Everyone was freaking out about his legs being gone, but he had a long way to go before any medical professional would say, “I think he’s going to live.” It had only been a few hours since Josh had been transported. We didn’t know if the information Cathi and I had been given came from someone who had laid eyes on Josh during surgery at Kandahar Airfield or from someone who threw his mangled body on a helicopter at the scene of the accident. A lot can happen between the two events.
My father-in-law, Patrick, did not take the news so well. The other fearless adrenaline junkie of the Wetzel family lost every glimmer of hope when he learned his oldest son might not make it out of Afghanistan. Josh’s stepmother, Kristie, was called to be the fearless one. She had to tell Josh’s twin sisters and younger brother the debilitating news. We all have defining moments in life—that was a big one for Kristie, at least since I’ve been around. There is a superpower all mamas have. It’s the ability to see the world around you crumbling and stand up in the middle of the noise and refuse defeat. I saw both mothers-in-law stand up and refuse defeat that day.
Two new friends I’d made since moving to town, Shane and Mandy, came over and packed my things for me. I think they also dropped me off at the airport. I have no memory of how I got there. Yet I found myself looking at the date, time, and destination on my boarding pass and thinking, I hope that’s right. I trudged through the airport and made it onto my first flight to San Jose. At some point I must have communicated to Shane and Mandy that I needed to fly to Josh’s mother in California first. It was my first real moment of gratitude; I was so thankful that I didn’t have to travel by myself. Cathi would be with me. I didn’t even know where Josh was going once he got to the United States. All I knew was he would not be coming back to Joint Base Lewis-McChord, so I needed to get out of Washington and be near my family. Cathi worked and lived in California, so we might as well travel together. I sat down in my seat in the back of the plane and prayed that no one would talk to me, realizing how hard it is to be nice to people when you’ve just heard horrible news. I could not control my thoughts. As soon as I would convince myself, He’s going to make it, things will be fine, my mind would flash to year-long comas, severe brain injuries, and even a funeral. I squeezed my eyes shut and called my thoughts to the present with an audible “Stop!” I opened my eyes and received the puzzled stares of other passengers. I glared back at them, and they each slowly turned back to face the front of the plane. Finally, I was on my way to Cathi. One flight closer to my husband.
I couldn’t help but wonder, Is God here? Is He aware of what’s going on right now? I have prayed for Josh’s protection every single night, and he could die while I am on this flight. I have been a Christian my whole life, but until May 31, 2012, my faith had been superficial, predictable, and uneventful. Sure, in my twenty-three years I had encountered some bumps in the road, but I just prayed the usual “Thy will be done, Lord” and left it at that. I had never been this desperate or this afraid. I had never needed anything this specific or this urgent. My default prayer didn’t seem to be enough: Thy will be done? What is Your will? Was this really the reason for Josh’s service? Or our marriage? We’ve built this life together for this? This was not the plan! As the emotions and thoughts ran together in a maundering roar, Jeremiah 29:11 chimed like a bell tower: “For I know the plans I have for you… plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” I felt no hope, and thus no future, but in my pixilated confusion I could somehow digest that God knows the plan. It was the only comforting thought that got through the silent screaming in my head during the two-hour flight from Seattle to San Jose.
Midflight I started thinking about living a military life. How many people on this plane knew what it was like? We’re all together here now, but what separate lives we lived on the ground. I started to think about my induction to military life. Before Josh, I knew nothing about it. I lived on thirty-three acres just outside of Fort Payne, Alabama, with my mom, dad, sister, and countless animals. I lived in the same house from the day I was born until the day I left for college to play volleyball at a school just an hour away from home. I never changed school districts, moved houses, or even had to change bus drivers. My family sat in the same pew
