I remembered promising myself that it was going to be good vibes only. Yes, we had to swallow a lot of tension and anxiety, but we were determined to make our time together pleasant. With the exception of Matt and Brittney’s wedding in Florida (as it was outside of the allowed travel radius), we had spent as much time together as possible. We spent a weekend at a little resort tucked away in the mountains of Washington relaxing, drinking wine, and staring at the Olympic mountain range tangling itself in fog rising from the Hood Canal. For just a little while, we pretended we had nothing looming over our future. While we were at the resort, I gave Josh a deployment gift: two charms, one for him and one for me. His charm was an iron battle ax to put on his dog tags. Mine was an iron anvil. Together they represented Proverbs 27:17: “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.”
As we prepared ourselves for Josh’s approaching tour, I reflected on who we were as a couple. I knew who I was, and Josh I assumed knew the same about himself. But what were we? Since we had been married, I was constantly planning on how I would handle a deployment, knowing Josh couldn’t be there for me. I assumed he wouldn’t have time or energy to give to me, so I had to figure out my own way, and he had to figure out his. I thought differently about our time together as the date of departure got closer. Maybe we could be there for each other without either of us asking for something. The dictionary might call taking pleasure in one another’s presence enjoying each other. I realized I had never really enjoyed my husband in a meaningful way before, and I felt shame.
I put the journal away as Josh was wheeled back into the room following surgery. Another day had passed, and my mind and emotions hadn’t yet caught up with my physical body sitting in Walter Reed. Josh had already had over a dozen surgeries, and I was ready for the typical long night of irritability and brain fog. Just weeks ago, I was living in Tacoma with Cooper. How is Cooper? I haven’t even asked my parents if he’s doing okay living with them. I guess tomorrow I also need to reach out and officially quit my job. How are we going to move out of our apartment? I can’t leave here to go do that. What about our car? It’s just sitting in front of our apartment building like we are still there… I hope. Ugh, I don’t have time to think about this right now. If Josh is ready to close his eyes, I need to close mine.
I was trying to get comfortable on my cot (also known as the “surfboard bed,” a chair that folded out into a bed that was only about eighteen inches wide and less than six feet long) when Josh began jerking and moaning in his sleep. He started talking, but I couldn’t understand him. Suddenly his head and limbs began convulsing in panic, even overpowering the epidural in his back. I sat up to help him but paused when I realized I didn’t know how to wake him up without scaring him. Then, out of nowhere, Josh woke everyone else on our floor with a high-pitched scream: “INCOMIIIIIIIIING!!!!!!!”
It was his first undeniable nightmare. Not a hallucination from drugs or a stint of confusion. It was unconscious terror from all the things I had read about in that journal. I grabbed him by the shoulders and demanded he wake up, and said, “The next time that psychologist comes in here, you tell him you need to talk!”
PART TWO
WHERE NO ONE WANTS TO BE
CHAPTER SIXVANTAGE POINT
How long, LORD? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts and day after day have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?
—Psalm 13:1–2
PAIGE
We had just been given permission to leave Walter Reed for a dinner out—at a real restaurant, nonetheless. Prepackaged commissary food and Subway were about to kill me. Cathi and I were really excited about food that didn’t have enough preservatives to outlast our time at the hospital. We got Josh cleaned, dressed, and ready for a nurse to move him from the bed to a wheelchair. Cathi suggested an Italian place. Perfect. Pasta, a glass of wine, gelato… My mind wandered as I was getting ready. Just sitting at a table and not cross-legged on the end of a hospital chair would be amazing.
Our first taste of “normal” came in the form of red sauce, Parmesan, and basil. Josh was able to feed himself, and I felt like I was the one trying to act normal. I could barely contain myself and not eat at a racer’s pace. Cathi seemed to savor every bite. When we got in the car to go back to the hospital, I felt like I had just gotten home from a Carnival cruise: refreshed, relaxed, and definitely a pound or two heavier than when we left. Josh, however, was in the back seat staring out the window with that wild, panicked look. Please don’t let it be the Ninja Turtles again, I thought. “Honey, you okay?
“I don’t have my military ID on me,” Josh said.
Cathi said, “Josh, they saw us drive out with you, and I also don’t have a military ID,
