The Military Child

Our youngest son, Q, absolutely adores his Daddy. They look alike, talk alike, act alike, and share the same ornery smile. People often say that Q is my husband’s clone, which is a pretty accurate description. When they’re together, they both light up, and you can easily see that there’s nowhere else they’d rather be. But, unfortunately, in Q’s six short years, Daddy has spent more time in Iraq than in the U.S.. Daddy has missed most of Q’s birthdays and many important holidays. And, now that we’ve PCSed 18 hours away, Daddy and Q only get to be together on holidays and during the summer. (Q and his brother are my step sons--although we don't use that term--and live most of the year with their Mom).

Because he doesn’t get to see his Dad often, Q loves to see anyone who is dressed like Daddy. And, since the boys live with their Mom, they aren’t around a lot of military folks. So, when Q does see someone in uniform, he always yells, “a soldier, a soldier!” If my husband is with us, Q will ask, “Daddy, do you know them?” To which my husband will quip, “Yeah, they look familiar.” And Q will sit back content, proud of himself for once again reuniting Daddy with a long lost friend. Q likes playing with his Army men (GI Joes, of course) and loves anything in camo. Basically, he just loves anything that reminds him of Daddy, especially when he’s far away.

During my husband’s last deployment, my daughter and I would make the drive to visit the boys as often as we could. They missed us and would always ask us to visit. But, to be honest, I selfishly just needed to be with them—to have as much of our family together as we possibly could. We would rent a family room at the nearby Air Force Base, which was right outside the playground. (Our children coined this the “park hotel.”) The playground is complete with all the staples: slides, swings, merry-go-round, jungle gym. But, it also has a large globe, where children can play and learn about the world. During our last visit, Q went to the globe and asked, “Where is Daddy?” I sat beside him and pointed to Iraq. And then, I held his hand and traced the path from Iraq to our home. “That doesn’t look so far,” Q said. “But, it takes a long time to get there, huh?” “Yes,” I said. “But, hugs and kisses get there really fast.”

After staring at the globe for a while, and tracing the path from Iraq to home back and forth several times, Q looked up to see an older boy looming around. “My Daddy’s in Iraq,” Q said, pointing at the spot on the globe. “Yeah,” the boy responded, “mine’s been there, too. But, he’s home now.” Q’s eyes lit up. “Your Dad’s been there, too?!” “Yeah,” the kid said, as if everyone he knows has been there, so why would it be a big deal? “He’s right over there,” the boy said, pointing at a tall man pushing a baby girl on the swings. Q immediately sprung to his feet and ran to meet this man who had also been to Iraq. Somewhat unsure of what he was about to do (and thinking that it could be anything from introducing himself to asking for a ride to pick up Daddy), I of course ran after him.

Q tugged on the man’s leg and excitedly asked, “Did you see my Dad in Iraq?” The Airman at first looked confused, but then just smiled. He had a tender look in his eyes—the look of a Dad who has had to leave his babies far too many times. “Wait, what’s your name?” he asked. Q responded. “Oh, yes! I did meet your Dad! He’s very strong, right?” “Yep,” Q said, proudly. “Yes, he’s a good guy. And he misses you very, very much. He can’t wait to get home.” Q’s face lit up with a huge smile. Then, somewhat hesitantly, Q asked, “Is he ok?” The Airman dropped down to look Q in the eyes. “Yes, he’s ok. He’s safe. He said he has lots of love from his family to protect him.” “Yeah,” Q said, “we sent him lots of that.” “Well,” assured the Airman, “keep doing it. It’s working. And I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

As Q skipped off to tell his big brother and sister the good news, I stood there with tears rolling down my face, and whispered “thank you” to the kind man. He just nodded and smiled, with that look that says I understand.

After the kids were done playing, we went inside and talked to Daddy on Skype. Q gleefully retold the story of meeting Daddy’s friend at the park. My husband looked confused for a moment, until I leaned over Q’s shoulder and winked, indicating that he should just play along. “Ooooh yeah, I’m glad he found you. Did he tell you that I miss you a lot?” “Yep,” Q said. “Well, I do, you know. And I can’t wait to give you a big squeeze.” “Me too, Daddy.” Q then trotted off to play (or torment) his older siblings, happy and content.

We would have many conversations after that about where Daddy was, when he was coming home, whether he was safe, and why he needed to be there. But, the reassurance he received from that kind Airman would keep him going for the rest of that tour. And if one of our other children asked why Daddy always had to be gone, Q would respond, “because he’s a good soldier, and they need him there.” Although Q was often the saddest without Daddy home, he is also the most proud. He loves to tell people that his Daddy is a soldier and that he sometimes has to go far, far away to protect people.

Q still doesn’t completely understand what a deployment means. Anytime I tell him that Daddy’s at work, Q assumes he’s in Iraq again, and will sigh with understanding. When I tell him that Daddy’s just at his office, which is just a few minutes away, he always seems confused, but happy. And when he does get to finally be with Daddy, he relishes every moment, and every hug and kiss that he finally gets to have in person.

This is a military child. A child who has said way too many goodbyes. A child who sees his Dad more on webcam than in person. But, a child who understands the true meaning of gratitude—gratitude for our soldier, gratitude for the kindness of a stranger, and gratitude for every moment we do have together. A child, just like so many other military children, whose heart is big enough to span the ocean. And a child whom we all could learn so much from, if we just take the time to listen.

April is the Month of the Military Child. Take the time to listen to a child, and give a few extra hugs, today.

Forgotten Sacrifice

Sitting in the pews of the Post Chapel on Easter morning, I was surprised and saddened by the number of people who had no one there to share the day with. Easter Sunday, a day to spend with family and friends, yet so many were spending it alone.

I found myself staring at the young, smiling woman sitting two rows ahead of us, singing the hymnals in a pretty, soft voice. She smiled at everyone, yet her eyes looked very sad. As the Chaplain prayed for our troops, she glanced at her wedding ring. I wondered if her husband was deployed, and assumed that he was.

I looked at the older man sitting on the other side of the sanctuary, tightly grasping his Bible in two wrinkled, and obviously over-worked, hands. He also glanced at his wedding ring, which looked tarnished and well loved. A veteran, I assumed. And likely someone who outlived his wife. I wondered if she sat at home waiting for him while he served in Korea or Vietnam. I wondered if she, too, had sat in Church alone on many a Sunday morning, waiting for her husband to return home. And I thought about how very much he must miss her.

I glanced toward the young mother in the very back of the Church, struggling to quiet the cries of her two young children. I looked for her spouse, partner, family member—any adult who might be there to help her. But, she and her children were also alone. I wondered if she was a single mother—a single soldier—struggling to care for her children alone, wondering when she may have to leave them again. Or was she was a military wife whose husband was away—again—struggling to balance motherhood with constant worry and fatigue? The look of sadness and exhaustion in her eyes made me assume it was the latter.

I thought back to the dinner our family had out at a local restaurant on Veteran’s Day. They advertised a special for a free meal for military members and retirees. There, too, I saw numerous retired veterans and current service members—some in uniform, others wearing distinctive buzz cuts or tattoos—dining alone. I joked with my husband that we should have invited them all over to our house. I still wish we had.

I thought back also to a recent experience in the airport, picking up a family member. Many US troops were returning from tours in Afghanistan and Iraq. As they entered through the arrival gates, the USO representative would call, “welcome home, hero!” and most people would applaud. (My daughter shot scowling glances at those who did not). Most of these soldiers were greeted by smiling (and sometimes crying) spouses, parents, siblings, and children. But, many were not. They walked past the embracing families with their heads hung low, probably headed to the barracks or a small apartment—alone. I hoped they knew how much we all appreciated what they had done, and how happy we were that they were home. I clapped even louder for those troops, just to make sure they heard.

One soldier was greeted by his wife and their baby, who was probably about six months old. The tears that immediately started rolling down the soldier’s face indicated that this was likely the first time he had held—and possibly seen—his child. I wiped the tears from my eyes as well. Although my own husband missed the birth of his oldest son—and I know how often it happens—I am still always struck with sadness when I think of a parent missing the birth, and early months, of their child’s life. I just can’t imagine.

With thousands of military members being deployed at any given time, and each of their families at home, waiting, worrying, and wondering, it’s hard not to notice how many people are here—alone. It also seems hard not to notice military couples struggling to maintain their relationships through multiple deployments, combat stresses, and the lingering effects of war, resulting in high divorce rates and crumbling families. Spouses left behind, children without parents, families breaking apart, mothers and fathers never returning home, children being born with fathers in combat—all right in front of us, there for us to see. Yet it seems that so many of these stories—these people—go unnoticed. It breaks my heart.

So, I’m asking each of you that if you do nothing else to honor—to thank—military families, please do simply this: Notice. Offer a smile, a hug, a helping hand. Military members and spouses may be frequently on their own, but they do not have to be alone. Reach out. Notice. Remember. And never stop saying thank you.

Where Has the Time Gone?

I read once that a blogger should write a new post at least once a week, preferably more, to keep their readers’ attention.

Oops.

I apologize to each of you for being absent for so long. Things have been a little, well, hectic lately. Here are a few of the things I’ve had going on in recent weeks:

· Working a new full-time (nine hours a day) job;

· 45 minute commute each way, every…single…day;

· Teaching online courses part-time (usually done in the late night/early morning hours);

· Staying in contact with friends/family (although doing quite a poor job at it, I must admit);

· Trying to continue working out every morning (usually done at 4am);

· Running a consulting business (also done late at night, after everyone else is in bed);

· Mommying (aka, chauffeuring, counseling, hugging, feeding, calming, caring, and coaching);

· Helping my husband find lost socks, paperwork, and anything else that mysteriously disappears;

· Filing taxes (oy ve);

· Maintaining a household;

· Hosting a houseguest (husband’s grandmother);

· Trying to remember to breathe;

· And sometimes, sleeping (although very little).

I’m not complaining. In fact, I feel blessed to be so busy. But, I do regret that I’m not able to write as much as I’d like. I also regret that haven’t been able to post about the important topics we discussed earlier for April. But, I will. We may just have to push some of those discussions into May. I hope you will all understand.

The full time job I recently started has given me the opportunity to work with military families through deployment, reintegration, and relocation issues. And, I must tell you, it has given me an even deeper appreciation for what we all do—each and every day. The bonds we build, the tears we hide, and the sacrifices we make. They may not be visible to everyone, but they are very clear to me. So, to each of you, I say thank you. And even while I’m absent from the blogging world, please know that you are in my thoughts every day. And, if no one else has told you recently, I’m proud of you, and thankful for all that you do.

Bye for now. But, I promise, I’ll be back!

April: The Month to Speak Up

April brings so many exciting things: April Fool's Day (which is in full force in my house), the final onset of Spring and warmer weather, Easter, tax day (ok, that one's not so exciting). But, April is also a month to recognize many great causes, a few of which I want to draw specific attention to today. I hope you will join me in making this a month to remember, and a month to make a difference.

First, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. As a survivor as well as a long time advocate, this cause is very near and dear to me. One out of every three women will be sexually assaulted in their lifetime. That means that each of us knows someone who has been a victim. This epidemic will touch each of our lives in some way. And it's time we get involved, learn more, and find out how we can prevent sexual violence and support survivors.

A few ideas for how to get involved:

* Volunteer your time and gifts to your local sexual assault advocacy program.
* Take a stand against sexual violence in all its forms, including victim blaming, sexism (including so-called "jokes"), and sexual harrassment.
* Support survivors. Here are three things to say to a survivor of sexual violence: 1. I believe you; 2. This was not your fault; and 3. I support you.

For more information, visit: http://www.nsvrc.org/saam.

April is also Child Abuse Prevention Month. No one wants to see a child hurt. Yet, child abuse is a persistent problem in our country. Every child deserves to feel safe and loved. The best way to accomplish this is to start listening to children and holding perpetrators accountable for their abuse.

A few ideas for how to get involved:

* Become a supportive person in a child's life. Having just one caring adult can drastically change a child's outlook and chance for success. Be that person.
* Support protective parents. The best way to support a victim of child abuse is to support their non-abusive parent. For example, rather than judge a mother whose child has been abused, ask what you can do to help her.
* Volunteer with a child advocacy or domestic violence program in your community.

To learn more, visit: http://www.preventchildabuse.org/publications/cap/index.shtml.

April is also Autism Awareness Month. To be honest, autism is something I knew very little about until meeting my nephew. He is smart, adorable, and sweet--and he is also autistic. And after seeing how much his parents fight to get him the support, care, and education that he deserves, I've realized how important it is to raise awareness. He, and all children and people with autism, deserve our love and respect.

A few ideas to get involved:

* Find out more about autism. There are numerous websites, books, and other resources to help you learn more. Take the time to do so.
* Support a family who is living with autism. We all know someone.
* Stop viewing people who have autism as different, and start seeing them as unique, valuable people, who also have something special to teach us.

To learn more, visit: http://www.autism-society.org/about-us/national-autism-awareness-month/.

And finally, April is also the Month of the Military Child. And, of course, I have three adorable reasons to be passionate about this cause. Whether they're at home worried about their parent who's once again deployed, or preparing for yet another cross country move, military children endure incredible sacrifice and heartache, and do so with amazing resiliency. It's time we start showing them the support they deserve and so desperately need.

A few ideas to get involved:

* Thank a military family. Not just the soldier, the entire family.
* Buy a Daddy/Mommy Doll for a military child. Our kids love theirs, and it's great to have something to hug when your parent's deployed. You can order them here: http://www.huggeemissyou.com/?gclid=CKmu4dba-6cCFQat7Qodp1QPrA.
* Understand that the war is not over. And even after our troops come home, they and their families still have to heal. Help by offering a hug or a shoulder.

To learn more, visit: http://www.monthofthemilitarychild.com/.

It may seem overwhelming to learn about each of these issues, but each is important, and deserving of our time and attention. And they are also all connected: They each teach us that we have a duty to ensure every person in our society has a voice. That does not mean speaking for them. Everyone has a right, and has the ability to, speak for themselves. Whether they are a sexual assault survivor, victim of child abuse, military child, or a person with autism, everyone has a story to share. Our role is to silence the voices of abusers, critics, and those who choose to be apathetic and uninvolved. By silencing these voices, we make a space for everyone to speak their own truth. And that, for me, is the only way to truly raise awareness.

So, for all of these reasons, I’m renaming April “The Month to Speak Up.” We can all take a stand, raise awareness, and make a difference. Won’t you join me?

I will be posting more about each of these important issues throughout the month of April. So, stay tuned for more ways to Speak Up.

Why I'm Going Vegan

First, let me explain that this is not a judgmental, preachy blog about why everyone should become a vegan, or how I’m somehow stronger or wiser for deciding to do so. How and what you eat is a very personal decision, and one that should never be forced. My husband is not becoming vegan, although he has drastically cut back on his meat and dairy intake (and feels better having done so). I’m only writing this to explain why I have made this decision—for me.

I have been a quasi-vegetarian for years. Growing up, I never liked meat, and always felt a little guilty eating it. But, I was raised by my Polish, meat-loving, grandmother who loved to cook goulash, pierogi, golonka, meat wrapped in bacon (any kind of meat really), and pork chops. (She is now 75 years old and has severe heart disease and corroded arteries). Being a vegetarian in her house was not an option. But, when I could, I would sneak meat to my very appreciative basset hound, or throw it in the trash when my grandmother wasn’t looking. (When I recently told my grandmother that I was a vegetarian, she in her ever-strong Polish accent declared, “Ahh, sh**, I always knew you’d grow up to be a hippie.”)

When I moved out at 15, I ate anything I could afford. And while that diet typically consisted of ramen noodles and tortilla chips (not healthy, but vegetarian), I definitely wouldn’t turn down a free burger if it was offered. And while I was in college, working at a Chinese restaurant to pay the bills, I ate whatever the owners would let us have for free. If I had to buy groceries, a pack of hotdogs for 99 cents would often make its way into my cart. (I don’t even want to think about what’s actually in hot dogs). I knew I wanted to avoid meat, but at that time in my life, it just didn’t seem like an option. (I know now that I could have easily eaten a vegetarian diet on very little money. But, we’ll just add that to the long list of things I wish I had known at 15).

As I got older, I stopped eating red meat (except for the rare burger every five years or so), but would allow myself the occasional chicken or turkey sandwich, justifying that I needed the iron because of my anemia. I didn’t want to eat meat, but I had to. Or, so I thought. The funny thing is that meat really doesn’t contain as much protein or iron as people think. And when you factor in how much fat and cholesterol you’re taking in along with that iron, it’s really not worth it. I am now perfectly capable of getting all the iron and protein I need from beans, vegetables, nuts, and whole wheat. My iron levels are as high as they’ve ever been on a meat diet, and I feel much, much healthier.

I’m not morally opposed to eating meat or dairy, and no, it’s not a religious decision. Well, not really. What I’m opposed to is inflicting senseless torture upon living creatures. I know that sounds harsh, but that’s the state of our food supply in America. We no longer live in a society where farmers simply raise and slaughter animals and go out to milk the dairy cows each morning. We live in a society of large scale factory farms where unspeakable horrors happen to animals every day. I’m not going to go into the details of the violence or suffering that happens to animals, because I’m not here to guilt anyone into a meatless, or even reduced meat, lifestyle. But, it doesn’t take much to learn more about what really happens, if you choose to. I will give you something to think about, though. A dairy cow is expected to produce approximately 80 gallons of milk per day. The only way for a cow to produce that much milk is to be continually pregnant. What do you think happens to the babies once they’re born? I find it interesting that people are outraged when they hear of puppies or kittens being slaughtered—and rightfully so. But, every day, people turn a blind eye to the same happening to calves. I’m simply not willing to do so anymore. As a mother, I can’t justify any mother or child suffering—even a four-legged one.

Let me clarify that there is nothing inherently wrong with eating meat or dairy. I have heard many people say that it’s part of the natural food chain; the way it’s meant to be. And, if we were only eating what we needed to survive, I would agree. But, let’s face it, Americans are eating far more meat than we would ever need. Americans eat one million chickens every hour. Every hour! We kill over 10 billion animals a year. I’m not even going to go into how much land, gas, grain, and other resources are used in this type of production. Most of the world’s grain is going to feed cows in the U.S., so that they can quickly become plump and ready to be slaughtered—rather than going to feed the billions of people who are starving in the world. We’ve just gone way…too…far. We don’t need to eat sausage for breakfast, a big mac for lunch, and steak for dinner, and wash it all down with a milkshake. We don’t need fast food. We have become so used to it that we want it, maybe even become addicted to it. But, we certainly don’t need it.

There are ways to ethically consume meat and dairy. Find a small farm and buy a half a cow. Yes, even if you live in a large city, there is a farmer within a few hours of you. You’ll save a lot of money, and that one cow will feed your family for months—as opposed to the thousands of cows that are mashed up together in the meat you buy at the store or the drive thru window. I admire people like my friend Mary who get eggs from their own chickens. I’m not really ready to commit to being a chicken momma just yet, but I will buy eggs for my family from a local farm, not the grocery store. And yes, you can find milk from a local dairy farmer, too. Although, I will tell you that soy, rice, and almond milk are much, much better for you. You’ll notice an instant change in your weight, complexion, and energy level if you eliminate dairy from your diet. But, if you have to have it, try to find a local producer. Then, you can check out the operation and make sure you’re comfortable with everything you see. And most of all, we can all just cut back.

You don’t have to have meat in every meal, or even in every dinner. It’s not about depriving yourself. It’s about being honest with ourselves about what we truly need to eat, and being mindful of where that food is coming from. That’s it.

Before anyone says that you can’t afford to be a vegetarian or a vegan, let me assure you that you will actually save money. Vegetables, fruits, whole wheat, beans, and nuts are much less expensive than meat. Since I’ve stopped eating meat and dairy, my husband has drastically cut back, and our daughter has been a strict vegetarian for over two years, our grocery bill is lower than ever. And, if you factor in how much you’ll be saving on health care down the road, cutting back on meat and dairy is a much more affordable way to live.

I’m not asking anyone to stop eating meat or dairy. I’m just urging everyone to be more mindful of what you eat, where it came from, and how much of it you truly need. If we take charge of what we’re eating, we’ll be healthier, weigh less, feel better, reduce suffering, and change the world. I’d say that’s at least worth considering, right?

A few resources to check out:

Kathy Freston, author of The Veganist: www.kathyfreston.com

Physicians Committee for Responsible Medicine: www.pcrm.org

Suggestions & recipes for one meatless day (Meatout Monday) per week: www.meatoutmondays.org

Planning to Live Day-by-Day

Hello, my name is Pam, and I am a planner.

"Hi, Pam."

Yes, I love to plan. I start asking the kids about their Christmas wish list in June. I start researching summer camps in February. I make lists of items we’ll need to take on our Christmas vacation in August. (Although I have learned to not actually book the vacation until November). I keep a journal with pictures of places I’d like to visit, books I’d like to read, things I’d like to learn. And yes, I love to plan for our next home. As you might imagine, this habit does not play well with the military lifestyle.

(I could hear those of you who are in the military laughing after you read the first sentence).

I find myself constantly asking my husband about where our next duty station may be, as if he actually knows. I look at house listings, although after dealing with the expense and trouble of selling our previous home, I know that we have no intention of buying, at least until we know we’ll be somewhere for a while--whenever that may be. And although I realize it’s futile, I find myself always wondering what’s next. But, as everyone in the military knows, it’s absolutely impossible to plan. It’s unrealistic to plan--for next year, next month, or even for next week. But yet, I really, really want to!

Have you ever heard motivational speakers or financial planners ask questions such as, “where do you see yourself in five years?” I used to looove those questions. I would gleefully get out a pad of paper and start jotting down all of my plans, sometimes complete with a timeline. But, now, that question causes me to panic. I know where I’d like to see myself in five years, but the truth is that I have very little—if any—control over what actually happens.

Control. Yes, I guess that’s it. For me, planning is a way to maintain some shred of control in this typically uncontrollable life. (Yes, some may call me a control freak rather than a planner. But, I don’t think we need to resort to name calling). Planning puts me back in the driver’s seat, rather than hanging on to the bumper. But, it also makes me panic when I realize that my plans may not come to fruition.

But, as I think about it, if someone would have asked me ten years ago what my ten-year plan would be, it definitely would not have involved being married to a soldier, living on the other side of the country, and having three children. But, I really can’t imagine my life any other way. So, maybe that’s the lesson. Our plans aren’t always what’s meant to be. And sometimes life has surprises in store for us that we may not be prepared for, but that will bring us incredible joy. It turns out that being grateful for what comes is actually more fulfilling--and more realistic--than trying to plan for everything that may come.

So, rather than live in a perpetual state of panic, I think it’s time to shift my focus. I may not have control over what state we will live in, what my career will be, or whether my husband will be home, but I do have control over how I view my life. I can be happy and grateful for all that I have, no matter what our zip code may be. And yes, even if we are--heaven forbid--separated by a deployment again.

I am trying to learn, albeit with some angst, the art of taking life day-by-day. I’m learning to live in the moment and focus on now, rather than worrying about tomorrow. And, above all else, I’m learning to be grateful for this frantic, ever-changing, completely uncontrollable life. Because, even if I can’t plan it or control it, I love it. And if I have to keep hanging on to the bumper, I can at least enjoy the ride.

Four-Legged Angels

Sitting here today, typing away on the computer, I am surrounded by our kitty, who is snoring on the desk, and our pup, who is sitting dutifully by my feet. And I am once again reminded of all the four-legged angels who have been in my life over the years.

The first angel who always comes to mind is Stephanie, my droopy, but adorable basset hound, who my grandmother adopted from a breeder when I was 7 years old. Stephie was only a baby, but had already been beaten and malnourished. She was supposed to be a gift for my Uncle, but she did not trust men at all. She had been abused by the man who ran the kennel, so she would cower away any time a male came near her. So, she became mine--my pet, my friend and my companion during a very difficult childhood. I had to feed her out of my hand because she was afraid to come to the bowl. We did everything together--played, slept, watched TV. Unfortunately, we also shared many not-so-happy childhood events together. She experienced abuse, neglect and even homelessness right by my side. She would try to protect me and suffered many consequences because of it. But, despite all of her pain, she was always by my side.

Stephie passed away when I was 20--after a long 13 years together. I was crushed. Not only had I lost my lifelong friend, I lost the only being who had been there for me.

Shortly after Stephie passed, I found out that I was pregnant. It was my senior year of college and I was far from being ready to be a Mom. But, after much fear, worry and utter panic, I realized how much I already loved the tiny, still unknown, child inside of me. I would have loved for Stephie to be by my side during this miraculous time. And it still makes me sad that she never got to meet my daughter, although I know she looks down on her every day.

My daughter also shares my love for animals. For her fifth birthday, she asked friends to bring donations for a local animal shelter, instead of gifts for her. When we delivered the gifts, I decided to surprise her with a new pet. So, on that day, we adopted a cat.

Yin, our dear rescued kitty, brought so much love and joy to our home. She would snuggle by my daughter when she was sick or sad and keep me company during many late nights studying for law school courses and the dreaded bar exam. And when I met the love of my life (who I later married), Yin would greet him at the door and sniff him thoroughly, like a parent interrogating her child’s suitor. They quickly loved one another. He would play with Yin as soon as he walked in, and she would return the favor by rubbing against his leg and purring. On Mother’s Day and other occasions, my then-beau would always buy me 3 cards—one from him, one from my daughter, and one from Yin. The latter he would simply sign, “Thank you for loving me. Meow.” It was his tenderness and love for Yin that was one of the many things that made me fall in love with him.

When Yin passed away in March of 2008, we were all devastated. My husband (who was then my boyfriend) was in Iraq at the time. The line was silent for a long few moments when I broke the news to him.

A few months after Yin passed, and shortly after welcoming my love home from Iraq, we went to the local animal shelter, thinking that we were going to adopt a puppy. But, as soon as we saw this adorable litter of polydactyl (six-toed) kitties, we fell in love. Well, I should say, my daughter and I fell in like, my husband was smitten. He reached in the cage and pulled out this fuzzy little calico ball and held her to his chest. She started to purr and then decided he was a bit too close and gave him a little swat across his hand. I think it was her combination of independence and affection that got him--kind of like myself. Her six-toed white paws reminded him of a boxer, so we decided to name her Roxy (as in, the female Rocky).

When my husband is home, Roxy follows him everywhere—sleeping by his side if he’s on the couch, snuggling by him at night (yes, we do kick her out sometimes) and even waiting for him outside the bathroom.

And when he was once again deployed, she slept on his pillow every night, as if keeping it warm for him until he returned. Watching her rub against the computer screen while we were skyping, wondering how he got into that screen and plotting how to get him out, was heartwarming. I think we sometimes forget that pets experience sadness and grief, as we do. But, when I saw our kitty roll over and snuggle against my husband's pillow, I knew she missed him, too.

Soon after Roxy joined our family, our daughter's requests (campaign) for a dog began. I had recently cared for a friend’s dog for over a year while he was out of the country for work. And dealing with the mess and torn up yard and muddy carpets (yes, I’m a bit of a neat freak) convinced me that I’m much more of a cat person. But, as always, she was persistent. She worked extra hard on her chores and school work to prove that she could handle the responsibility. She researched dogs and the care required and would often present us with her findings. So, of course, we gave in.

Soon we got a call from a local no-kill agency that found a rat terrier mix who needed a new home. We went to meet this little girl, who we had been warned was a bit timid. She had been abused and abandoned; which, of course, made me want to adopt her even more. (Survivors of all kinds need to stick together). She was perfect. My husband was hesitant, but as soon as he met her, he gave in. And now, that once timid and shy pup is a spoiled and happy member of the family. She’s still cautious of some strangers, but with us, she’s playful and loving.

Our pup, Cricket, runs and waits at the door a few minutes before the my daugther's school bus arrives each day. She knows when her best friend is coming. And when it’s time for bed, Cricket runs to my daughter's room and tucks herself under one of her favorite fleece blankies. Her only care in the world right now is that rascally cat, Roxy, who likes to attack her. But, even when Roxy tries to strangle her (one of the disadvantages of a cat with thumbs), Cricket seems to think she’s being hugged, so she just wags her tail. She is truly one of the most lovable creatures I have ever known. I can't imagine anyone ever hurting her, but I am happy that she now has a forever family.

There are also animals whom I have never met, but who I am grateful for. During this last deployment, my husband would tell me about the stray dogs who roamed near their camp in Iraq. These malnourished, homeless pets would wait outside the camp, hoping for some food and love. He would bring them scraps, and soon, they became his faithful admirers. He loved these dogs. And hearing him talk about them, and the companionship they provided when I could not, made me love them, too. We even looked into ways to bring them back to the US, but discovered that it would be nearly impossible. I don't know what happened to them once he left, but I hope that another soldier took over as their guardian, and that they are still caring for our troops today.

Our current pets, Roxy and Cricket, are an adorable and hilarious duo. And, along with my husband and myself, and our three amazing kids, they have made our family complete. And, even though some are no longer with us, I know that all of my four-legged angels are out there somewhere, looking down on my family, happy for us and the love we share. And no matter where life may take us, and what challenges we may encounter, I will forever be grateful for my four-legged angels.

I hope this has encouraged you to remember the pets who have touched your life, and to give some extra love to those who are with you currently. They truly are a blessing.