Let’s start out with the obvious. Jason’s retiring this fall. After 22 years of service, he’ll hang up the uniform he loves and explore life as a civilian. It’s daunting, but we’re ready.

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Dear United States Army,

Thank you for your kind offer of a $105,000 retention bonus. I’m afraid we’ll have to decline.

You see, that bonus comes with three more years of service, which we already know from our rotation schedule means another 9 month deployment to a combat zone. See that picture? All of those letters I’m surrounded by? We have thousands of them written between us throughout his five deployments, and I’m running out of storage room.

Man, we’ve been back and forth over the last six months about this. That money would change a lot about our life. We’d have enough to put a hefty downpayment on a home here in Colorado…seeing as the home we still own near Fort Drum never sold after we PCS’d. We could breathe a little easier with paying our bills, our son’s dyslexia tutor, and so. many. things. We’re not so privileged that we can’t understand how much money that is, or how crazy it is that we’re being offered it.

The money is enticing. Not going to lie. In fact, if we weren’t lucky that I have a career that can keep us afloat after the army, we’d probably take it.

But not because we want to—but because we have six kids and only one of them is through college. (And yes, we know that was our choice.)

We’re not taking the bonus because the cost to my family for another three years of service is higher than $105K. My husband is priceless.

See that heart? It’s stained glass. I had it made at Fort Drum in between deployments 3 & 4, after PCS number three and house number seven. It’s a cute take on a service flag, right? But sometime in the last six years, it’s been broken. Maybe it was the PCS here to Colorado. Maybe it was dropped by the movers. Maybe it was knocked off the window by a child in a fit of anger. Maybe it happened during this fifth deployment when our daughter (who is on the non-verbal side of the autism spectrum) got a little curious.

I stopped asking myself “why,” sometime in the last year, and accepted the fact that it’s broken. We’re broken. Hell, I am that silly, delicate heart. Forged in the heat of this life, braced with steel, multi-faceted, beautiful and broken. You, United States Army, have done the breaking. It’s a matter of self-preservation that we walk away.

When Jason first brought the bonus to my attention, I was leaving the ER with the Hulk, who had just fractured his wrist at soccer practice. Already, Thor was home with fractures in his ankle from a tumble up…yes UP…the stairs. Jason was on his fifth deployment. At first, he acknowledged that it was NOT the time to ask me, but we made a deal years ago: We don’t keep secrets. Information is given as we get it. When he told me the amount, and asked if I wanted him to investigate, my first response came in the heat of overwhelming anger. “If you sign that bonus, you’ll be signing divorce papers right along with it.”

Yeah, not my finest moment in my marriage, especially since I don’t think I’d ever threatened the “D” word. Ever. Of course I retracted the statement, and we had a mature discussion about it. But even as we weighed the pros and cons of taking it, I knew that I could not take another deployment. Our marriage wouldn’t survive. I wasn’t sure I could, either.

Talking with a fellow army wife of 17 years, I asked if we’d become the super-salty spouses. She agreed—we’d lost the shiny, wear-the-unit-sweatshirt, go to FRG meetings wife we’d been the first decade. The first few deployments, really. Man, we’d been awesome.

But you couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? You just kept coming and coming, taking where there was nothing left to be taken, and breaking off pieces until I lost that luster, and became…whatever this is.

So here are the reasons our family will not be taking your bonus:

Jason has served since he was seventeen. He will hit 22 years in November. He’s been loyal, and dutiful, and a really, REALLY good pilot. He’s served more than his share. You seem unable to end the longest war this country has ever been in. It is NOT okay to see the kids of our friends deploy to the same fronts their fathers have fought on because of your inability to get us out of this war. This is not a game I can play anymore. Jason has been blown up by an anti-tank landmine while he was a 19D, taken over a hundred pieces of shrapnel to his face, nearly lost his eyesight due to the same, taken a bullet in his fuel tank on the Pakistan border once he became an Apache pilot, and buried too many friends. Every single time you deploy him, you spin the chamber and play Russian Roulette, and quite frankly, his life is worth more than $105K. I’m done gambling. I love him too much to send him back to war by choice. You’ve hurt my children. When we told our oldest boy, who is kind, considerate, and overall heart-melting, that his dad would be deploying for the fifth time, he said, “Well, I guess it’s good that we’ve gotten so good at doing this on our own, right mom?” He’s done pulling his punches, and so am I. Jason’s been deploying since Captain America was five weeks old. He’ll turn sixteen in a couple of weeks. DID YOU HEAR THAT? My son is sixteen years old and has ONLY known war. He’s never once been able to lay his head down with the assurance that his dad wouldn’t be sent to war, and has spent too many nights wondering if he’d come home. You’ve made war commonplace. Something I should accept with patriotic fervor and quiet, dutiful acceptance. Yeah, ok, I was there, all bright and shiny with my yellow ribbons back in 2003. Maybe even 2005 when he went back to Iraq. But I’m a grown woman now, and I do not accept it. I do not find it okay for war to be common. I will not keep my pretty little mouth shut and tend hearth and home because you guys can’t get us out of a conflict after almost eighteen years. And yes, I knew what I was “getting in to.” I’m the daughter of two army LTC’s, who are the children of a BG, and a SFC who spent time in a POW camp in Nazi Germany. I grew up as an army brat and I’m well aware of the beauty and hardships that come with serving this nation. I simply know now that my patriotism is better served by raising men and women who have a global view in their education, and might have a shot at ending this once they’ve grown. But I can only say, “this isn’t normal,” to them for so long before I’m a liar, because you’ve made it the norm. I will no longer allow my kids to be ripped out of their lives by the stem. I am grateful for this military life, for the flexibility of our children, for the way they can adapt. But I also want them to form lasting friendships that have history. I want them to grow their roots so they can balance their wings. This is a fully personal choice that not every military family will agree with. Heck, maybe I’m just sick of moving boxes. Either way, they’ve adapted their entire lives, and now I’d like them to stop having to. The Optempo isn’t sustainable. You’re losing service members left and right because you keep deploying them (see points 1 and 5). You’re wearing them down until their only recourse is to leave the military. Then you’re short soldiers, and others have to deploy even more (hence Atlantic Resolve) because you can’t keep units staffed. There simply aren’t enough pilots. I’m so sorry to say that you’re losing one more, but you’re pushing your forces to exhaustion without any endgame in sight. I’m done putting my career in the backseat. Selfish? Yes. I’m blessed that I get to write books. Blessed that I have the career I always dreamed about. Blessed that it’s portable. But man, it’s a LOT of work. Just like any other career. I’m done cancelling signings because of trainings and deployments. Done writing books on an ironing board in the middle of a PCS. Done being told that the wants and needs of the US Army come first, and I should be happy with whatever is left over. That nineteen year-old girl Jason met was content with leftovers, because I had HIM. The thirty-seven year-old woman I am now knows that we no longer have to accept leftovers. Jason has always told me, “after 20, you get to drive the train.” Once his twenty years were served, it was my turn. It’s something I’ve always loved about him. I’m so sorry, but you can’t have my turn. You’ve made Jason undependable. Not to you, of course. But to me. Captain America had tonsil surgery. Jason’s grandmother died. I fell and fractured my ankle in three places. I moved cross-country solo with four kids (and a best friend). I graduated college. I got my first book deal. I found black mold in our home. We bought a house. I moved into that house. I brought our daughter home for the first time. A family of skunks moved into our garage. Ironman was diagnosed with epilepsy. Captain America learned to drive. Supergirl had her heart broken. Thor broke his ankle. The Hulk broke his wrist. Little Miss was diagnosed with fetal alcohol syndrome (calm down, people, she’s adopted—I didn’t drink while I was pregnant). WE HAD A HOME INVASION at 1 a.m. that left me shaken. All of these things happened while Jason was deployed or away at training. We’re in no way special, this happens to every military family. I’m just done letting it happen to ours. Jason and I deserve to support each other, to be there, which means I need him here. PTSD isn’t something that goes away when you keep deploying. I need my husband to finally heal. In a lifetime of war, this man deserves peace.

Though it may not sound like it, I have loved our time as a military family. I’m incredibly proud of Jason and what he’s accomplished. The military has been good to us. Our healthcare is outstanding. My children have seen the world. Jason’s seen a little too much of the world. I’m grateful for the opportunities you’ve given us as a family. For ballgowns and blues. For homecoming kisses. For BDU’s and polished boots, and A2CU’s and flight gear in my entry hall. So please don’t take his retirement as an insult or a rejection. He said he’d give you twenty, and has done so.

We’ve simply been cut down like the Giving Tree, and have nothing else to give you without destroying what we’ve worked so hard to build.

Be kind to our friends who have taken the bonus. Treat them well. Every family is in a different position, a different stage of life, and we’ve all made the choice that’s best for our families. This is simply what’s best for us.

So keep the $105K. I’ll keep my husband.

Sincerely,

The War-Weary, Salted Spouse.

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