Mosul 3504

The phone is ringing, the baby is crying, the dog is scratching to go out. I glance at the caller ID to see if I really need to answer and I realize it's out of the country. Baby is on one hip; I pop a pacifier in her mouth for a moment's quiet so I can get the phone.

It's not my husband because the country code isn't the same. 035 - it's from Italy. Oh no. Oh no. My husband's command is based in Italy. There's only one reason they would be calling me and it's not a good reason.

All of that flashes through my head in a millisecond.

I answer the phone. Hesitantly.

"Is this Mrs. L." says an unfamiliar female voice.

"Yes." I swallow hard to push the lump forming in my throat but it doesn't help. "Yes it is. Who's calling?"

"This is Col. Whatshername. Do you have a few moments to talk?"

"Yes. Yes!"

It's the wing commander and she's calling me for some reason. My heart is pounding so hard I worry she can hear it through the phone.

I strap the baby into her bouncy seat and flick on Sesame Street and hope that keeps her happy for just a few minutes until I can get to the bottom of this. I fling the door open and let the dog out too. I just want some quiet so I can hear the Colonel over the roaring in my ears.

I wander a little ways away from the sounds of Elmo and sit down. "Is everything ok?" I ask her. Note to self - do not ask questions if you don't really want the answers.

"We wanted to inform you of an incident that occurred in Mosul earlier today, about 10 am their time."

"I'm assuming this involved my husband." My tone is flat.

"Yes, ma'am. Maj. L. was involved in the incident. As far as we know right now, his injuries are not life-threatening...." her voice trailed off.

Injuries????

At least he wasn’t dead.

Ok. Focus.

"Can you please tell me what you know? What happened?"

"Yes, ma'am I can tell you all I know, which isn't too much. At around 1000 hours there were two trucks travelling in a caravan through downtown Mosul. Maj. L was in the follow vehicle, rear driver's side seat. The caravan was ambushed by an improvised explosive device which took out the lead vehicle. At that point, gunmen opened fire on the two vehicles. What we can discern is that the four individuals in the lead vehicle were injured but able to vacate the vehicle and make a run for the vehicle still in operation. Maj. L. opened his door at that time to allow the team to enter the vehicle and several shots were fired inside. All we know is that he sustained injuries at that time, but the team was successful in entering and securing the vehicle and they immediately returned to base."

Someone shot my husband. That's all I could think.

Some mother fucker shot my husband. Who the fuck did he think he was shooting my husband? What did he do to him? Yes, I know it's a war, but suddenly it seemed so......so PERSONAL.

Why are you shooting at him? At our friends? What the hell is wrong with you that you just randomly shoot people you don't know? They're riding around in your country protecting your citizens and you try to kill them. Why?

Even as a well-read individual who is well-versed in the geopolitics of the Middle East, I am still having this very basic, visceral reaction.

My blood turns to ice in my veins as I envision what she is telling me.

"Is he hospitalized?" is all I can think of to say.

"It's unclear if he has been treated and released or if he is being flown to Landstuhl (a very large Army hospital in Germany where the worst casualties of the war are taken and treated) We have no information right now as to the extent of his injuries."

Suddenly I picture my husband bleeding from everywhere; I imagine the worst possible scenes, of bullets entering the truck, of him being struck and his blood bouncing off the glass. I envision it tearing through his skin, the skin I know so well. How could someone do this?

"When will you know more?" I am asking annoying questions, I'm sure, but I need to know.

"I'm sorry ma'am. This is all we know right now. As soon as we know more we'll get back to you. I'm very sorry." She sounds genuinely sorry and it turns out that we actually know her and have had dinner with her before. I just don't remember right now because I'm preoccupied.

"Ok, ok. Well, thank you so much." I hang up, bewildered what to do next. Do I call someone? I think of calling 911 but realize of course that is insane. Who do I call? Should I call his parents? My parents? I have to tell someone! I have to get more information. I run to my laptop to see if he's online. Sometimes I can catch him on instant messenger. But he's not there. There are no emails either.  All I have is this phone call, which has fallen in my lap like a bomb.

The baby sees me and starts kicking. She spits out her pacifier and I can tell she wants "up." I pick her up and sit on the couch rocking her in my arms. Then I begin to cry. It is one of the first times I have cried since this deployment started. I haven't had TIME to cry. I haven't had the energy to cry; I have two young children to care for and who need me desperately. But now I unload months and months of tears that have been building behind my eyes. It is so bad that I've developed a lump on my eyeball that no one seems to be able to figure out. I figure it's just my aneurysm finally starting.

The crying feels almost good, a release that I badly needed, but I can't seem to stop and get a hold of myself. The baby doesn't notice, but I still feel guilty crying all over her.

These are weird thoughts. But my brain is straining to make sense of what's happening. I am so disturbed and anxious and agitated that after my son gets home from school, I pack up a small bag with some of our things and drive to my parents' house for a long weekend. I need something, some support, some love, someone to tell me this is going to be okay. I have NO IDEA if it's going to be okay since I have NO IDEA what kind of injuries he has. And I feel so fucking helpless because there is nothing I can do. I don't even know where he is.

I don't DARE tell my son! I just tell him we are going for a nice visit to see Nana and Pop, to spend some time with them and get a change of scenery. I hope this doesn't shake his routine too much and cause him anxiety but if I don't do this for myself, I won't be much of a mother to him or his sister, and that will be MUCH worse than a disrupted routine. He has been devastated by his father's deployment and we have to have an elaborate routine for all of his daily needs; everything has a little ritual, like he's OCD. It's a coping mechanism that he needs right now and that's okay, because he's coping.

At bed time, we kiss daddy's picture goodnight and he listens to daddy read a story on a tape that daddy made before he went away.

On his nightstand is a big plastic jar filled with exactly as many Hershey kisses as there are to be days to daddy's deployment. Every night, he gets a "kiss from daddy". As time goes on, he gets a visual of how much time is passing and how long until daddy comes home. The jar is getting lower and I had been feeling lighter, as if we were just about in the clear with a little over a month left. I guess I got too cocky. Karma has decided to kick my ass.

Anyway, going to my parents' turns out to be a good idea. My mom and dad heap the love and attention on the kids, knowing my nerves are shot. They baby me a little with seafood takeout from my favorite place. They seem inconsolable, however, that they can't do more. They know they can't take the pain away. They know I just want to know what happened to my husband.

But right now, all I can do is wait.