I met up with a very pregnant Jordan for dinner at our favorite barbecue restaurant in town that night. Of all my friendships, ours had probably grown the closest in the aftermath of Michael’s death. Maybe it was that we’d been together when the casualty officers had arrived at the house; experiencing something so devastating had bonded us together.
But even as I loved her, as I knew she understood as best as she could, I would have been lying if I didn’t admit there weren’t still moments when it was hard, when I felt the same disconnect from her I experienced with everyone else around me. She had the family I’d always wanted, and even as I was happy for her, I couldn’t deny there was a part of me that was angry—at God, fate, the Air Force, the fucking F-16, whatever it was that decided to take my husband and the future we’d imagined away from me.
This was one of the places where the ghost of him lingered, a restaurant we’d gone to so many times over the years, where we’d sat and laughed with friends. It was crazy, but I swore I could feel his arm draped across the back of my chair, the heat of his leg pressing into mine. I pushed back against the tears pricking behind my eyelids.
“When does Noah’s flight get in?” I asked.
Jordan was two weeks away from her due date and her husband, Noah—known to the Wild Aces by his call sign, “Burn”—was coming back from Korea for the birth of their first child. They hadn’t seen each other since he’d returned to the U.S. in November and I knew how much she missed him.
“Saturday afternoon.”
I grinned at the way her face lit up when she said it. Their one-year anniversary was a couple weeks away, and despite the distance between them, she still had that “newlywed glow” about her.
“I’m so happy for you guys.”
“Thanks. I can’t believe everything is happening at once. It feels like I’ve been pregnant forever, and now the baby’s almost here. And I’m so excited to see Noah and have him home with us for a while.”
“How long will he be here for?”
“A month. He’s using this as his mid-tour leave. He’ll go back to Korea for his final month and then he’ll be back for good.”
They’d been lucky enough to get Bryer as their next assignment, so they’d be in Oklahoma for another three years.
“How are things going with you?” Jordan asked.
I shrugged between mouthfuls of brisket. “Good, I guess. Nothing really new.”
My life had become a cycle of wake up, run errands, occasionally read, fall asleep, and repeat. Sometimes I hung out with friends, but since Michael died I found myself narrowing my social circle. People meant well, but sometimes it was harder to be in social settings. I didn’t fit. Not anymore. I could laugh, could find reasons to smile. I could be happy . . . ish. But no matter how hard I tried, or how much time passed, there was a hole inside me; a piece was missing, gaping open, edges ragged, and I hadn’t a clue how to fill it. I tried. I tried so fucking hard. And still, the pain beat inside my chest, my future a yawning void without the one thing I’d built my life around.
I’d had interests when Michael was alive, friendships, things that had kept me busy during the long stretches when he was away from home. But the heart of everything, what had given me a purpose to throw myself into every day rather than going through the motions had been the life we’d built. I’d spent so much time focused on our marriage, dreaming about our future, the family we were building, envisioning us growing old together, that he had simply become part of me. And now he was gone, leaving me fractured and alone, and the other stuff didn’t matter anymore. Everyone had a suggestion for how I should deal with my grief, and they meant well; they loved me and wanted me to be happy, but I couldn’t yoga my way through widowhood. I hadn’t achieved anything beyond coping, wondered if that was too lofty a goal.
“How are things with the house?” Jordan asked.
“We’ve had a few showings, but nothing solid. I spent the week doing home improvement projects—planting flowers and organizing the garage. Easy’s actually coming over to paint tomorrow.”
“Easy’s doing manual labor?”
I laughed. He was Noah’s best friend, and he and Jordan definitely had a sibling-like relationship where they ragged on each other constantly.
“Yeah. I ran into him while I was shopping for paint and he was nice enough to offer to help.”
“Speaking of Easy,” Jordan said. “I was talking to Noah, and we thought it would be fun to do something as a squadron before the guys deploy. Would you come?”
The Wild Aces continued to include me in squadron events. I tried not to overstep too much since I didn’t want to make the new squadron commander’s wife feel as though I was usurping her position, but there were enough people I cared about, so I went to the important ones.
“Yeah, I would. Thanks for inviting me.”
“No problem. Everyone would love to see you there.”
I missed feeling like I belonged. I hadn’t loved everything about military life, but the friendships I’d built meant the world to me. We’d been a family when the strain of the lifestyle took your biological family away from you.
“How’s Becca doing with the deployment coming up?” I asked.
Becca was the newest member of our military family. She’d just gotten engaged—or re-engaged—to Thor, one of Michael’s buddies and the fourth member in the formation when he died. Thor had struggled with PTSD in the months following Michael’s death, but he seemed to be doing a lot better now, and reconnecting with his high school sweetheart had definitely played a huge role in his recovery.
“She seems okay. A little stressed, but doing her best to be strong for Thor. She’s worried about how he’ll handle the deployment with his PTSD, but she said it’s really important to him to be there for the squadron.”
The buildup to a deployment, especially your first one, was always the worst. This horrible event loomed large, and each day took you one day closer to the thing you dreaded most. The month before my first deployment with Michael had been one of the most difficult times of my life. Well, until now. I remembered the fear that had clawed me as I’d said good-bye to him, as I’d wrapped my arms around his body, trying to memorize the weight of him, the shape of him, trying to hold him to me and keep him close enough to weather six months apart. The fear had pummeled me wave after wave—that our relationship would flounder, that he would change, or I would change, and then of course, most of all, the fear that was my constant shadow. That this would be the last time I held him, the last time I saw him, kissed him.
And for all those times I’d tried to keep the image sharp, after a while, the years ran together and you adjusted to the life, to the TDYs and deployments, and you forgot how scary their job was. You grew used to hearing about the dangers they faced each time they flew, even when it was just a training mission, and you loosened your grip each time.
I’d taken Michael to the squadron to fly to Alaska on a Tuesday. I remembered snippets of our conversation in the car, his fingers entwined with mine as I drove him to work, Tom Petty’s “Learning to Fly” playing on the radio, and Michael turning up the dial and singing along in his off-key tone.
I played that song at his memorial service.
When I thought of him now, when I clung to the memory of him, it was the image of saying good-bye to him in the squadron parking lot that always stuck with me—the last moment I’d seen him alive. It had faded with time, with the year that had gone by, like a worn photograph, and sometimes I woke in the middle of the night, panic flooding me at the possibility that I’d forgotten some detail, some moment, that eventually the memories of him would fade away, too, and I’d really be left with nothing.
“I’ll talk to her,” I offered.
Being a fighter wife was a sisterhood of sorts. Nothing could prepare you for it, not entirely, at least, but it helped to have someone to talk to who’d gone through deployments and TDYs, who’d lived with the fear of loving someone with such a dangerous job, who understood in a way those unconnected to the military simply couldn’t. I wasn’t as close to Becca as I was to Jordan, but we’d hung out a few times over the past few months and I really liked her. After everything he’d been through, it was good to see Thor so happy.
“Thanks,” Jordan answered. “That would mean a lot to her. She’s planning their wedding so that’ll probably help her stay busy, but I imagine it has to be tough, especially since she struggled so much with his job.”
They’d been engaged when they were in college, but broke up when Thor went to Texas to start pilot training. Ten years later, they’d run into each other in their home state of South Carolina. Fast forward a few months, and they were engaged again, adorably in love, planning their wedding.
Jordan took anther bite of her brisket, a nervous expression on her face I recognized all too well and had seen directed my way countless times, so much so I’d termed it the “Widow Look” in my head. We were headed somewhere into the murky territory of talking about either Michael’s death or my widowed status. It wasn’t her fault; everyone got that look on their faces, as if they were afraid their words would break me.
I didn’t know if it would make them feel better or worse if I assured them nothing they said would really make a difference. I was already shattered inside.
“What would you think about going to dinner with someone?”
I froze, my fork hovering in midair. The words pushed out with a squeak. “You mean, a date?”
Jordan winced—another gesture I’d gotten used to in the last year—her expression suggesting she’d kicked a kitten.
“Nothing serious. Just for fun.”
I couldn’t think of much that sounded less fun.
“He’s my doctor and he’s really nice. Mid-thirties. Divorced. Cute.”
“I—”
Am so not ready.
Apparently, the one-year mark was when people started feeling comfortable saying stuff like that to you. I wasn’t sure I would ever feel comfortable hearing it. I still wore my wedding rings. Still considered myself married. Jordan wasn’t the first person to suggest I try my hand at dating, but each time I heard it, it sent a knife through my heart. I wasn’t ready to move on. I didn’t want to move on. Moving on meant Michael wasn’t coming back, and while I knew it, I didn’t want the reminder in my face every single fucking day.
I opened my mouth and closed it again.
Do not cry. Do not cry.
I took a deep breath. “I don’t know. I don’t think I’m there.”
Sympathy filled her gaze. “Do you need more time?”
Time was the last thing I needed. Time was my enemy now . . . when I looked down the long tunnel of my future, fifty-plus years of being alone, of mourning my husband, stared back at me.
“Maybe,” I lied.
“‘Maybe’ sounds like ‘no.’”
It was hard to fool the people who knew you best.
I sighed. “It might be. It would take someone pretty incredible to make me want to be in a relationship again. Michael was a wonderful husband. And he loved me. Really loved me. I don’t see myself settling for anything less, can’t imagine going through dating and more if it isn’t someone really special. And it seems too much to hope I could get so lucky twice in my life. I’m okay on my own.”
At least, as “okay” as you could be in a situation like this.
Jordan reached out and squeezed my hand. “Yeah, but you’re really special. And I hate the thought of you alone all the time. You’re getting through this as best you can, but I love you, and I want you to be happy again. I’m not saying this has to be anything serious, but go and give it a chance. Worst case, you gain a friend.”
“It’s been almost ten years since I dated. I don’t know how to go through that again. It was a lifetime ago.”
I still couldn’t wrap my head around how I’d gotten to this point. I was supposed to be a mom by now. We were supposed to be a family. Instead I was talking to Jordan about going out on dates.
Why me? Why him? Why this?
“Isn’t it harder going through this alone?” she asked.
I wasn’t sure I had an answer to that one. It was hard no matter what. I was lonely, I couldn’t deny it, but at the same time, the answer wasn’t to shuffle some guy into the spot Michael had occupied. It felt disrespectful to everyone involved, and even more, like I’d told Jordan, I didn’t see how it could work. There was no way anyone could replace what he’d been to me, what he was to me, and I’d never love anyone as much as I’d loved him. I didn’t want to love anyone as much as I’d loved him. Not again.
I forced my lips into an approximation of a smile. “I know you’re trying to help, and I appreciate it, I really do. And I’m sure your doctor is a really nice man, but . . .”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
I didn’t know anymore. My worst thing had already happened. Nothing else came close. But that wasn’t exactly true. The new worst thing that could happen—my new reality—was my fear that if I went out on a date with another man, I was closing the door on my relationship with Michael. I was giving up on him, on us. Even though he was already gone.
“It seems like a betrayal,” I finally answered.
“Dani.” The compassion in Jordan’s eyes sent another pang to my chest. “He loved you. So much. He would want you to be happy.”
I nodded, the tears building now. “The logical part of me knows you’re right. But it doesn’t make it easier. I still feel guilty, every time I move on. When I took his clothes out of our closet and donated them to charity, when I got rid of his car, selling our house.” The tears came now, and nothing I could do would hold them back. “I see him in everything and it hurts so much, and at the same time, the thought of losing those pieces of him hurts even more. I don’t know how to move on. Or if I want to.”
I held on to my grief now that I had little else left to hold on to.
“I can’t take my wedding rings off. I’ve tried and I just can’t. I’m not ready to be single again. It’s too much like I’m erasing him, as though we never happened.”
Jordan’s voice trembled. “That’s okay. I’m sorry I pushed. So sorry.”
“No. It’s not your fault. I’m not mad at you, only at the situation. You’re right. I can’t stay like this, can’t live like this; it’s choking me and I can’t breathe. I keep trying to come up with a plan for what I’m going to do after the house sells, for what job I’ll have and where I’ll live, and I keep trying to envision this life I’m apparently building without Michael, and I can’t see it. I spent the last nine years envisioning myself somewhere completely different and I have to adjust, but I’m falling apart instead.”
Jordan wiped away the tears that had fallen down her cheeks. I really was an uplifting dinner companion.
“You need to go out. You need to start putting yourself out there, even if you don’t want to, because you have to find some way to move forward. And I know it’s tough, can’t imagine how you’re dealing with this, but you have to have faith and give yourself a chance to be happy, even if it won’t look exactly how you envisioned it. None of this is fair. And I’ll never understand why this happened, but you have to try your best to move forward, because you can’t stay stuck in your pain forever. I know it’s easy to say, and I have no idea how you’re handling this. I only want you to be happy.”
I hated the words falling from her lips, felt an irrational, horrible flash of anger that she sat there, with everything she wanted—the husband, the baby—and told me to move on. I wanted to scream that I couldn’t move on. Wanted to rail at the injustice of it all, that we had been happy and it was all ripped away from me.
I hated when everyone told me I would be “happy.” They meant well, hoped I’d find solace in their words, but if anything, the promise of “happy”—the lie of it—almost made things worse. Grief didn’t allow for “happy,” instead it yanked the rug from under your feet and knocked you on your ass until you were drowning in quicksand with no one there to pull you out.
“Happy” only made me angry.
The anger snuck up on me at the most inopportune times, turning me into someone I’d never been, someone I didn’t know how to handle. I met with a grief counselor regularly, and I knew these emotions were part of the process, and yet, they threw me for a loop every single time. I’d read the books in the self-help section; had done everything I could to try to learn how to get through this, but it never got any easier. With each day I lost a piece of myself, the woman who stared back at me in the mirror becoming someone I didn’t even recognize, a shell of the woman Michael had loved.
That shamed me, too.
“I’ll go out with him.”
The words escaped in a whoosh, and as soon as they did, I was overwhelmed by the urge to take them back, to get up and leave and go sit in my house and hide away from all the things I had no desire to face.
I’d always prided myself on being a strong military wife. I’d definitely had my moments, the times when I found myself sick with worry or angry with Michael when he had to work late and didn’t come home yet another night, but he’d pretty much been my hero, and I’d worked hard to be a wife he could be proud of, who could weather anything thrown her way. I needed to get my shit together, needed to find some way to get through this. I couldn’t afford to keep floundering.
“Are you sure?” Jordan asked.
“Yeah. As long as he knows this is only casual. Maybe you could explain things to him.”
“I already mentioned you,” she admitted. “He remembered . . .”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t have to. There’d been a lot of local media attention and even some national press when Michael died, and the local community had definitely rallied around Bryer. Nearly one thousand people had shown up for his memorial service.
I barely remembered that day. Barely remembered the speech I’d given, what people had said about him. It was all a horrible blur I wished I could completely erase. Of all my memories, I’d happily cast those off.
“Is it okay if I give him your number?” Jordan asked.
“Yeah.”
“His name’s Paul. And he’s cute. Really cute. He’s been through a lot with his divorce, so he’s looking for someone who wants to take it slow, too.” She smiled. “He has a really calm personality, and he’s honestly a good guy. I promise I’ve thoroughly vetted him.”
I laughed even though I wanted to weep. Apparently, I was dating now.