My first husband, who died three and a half years ago, was part of the 160th Special Operations unit deployed in 1993 to Somalia, where two Black Hawk helicopters were downed. Five of our dearest friends were killed during that mission. To my everlasting horror, I watched on CNN as the bodies of two of them were dragged through the streets of Mogadishu by a riotous crowd. My then 8-year-old daughter went to school the next day and saw a picture of one of the soldiers on the front page of our local paper. She told me that she would have been worried except that the soldier had blond hair and her daddy’s was black. Once the military officially declared the soldiers’ deaths, I had to deliver the terrible news to two of their wives.

While Army families are prepped to expect stresses and strains of military service on their family life, I never thought the realities of war would affect me firsthand. Maybe I was in denial, maybe I just believed no nation in its right mind would take on America.

Martin was supposed to retire last February but he was caught in the stop-loss that the military put on select jobs in the wake of September 11. He is now expected to retire in November of 2004. Even during peacetime, our family is on tenterhooks, wondering if he might be deployed to another far-flung region of the world. While I am certain we can endure his absence, I have seen many families fall apart from the constant separations.

It pains me that the American public doesn’t fully comprehend the sacrifices being made by soldiers during war, deployments and rotations. Incredibly, enlisted soldiers earn so little money that they qualify for food stamps. Many of them live in substandard military housing. Even so, they’re willing to stick it out in the desert, where just having toilet paper is a luxury.

Their families sacrifice, too. Soldiers miss out on birthdays, anniversaries, children’s sports events and summer vacations. There’s a good chance Martin may miss the birth of our son next month. But I’ve learned over the years to have a backup plan so my family can have a sense of normalcy. Two of my best friends, Dan and Jennifer, will take Martin’s place in the delivery room.

My access to Martin has been limited, but I keep thinking about the wives of soldiers who fought in World War II. Their husbands were away for years on end with little communication, so I try and keep a stiff upper lip and remain grateful for the contact I do have. Other wives have not been so fortunate–their husbands don’t write home. This creates more stress for their families.

I’ve received about 10 letters from my husband since he’s been gone. It takes them about 20 days to get to me. He’s a charismatic kind of guy, very funny. Even in his letters he makes a valiant attempt to keep me uplifted. Between us we renamed this conflict “Operation Enduring Loneliness.” I’ve gotten probably four or five phone calls. We had a three-minute conversation last Tuesday. He said, “D, I’ve been trying for 45 minutes to get through to you. There’s a meeting and I have to go. Please don’t worry, I love you and I’m really sorry I can’t talk longer.” I said “Martin, I don’t care if it’s 20 seconds, I’m just glad to hear your voice.”

Being able to watch events unfold in real time has been a mixed blessing. I’m terrified of what I might see and yet I find it impossible to turn the television off while my husband is fighting this war. I can’t help but worry that the Somalia experience will play out in living rooms across the country. My children, in their teens now, are equally interested in watching the coverage. They know that Martin’s unit, the Third Infantry Division, is leading the push to Baghdad. They constantly ask questions about his location and whether he is in harm’s way. No doubt they sense my fear.

As nerve-racking as it was when President Bush announced that the war had begun, it was in some ways a relief. My biggest fear was that our troops would sit over there all summer and morale would suffer. My heart just pours out to Iraqi families; as a mother, I can’t imagine living with my two kids in a neighborhood that’s being bombed. I can’t even fathom that. And as terrified as I am for Martin, I can’t imagine being an Iraqi wife whose husband is leaving to go fight the Americans. At least I know my husband has a fighting chance.