected by Iraq, it's merely a half hour segment on television.