It takes an village to raise a daughter

They say it takes a village to raise a child ... in my case there was my mom and dad, and two other very special women. This is dedicated to the women in my life ...

To Mary Ann, my pseudo stepmom:

She watched me grow up and treated me like I was one of her own. She listened to my problems and gave me incalculable advice over the years; by turns a mother, a therapist and a friend. Mary Ann encouraged me to follow my heart, to listen to my instincts and to always pursue a path that makes me happy. From boys and dating, finding my first apartment, graduating college, and joining the military, marriage, divorce and losing my father and her best friend, her friendship and support has helped me through years of growing up, adventures and difficult decisions.

For the past 18 years, she’s been a willing part of my life. Mary Ann has been a shopping partner, confidante, companion, teacher and friend. She helped my dad be a better father. She’s helped guide and shape me into the person I am today. Thank you Mary Ann for always being there.

To my Aunt Lorraine:

All of my childhood, my Aunt Rainey was synonymous with the best toys, snacks and playtime around. My cousins, brother and I had grand adventures in her house, playing with the great bins of toys she kept stocked, the snacks she kept in the pantry and the little quirks of her house that let us eavesdrop on adult conversations. She was always willing to let my cousin Krista and I spend the night and we’d battle over who got to sleep in the daybed in the guest bedroom. She read to us, took us to see the Little Mermaid (still one of my favorite movies) and had grand summer adventures with us.

Now that I’m older she’s more of a friend, although I appreciate her advice, wisdom and surprisingly sharp wit. Although she has children of her own, my aunt Rainey, just as in my youth, always has space for me in her heart and home. Aunt Lorraine’s house is my home away from home. Thank you for always welcoming me home, no matter how long I’ve been away.

And last, but not least, to my mom:

Our path hasn’t been always been easy one. We fought tooth and nail over clothes, boys, chores, curfews, attitudes, eye-rolling and back-talking. The last three were all me, I’ll admit. There were times when I was so mad her I thought I would never talk to her again, that she didn’t understand me and never would. I know I didn’t, or wouldn’t, understand her. It seems that most of my life, we were on two totally different planets.

But then there were the days we spent in the kitchen, our hands covered in flour as we rolled and cut out dough and decorated cookies by the dozen. There was my prom night when she let me stay out until 5 a.m. trusting that I would be responsible and smart enough to get home safe and sound. And when I did, my bed was turned down and the nightstand lamp was on for me. Or there was the time that my boyfriend and I broke up and I was so devastated, I cried all night and the next morning, she called into work sick for me. Or when I called her about my divorce and instead of playing the blame game or giving me the third degree, she quietly accepted my decision and told me how sorry she was. Her calm support was exactly what I needed at the time. It seems no matter how much we don’t get along or understand each other, when I need her the most, she’s always there. And that’s what I remember most, and am thankful for, on this Mother’s Day.

Happy Mother’s Day to all the wonderful women in my life! Thank you for helping make me who I am today.

In my father's eyes

Sometimes it’s the oddest things that can remind you of a loved one, a song, a person, a place. For me it’s the sound of a train whistle or a motorcycle revving, the scent of a cigar or burgers cooking on the grill that bring back memories of my father.

I arrived at Eggers the day before what would have been my dad’s 59th birthday, so he was on my mind a lot during my first few weeks here. While I still think of him constantly, the pace of work soon distracted me, as it did during my first deployment to Afghanistan, during which my dad passed, and at the time I was grateful for return to the deployment tempo. So the other day, I was a little surprised to find myself thinking about my dad while flying down to Helmand province with my boss and his staff. I was in full work mode, writing notes and thinking about what I would try to get photos of, while listening to my boss talk to his staff about the day ahead, and I was reminded so much of my father. They don’t look alike, and while he served in the Navy, my dad was nowhere near the rank of general, but all the same, my dad had a similar commanding presence of my current boss.

My dad was a tall, broad-shouldered man with red hair and large features. When I was young, he was a giant and when I was older he was the man I most wanted to impress, with my accomplishments in school and then in the Air Force. I know he wasn’t perfect, and he had his flaws, but people gravitated toward him. He had a way of making people feel comfortable, to tease them and joke and tell stories until you were on the floor laughing, barely able to breathe. His self-deprecating humor and story-telling ability are things I miss almost constantly.

But even more, I miss something I took for granted when I was young: the opportunity just to talk to him, to get his advice and perspective. I found as I grow older myself (and supposedly more wiser) I valued the inputs my father had on my life more and more, and I wish I could still have him in my life, to talk with him, to bounce ideas off him and to just have him listen and be there.

I wonder what he would think about the decisions I’ve made and how my life has changed in the two years he’s been gone - getting stationed in California, getting divorced, starting my master’s program, running my first marathon - and what he would think about my being in Afghanistan again.

All I know is as I sat on that plane, I was overcome by a longing so fierce for my father, that I had to fight back tears. It took me a long time to be able to talk about my dad without crying and even longer to look at his pictures. It’s been two years since we lost my dad, and while the pain lessens over time, I miss his presence in my life every day.

Family reunion

It’s a small Air Force … that’s a pretty common phrase used in the Air Force to explain how you can run into the friends and previous co-workers when you least expect it. I guess the same can hold true for any branch of the military. I have several relatives serving in the Air Force and Army but the last place I expected to run into one of them was in Afghanistan, but yesterday my cousin Haley, whom I hadn’t seen since 2003 (when we both enlisted; her in the Army National Guard, me in the active-duty Air Force) met up at Camp Eggers, Kabul.

When I left for this deployment I had hoped I would have the opportunity to see her; her unit deployed in August so I knew we’d be in Afghanistan at the same time, but initially she was stationed at a Forward Operating Base in the south. When we found out she’d be moving up to Kabul and I got really excited. Then Thursday afternoon, I got a phone call at the office; my co-worker answered, and with a confused look on his face, he came in and said there was a girl on the phone and she was saying she was my cousin. We chatted and Haley told me she would be at Eggers the next day so I was super excited to see her.

The last time we met was the summer before I left for basic training; we were at my Aunt Lorraine’s house in New York and Haley was young, only 18. I wasn't sure what to expect six years later, but when she showed up at my office I was blown away. Now, she’s 24, all grown up, beautiful and totally in love. She possesses much more poise and confidence than I did at that age, and probably more than I do at almost 29. We had a great time laughing, catching up and sharing stories. Haley is a Brown, through and through.

She goes on leave soon, and I hope that her time in Europe is amazing and everything she hopes for. But most of all, I’m excited to have a cousin, whom I hardly get to see, here in Afghanistan so we can re-connect. I think she’s most excited about the fact that I promised to get her a mattress pad at the BX. That’s what big cousins are for!