Going Places

When we made the decision to move to Gainesville we were hoping it was a move in the right direction.
John had been home about a year at this point, and he was only just getting used to the flash from the stop-light cameras at night. He was still having a lot of trouble sleeping through the night and was uncomfortable in crowded places.

Before John and I were married, before he deployed, we had a conversation about our goals and expectations. Specifically, I wanted to stay in Miami, and I wanted to have more than one child. He hated Miami and wanted one kid, at most. I don't believe people can or should be changed, and I don't believe it's fair to force anything upon anyone, so I told him there are things that can be compromised and things that can't. Those two things were non-negotiable to me, so if they were for him as well we were better off ending our relationship before it became more serious. He thought about for a few days and then told me that he wouldn't take me away from my family because they were too important to me. And yes, he understood that siblings were important to a child.

Fast forward two years later and we were packing up our small apartment and two dogs to move five hours away from my home. John had requested an extension of his medical orders, and we were confident the request would be accepted since he had reported so many issues. At this point, he weighed almost 100lbs more than he did when he got back from Iraq due to the steroids his doctor had put him on. Our goal was for me to go back to school and for John to start the police academy. Having a huge Veteran Affairs hospital down the street was a plus. John could resume his treatments and get back in shape.

The saying goes: "If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans." And that's absolutely what happened to us. We moved into our new place March of 2012. By April, we received notice that John's orders would not be extended. My financial aid hadn't kicked in yet, and we still hadn't heard anything about John's GI Bill, which he had transferred to me. Thankfully, we had some money saved up and were able to pay our bills off for about a month. John went on unemployment and had all his medical paperwork transferred to the VA, where he began the process of filing for disability. We were hoping to have everything resolved before the end of the month. Then we found out that the VA office at my school had misinformed us. They weren't aware, they told me, that the law didn't allow the GI Bill to be transferred until the service member had 6 years of service. John had 5. Classes had already begun and the school had deferred my payments because they believed the GI Bill would kick in and cover it all. When that didn't happen, I was responsible for the whole 1500 dollars worth of classes I had taken. To add to that, financial aid wouldn't help me until I paid for and passed a math class I had previously failed. I couldn't take the class till I paid off the $1500, so I had to drop school and get a job. John had to get off unemployment and get a job as well in order for us to be able to pay our rent, so anything that took away from our ability to work, like the police academy, was out of the question for us.

We still bust our asses for every penny we make. We still have a hard time paying our bills. School is simply out of the question right now, and somethings honestly only got worse from there. Despite all of that though, it's an amazing thing that our relationship has improved beyond anything I could have ever expected. We had been best friends before Iraq, and that's why we got married. In the words of a friend, we're "cut from exactly the same cloth." We had a really rough period, but the thing that gets me through the financial struggle is enjoying coming home to see him, despite the bills piled up on the table. It's hard, though, not to feel angry at the fact that he has given so much of himself to his country and received so little help back. John is not a selfish man. He doesn't expect lifetime benefits. We were promised that he would be taken care of in return for his service, and that isn't happening in the way that it should. It's true that one should "Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country," but when the suicide and divorce rates are higher among military than among civilians, maybe the country should do a little more asking.

My husband is the kind of man I always knew I wanted to marry. He is brave, loving, solid, determined, and smart. John came home with a bronze star for valor and didn't tell me for over a year because "it wasn't a big deal," and he still dreams about the lives he couldn't save. I know his deployment will stay with him forever, and it'll probably haunt him to differing degrees as long as he lives. He isn't angry that he was sent to fight a war most people don't believe in. He loves his country and hopes to serve as long as he can. And while he may not say it, I will: Our country needs to serve it's veterans back.