"Semper Fi, Do or Die..."

Today is the 235th Marine Corps birthday.

While this is a huge celebratory occasion, it does remind me of November 10, 2004 and how I spent the 229th Marine Corps birthday...

It had been weeks since I last talked to my husband at this point.  I was starting to lose my composure, assuming I had any to begin with, given the situation in Iraq at that time.  Operation Phantom Fury was encompassing the newswire.  Everywhere I turned, it was right there in my face.  Reminding me what could happen.

Third Marine Regiment had saved us a table at the Marine Corps Birthday Ball that year; the dreaded "deployed spouses table".  Sequestering us from the rest of the Regimental Marines, and keeping us contained in our hell.  My friend Mary and I vehemently opposed attending this parading of us and our vulnerabilities in front of the Regimental Marines and their dates/spouses.

Instead, Mary and I went to Waikiki.  I wore my trusty heather grey USMC t-shirt, to properly represent my allegiance on this most important days.  Because of the situation and the loneliness and fear that was all-consuming at that time, being with another wife who was feeling the same way as I made things feel marginally better.

Mary and I went to an obscure restaurant off of Kalakaua Avenue for late-night pancakes, removing ourselves from the chaotic nature of our lives at that time.  Afterward, we sat on Waikiki Beach, reflecting on that place in our lives.

Mary was miserable, as was I.  We just wanted to float away on the water and be done with it all, but we had to endure, just like our husbands did.  There were a lot of us who were having trouble in our marriages before the deployment even started, which was only further compounded by the stress of this combat-heavy deployment.  My immaturity at the tender age of 20 didn't help things.  Alas, I had to be an adult and try to deal, but there is no "dealing" with something like this.

Everyone I know who went through that pump with 1/3 is still fucked up, in one way or another, Casey and me included.  I look at happy pictures of all of us on Facebook, or in my photo albums, and we look happy.  I know that beyond those smiles and fun times lies something within our souls that will resonate for the rest of our lives.  The Marine Corps birthday will open that wound all over again, every year.  Fortunately, this is overshadowed by the immense pride of being married to one of the infantrymen Marines who participated in this generation's Hue City.

By dusk on November 10, Battalion 1/3 had seized the Mujahereen Mosque north of Fran and halted to observe the Marine Corps birthday, an annual ritual observed at thousands of balls around the world. In a formal service steeped in tradition, Sergeant Major Michael Berg had the army psyops Humvees play the Marine Corps hymn over their loudspeakers while he cut a slice of pound cake from an MRE and presented it to the youngest Marine. As he did so, insurgents fired a brace of RPGs.

"Shut those bastards up!" Berg yelled.

Over two hundred rifles and machine guns blazed away for several seconds.

"Cease fire!" Berg yelled.

The battlefield went silent.

"That's more like it," Berg said. "Continue with the ceremony." 

(Credit: Bing West's "No True Glory: A Frontline Account of the Battle for Fallujah")

From Casey, 28 November 2004 via USPS:
I have to look at my watch to see what day of the week or month it is. All the days run together. I don't even know how long we have been out here. It's starting to come up on a month straight. We really have no word on when we are getting out of here. Only that it is soon. Hopefully. The days all run together, the only mental concept I have of time is whether the sun is up or down. I can't wait to come home. I just want to be with you...

"If my heart can talk, it will not stop."

"If my heart can talk, it will not stop."

Today is election day, as well as the second day of November.  In five days, it will again be the anniversary of Fallujah.  Of course, it annually conjures up memories...

In 2004, on election night, it had been many days since I last talked to my husband.  On the 30th of October, we suffered a devastating loss when a suicide bomber attacked a convoy and lost seven eight Marines. (I find it sad that I can't even recall the exact number of men lost at times because it happened so often during this time; not necessarily with 1/3, but altogether with all four Marine battalions in Fallujah during that time -- the article says seven, but it was actually eight).  We found out on Halloween that year about it.  I was sitting downstairs with my landlords passing out candy to trick-or-treaters when Mary called me to tell me about the loss (from the Key Volunteer Network, she passed information to us before it hit the newswire).  At that time, it was the single largest loss of life since the war began.  Sadly, 1/3 trumped that one again in January when the CH-53e helicopter went down and took 31 Marines and Navy corpsmen with it.

With all of those feelings so fresh on election day 2004, and with the climate surrounding us at the time, the election seemed so important.  I sat with my friends next door, Michelle and Tony (who was also a Marine with 3rd Radio BN) and watched the elections results coming in.  It had been at least a week since I last heard from Casey and everything was so vague; he couldn't tell me much about what was going on.  I knew that he had more information than he was letting on.  It pained me to know so little about their actions over there.  What he could have told me, I don't know.  There was scuttlebutt in the news about the "major offensive" coming up in Fallujah, but I didn't even know he was near Fallujah.  It was such a volatile time and so heartwrenching.  That first loss, of those seven eight Marines, set the tone and put us all in a constant state of angst.

Can you imagine wanting your husband to receive a non-life-threatening wound so he would be sent home and be safe because you were that scared he was going to die?  

That is what started right then, and it didn't stop until well into 2005.  There is some immense guilt that comes with feelings like that.  I still feel horrible about ever feeling that way, ever wishing he would get injured so that he could come back seems like the worst thing I could have felt, or wanted.  I am ashamed of it, but that is the truth.  That is just how terrified we all were.  I was not the only wife who felt this way.  I was not the only wife who silently wished this, and I am sure I am not the only one who feels damaged because of how severely we wanted our husbands home safely.

So, although we've had several elections since 2004, for some reason I am feeling very pensive about things this year.  Perhaps it's because I am actually getting people to listen to me about Peralta's MOH nomination and travesty of our system that it has become...or perhaps it's because it's November, again.

The month of November conjures up these memories, without fail, every single year.  I have come to appreciate the power of getting those memories out, even if it is just to this web space.