Coffee

The church is packed but quiet. Soft music is playing as people file in and try to find an empty seat. I sit in the fourth row. Sherry and her two boys will come in last and sit in the front row. That's how they always do it. The family left behind comes in last and sits in the front row. We are all there to honor Sherry's husband and Jason's dad, Gregory. As I listen to stories of this great man, I see Jason put his head on Sherry's shoulder. Tears flow. Sherry now will have to live her life alone. My mind wanders, and I think, Who will sit in the front row next? It is a horrible thought, and I try to shake it from my head. No, it won't be me! It can't! But I, like Sherry, am an army wife. My husband is in Iraq. He left eight months ago, in February 2003, and here I am attending another funeral.

That February seemed to be years ago, yet it is still so vivid in my mind. Things were heating up in Iraq, and many were asking, "Why is the United States waiting?" It had been twelve years since Desert Storm, and Saddam was still flicking his nose at us. The rumor on the post was that the 101st Airborne Division (our husbands) would go soon, before the war started. But rumors were always flying around the post. Operations in Afghanistan had started just the year before, in 2002, and we constantly heard that the entire 101st would go. Then they sent only one of the three brigades from the 101st to Afghanistan. After Third Brigade left, the rumors bubbled that the rest of the division would soon join them. At that time, Verner, my husband, was working in the division assault tactical operations center (TOC). Verner was told several times that the assault TOC would probably join the fighting in Afghanistan within a month. The rumors were so strong that Verner was issued the desert camouflage uniform, something that was not normally done until deployment orders were issued. Like many of his coworkers, he got his will in order and signed a general power of attorney for me so that I would have it if he went overseas. He never went to Afghanistan, though.

A year later, we were in rumor land again. The talk and the activity on the post seemed to point to deployment. Training exercises were canceled, and family support groups were refined. But no orders were given. Could it be that the leaders on the post just wanted the division to be ready? After all, they were soldiers, and if the country needed them, they wanted to respond quickly and strongly. Everyone knew the 101st Airborne Division was one of the army's best units. The 101st fought against the Iraqi army in Desert Storm, but they were stopped from going into Baghdad and finishing the job for political reasons. We watched the news, hit the Internet, and tried to get a clue about when or if the division would go to Iraq.

I attended a wives' coffee on February 5. The coffee is a long-standing military tradition. Once a month, the officer and senior noncommissioned officer (NCO) wives would gather, but we didn't drink coffee. We normally met in one of the wives' homes, discussed unit and community events, ate a snack, and visited. It was a chance to meet with other wives who shared a common bond—all of our husbands were leaders in the unit and were responsible for the health and welfare of soldiers, on and off duty. I looked forward to the coffees. Verner was an artillery officer, assigned to an artillery battalion, but his new job required him to work directly with an infantry brigade, so I actually belonged to two coffee groups, an infantry group and an artillery group. Verner had encouraged me to join the infantry coffee group, and he made sure my name was included on the membership list. Attending the infantry coffees was not mandatory, but I respected my husband's suggestions, so I went willingly. I had only been to a few of the infantry coffees when I went to one I would never forget.

It was held at Jennifer Warren's house. Jennifer was in her late thirties, seemingly shy, and very family oriented. She was a stay-at-home mom with three preschoolers, and she always had a huge smile on her face. I soon learned that it was safe to call almost any of the wives Jennifer because the guests included Jennifer Franks, Jennifer Cook, and Jen Romaine. There were about twenty wives in the coffee group, but only about ten were present that evening. It was the usual crowd. Terri Seifert brought her three-month-old son, and Roni Roberts came in late after she ensured her month-old son would be okay with her husband.

The brigade commander's wife, Holly Hodges, ran the meeting. Holly was a treasure, very down to earth. She always made me, an artillery wife, feel so welcome. Her husband, Col. Ben Hodges, was in charge of the First Brigade of the 101st, which numbered about 1,500 soldiers. His job carried many responsibilities, but it meant that Holly had many duties as well. She was the wife of a MUC (pronounced "muck"), a major unit commander. The responsibilities of an army officer's wife were similar to those of a politician's wife. For example, the First Lady is looked to for her leadership almost as much as the president is relied on for his. At Fort Campbell, the MUC wives were near the top of the pyramid. A MUC wife was looked to for her strength and knowledge and was often a mentor for the other wives. Occasionally, she had to stand in for her husband, but Holly's main task was to represent all the wives in the brigade when the MUC wives met with other officials. Years ago, officers actually received a mark on their annual rating to reflect how well their wives performed their duties. The work a wife did was all voluntary, but the responsibilities normally fell within her spouse's job. Holly was the best. She was strong, but silly at times, and she didn't wear her husband's rank on her sleeve. It was a great balance.

Holly stood up and said, "Ours guys are going."

The room was silent for a few seconds. Everyone's eyes were frozen on Holly.

"The press release is tomorrow," she continued. "I think we all knew it was coming. I don't have a timeline, but they should be leaving sometime in March."

Why didn't Verner tell me before I left for the coffee? Does he know? I definitely hadn't expected this tonight. Some of the ladies began to ask questions; others talked among themselves. Holly told us that she didn't have any other information but would try to keep us informed.

Terri Seifert got up, her son on her hip, and told everyone she was going to move back home. "I don't think I can do this alone," she said.

I was struck by her comment. I wondered how many others would go back to their families. Should I go home? Back to my family in Florida? No, it wouldn't make sense. Pulling the kids out of school ... moving ... Plus, our lease in Clarksville wasn't up until the summer, and we'd just rented out our home in Florida a few days earlier. The cost would be exorbitant. I guess if I'd just had a baby like Terri, I would have considered it. It probably would have made the separation much easier, but it was going to be a test. Could I do it alone?

Verner had never been deployed before. He had been away for months at a time when he went to the field for training. About ten years earlier, when I'd been in the military, we'd been stationed at different posts. I'd done it on my own before, but now we had six kids—the oldest in high school, the...