a grief observed

It was a misty, cold morning at the end of February. I was preparing to go to a women's bible study on post and was just finishing up the breakfast dishes. Nathanael played quietly in the living room. Just then, I saw a black Ford Explorer creep slowly up the curve of the road behind our row of apartments. I would not have noticed it had it not been morning and with the exception of old women out with their baskets to buy fresh bread, the roads were usually empty. The vehicle edged to the side of the road and stopped.

Nathanael, then a chubby, nine month old, was dressed and sitting in his bouncer seat. I glanced at him and then back at the car. Normally, something as trivial as an SUV on the road would not have fazed me. In another life, in a different season. But Steve had left for Iraq just weeks earlier and a war was about to start. Every abnormality had the edge of suspicion and fear, like shifting shadows, lurked around every corner of my life. For once in my life, I cherished the mundane, the myriad of perfunctory duties that composed my small life in a remote corner of Bavaria.

I returned to the kitchen window where I took another dish from the sink and slowly rubbed it, methodically, with a soapy sponge. The SUV was still parked on the edge of the farm fields. In spring, these fields would be ablaze with rapeseed flowers or sunflowers. Now, the fields lay asleep, a sullen brown hue under a flat, gray sky. The car was stopped. Why? I continued to rub the plate which was already clean by now. Nathanael shrieked and I heard the spin of a toy, sounds that brought my thoughts back to my life. I smiled and thought of his dimpled cheeks, his smile that seemed to say, We're okay. Just you and me, Mom. We'll be okay. I rinsed the plate and placed it on the dish rack to dry.

The car begin to move, inching back onto the road and turned towards our row of apartments. I grabbed another plate and started to scrub, but put it down. My hands were now trembling and I fixed my eyes on the black car as it parked just outside our apartment. The doors opened and I saw the flash of green, the shine of medals and the brightly polished boots. A chaplain. . No, not Steve. I ran past Nathanael, now spinning in circles in his exersaucer, into the guest room. I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to be still. .

Taking one look at Nathanael, still happily playing, I slid on shoes and ran downstairs. As I burst outside, I almost bumped into the chaplain. We stopped and looked at each other. He was the first to speak and as he did, he placed one hand lightly on my arm. "Everything is all right Adrienne, but Lisa is going to need some comfort today." I stared back at him and nodded my head up and down, up and down. He walked past me, somberly and with deliberate steps.

Lisa was my downstairs neighbor. She and her husband Tim had three children under the age of five. Although we didn't know each other too well, we had just begun taking walks together in the forest near our apartment building. I had just been downstairs in her apartment. Her husband Tim had painted her belly three times before she went into labor: a soccer ball, a pumpkin and a world map. They loved to take road trips together and Tim's photographs of their adventures adorned every wall in every room.

Perhaps I felt as every military wife in that situation would have felt-- a deep sense of empathy, a desperate sense of foreboding. If Tim, why not Steve? It could have just as easily been Steve. At that moment, I realized that no matter how hard I tried to construct a stable, predictable life, it was really only an illusion. Tragedy, unexpected and absolute, had interrupted this world of routine, this world of beauty and peace that I hid within. I suddenly felt so small and vulnerable. I ran inside, throwing open the door and running up the marble staircase, my flats clacking loudly with each step. I ran into my apartment and scooped Nathanael out of his exersaucer. I felt his soft cheek press against my neck and I gently stroked his hair. After a minute, he began to wriggle and I put him down with some toys to play. I walked back downstairs to Lisa's landing.

The chaplain and the woman, the battalion FRG leader, stood quietly at the open door. Lisa faced the two visitors, holding Noah, her toddler on her hip. Just as I approached, she looked down at her five year old son, who was hugging her leg, and said in a calm voice, "Alex, your daddy has been killed in a helicopter accident. I'm going to take care of you."

I slowly walked up to Lisa. "I'm so sorry, Lisa, I'm so sorry," I murmured and wrapped my arms around her. I had never hugged her before, but at that moment, the need to comfort and be comforted was overpowering to me. I held her for a moment and then as we broke away, she said, "I'm only thirty-four and I'm a widow now." I walked with her into her house and we sat on her couch in the living room. We were quiet. I looked around at the family photographs Tim had taken, the landscapes of places they'd visited around the U.S. and Europe: majestic mountains, a covered bridge reflecting off a calm lake, a stone-worked castle in Austria. "We lived a full life, Tim and I. We never waited to do the things we dreamed about doing. We just did them. And he gave me three beautiful children," Lisa said. I nodded, yes. Lisa was talking and I sat there, taking it in.

A few minutes later, Lisa's three kids were making pillow forts in my living room while Nathanael watched and laughed, crawling around their creations.

Within twenty four hours, Lisa had women coming in shifts to care for her kids, take phone calls, bring meals and do laundry. Our PWOC group (women's bible study on post) president arranged for constant care and the military spouse's group (FRG) also had women bringing meals. Anything that could be done by an outsider within Lisa's household was cared for. Most of the women had not met Lisa until that day that they walked into her apartment.

On the way out, I spoke to some of the women in passing. I had been downstairs throughout each day, helping to fill in where there were gaps. More than once, I heard women saying, "I came in to encourage Lisa, and I ended up being encouraged!"

One woman told me that she sat down with Lisa in her living room and as she had done with me, shared how full her life with Tim had been. That they had talked about re-marriage and that Tim would want her to do so. That she was trusting God to take care of her and the kids.

I think that many women went to Lisa's home to help, but also to find answers and comfort for their own fears. They saw themselves in Lisa and her strength became theirs. I don't mean to make Lisa into someone she wasn't because I know that it was difficult, but her attitude influenced many women in our community. It makes me see how much of an influence women have on each other, for good or bad. In this case, it was for good.