My Verbally Abusive Marriage

For the love of Pete, please, Army spouses, understand that you CAN report domestic abuse in your home WITHOUT your soldier losing his career!

Army policy may require counseling, classes, and interviews, but your report WILL NOT ruin his career. Hell, the Army may mark your report as “unsubstantiated” like they did my first one, and absolutely NOTHING WILL HAPPEN to your soldier.

You see, the Army learned the hard way that putting guys out of the military (killing their careers)  increases their anger AT THEIR WIVES AND FAMILY. These soldiers leave the Army and the abuse at home increases – or someone ends up DEAD.

The only way my husband’s career will come to an end is IF he does something (else) to piss off his command. He could be disciplined for not being financially responsible to us. He could be disciplined for breaking his no contact order. He could be disciplined for disobeying an order (just like always!), but the MOST he will receive out of my report is a poor counselling statement. He may not even get THAT.

And for God’s sake, please understand that if you report HIM because HE IS ABUSING YOU, then you have done nothing WRONG. Think about it. The Army marginalizes us spouses/families for the most part…how in the HELL are we powerful enough to end a man’s career?!

Besides, correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t we talking about abuse here? Who’s fault is THAT?

OURS?!

MINE?!

Whatever. I’ve talked to the Social Services in the Army hospital  in 2008, during domestic violence group meetings between then and now, and on Friday. I know that “what I’ve done” is not a career killer for HIM, but if I don’t get help, then it could be a life killer for ME.

Report it. Report it. Report it.

Report it.

Has it been only one night? Last night, Will was intimidating and verbally harassing me when my anxiety levels went through the roof. Almost directly after writing, “Smack. Smack. Smack.” in reference to the belt he was snapping, I got up from this computer, went to my room, put on my boots, grabbed a pillow and a blanket, and left the house.

I returned when I thought he’d passed out, but he surprised me at the door. Eventually he forced himself into the bedroom and put his hands on me while yelling nasty things.

I called the cops. There were no marks on me, so they could not remove him from the house. I decided that I would leave.

For the remainder of the night (early morning) I pressed charges (assault against a woman) and requested an ex parte order, which was granted, temporarily, until January 28th. I went on post and filled them in and they notified his unit and a 72-hour no contact type order from his command was issued.

Finally, yesterday evening, the sheriff delivered the ex parte, requiring Will to pack his clothes and toiletries and leave the house.

The cop (who was rude and uncommunicative with me) arrested Will in front of our boys (!) and put him into the car with handcuffs on. (I had been told that Will would pack up his stuff and then be escorted to the jail for processing, most likely leaving after processing to go anywhere but home.)

So, until January 28th, the ex parte order is in place. Civilly, Will has been ordered to stay away from our home, our children, our pets, my car, and me. No contact with any of us, period.

On the 28th, we go to court.

I will write more later. For now, we are safe and I am holding up well. I alternate between relief and regret, but the regret has nothing to do with the actions I’ve taken since the violence in the bedroom.

I am sad and feel like I will simply fall down and  die at times.

“…Jesus had been known to become angry when something was wrong. ” ~ (part of) Kathy’s comment to When is it okay for me to be angry?

Yep. Jesus threw a down and out hissy fit in the temple. I have always found that story comforting. It goes to show that ANGER isn’t something to deny.

Shoot, God (back in the day before Christ) had a temper, too. He drowned a bunch of people in a flood and rained holy hellfire down on a couple cities, turning a woman to salt for glancing back at the turmoil. God (once upon a time before He had a Son who taught Him to think before murderously acting on His divine anger) was hell on wheels.

Crazy.

Here’s the thing. I don’t want to use my anger to destroy anyone.

In the past, I’ve expressed my anger in one of two ways. Either I acted out passively aggressively OR I acted out in an (almost) murderous rage.

Neither response has done ANY good, nor has it created any good. Both responses destroy relationships and trust.

So, a better question to ask is “How and when do I express my anger?”

This thing I’m feeling angry about has history. Kathy, you also asked, “By the way, did you marry a drunk? I’m just wondering.” The answer to that is yes, I did marry a drunk.

Like you, Kathy, I was also wondering in the beginning. I didn’t grasp that he was a drunk until later. So the anger I’m feeling goes back a LONG way.

In the past regarding alcoholic episodes, I’ve either turned into a raving lunatic or refused to do nice things for him. Neither has worked. So the HOW part of the question is kicking me in the ass. I’m not sure I know HOW to express this deep-seated anger for this very current event.

Also, the WHEN part of the question is turning out to be tricky. I didn’t want to do it when I was extremely upset because I wanted to control my words (and temper). I wanted to talk to him while I was cooking dinner tonight, but he was having fun with our kids. I want to go grab him up now, but he’s on his second drink and I’m not certain how he would react to my “complaining”. I’m thinking I’ll do it in therapy tomorrow, but it is hard to wait.

Kathy, you also reminded me that my husband is a grown-up, saying “If he is making decisions for himself, then why are you not making decisions for yourself and your son?” Kathy, my ire raised at this question and I think I know why: I’m doing the best I can right now, with the intention to do better every new day.

Therapy for my son is my decision. My son doesn’t like it and my husband doesn’t support it. I take him anyway. My son, in my opinion, needs a person whom he is not rebelling against to help him right now.  We’ve all been through the wringer. My sons have both been living in the wringer for their entire lives.

I have no idea how to TEACH them how to be better men without using their father as an anti-example. I don’t know how to SAVE them or make AMENDS for their past experience at the same time as I am fighting to understand how I got into it in the first place and what to do now that I see the truth.

You said, “I am just hoping that you will open your eyes and your heart and see things for what they really are.” To reassure you, and maybe to reassure myself, I do know a few truths of my situation.

• My husband is an alcoholic. He isn’t ready to face this and may never face it.
• My husband is abusive. He hasn’t taken responsibility for any of the pain he’s inflicted, still doesn’t see his behavior as anything more than an anger problem, and he may never apologize for a damn thing.
• I am not blind to the abuse anymore. Being able to see it, to name it, makes it more painful, not less.
• I am not ready to leave him right now because (1) I do not believe that I can make it on my own yet although I do have a plan, and (2)I am not going to betray my marriage vows to “escape” but find myself in another set of problems that I’ve never dealt with before.

In short, the Devil I know is better than the one I don’t. For now.

For now, my husband is going to therapy with me. We’ve been to this therapist only once, so it’s hard to say if she is going to be able to do anything to help.

My husband also requested (and as far as we know, has received) a position where he will not be going on any military deployments for at least a year. This was a tough thing for him to do, and I see effort and sacrifice on his part.

He says he wants to make this work. Of course, I’ve heard that before, and trickery is always a tool of the devil I know.

Kathy, thank you for your comment and I know you want to help. I wish that I could open my “eyes and your heart and see things for what they really are” from your perspective. I’m sure it all looks much clearer from where you are.

As it is, I have only my own eyes and heart to trust, and they’re not ready to give up yet.

Will has been drinking a lot since he returned home in December. Every night, Jim Beam and Coke (for color only) or beer. I expressed my concern in as pleasant a way as I could, telling him that I never know if he’s really “there” or not and that I worry about his health.

It didn’t get ugly. Typically, talking about his drinking turns ugly. He didn’t respond to the “being there” or not, but he said he changed from beer to Jim Beam to save calories. He doesn’t want to get fat. I suggested he check the calories. 12 beers vs a quart of Jim. Anyone know?

Anyhow, Will was promoted on Friday (not yet pinned), and I am very happy for him. Only one rank to go, and I’m sure he’ll get that in record time.

I’ve known for some time that there would be a change of command ceremony today. Historically, I’ve never attended a change of command as they are for officers, not non-commissioned officers. (Will isn’t a player in a change of command.)

Regardless, at the beginning of this week, I asked Will if he would like me to go. He said to wait, that he would get the details and let me know. He didn’t say anything else about me going until last night. The ceremony was at 2pm, and I had an appointment to keep, so I told him I wouldn’t be able to go.

This evening, around 5, he called to say that he was at a restaurant in town, and “everybody” was asking about me. At that time, I was transporting our son to the psychiatry appointment, so I told him I couldn’t attend.

Around 6:30, he calls and says I have two choices. Either his father can come get him and we can pick up his truck from post in the morning, or he could spend the night at his friend’s house.

“What?!” I thought. What is going on? Why is he at a restaurant in town, but he left his truck on post? Why is he drunk? Why did he plan on getting drunk? What was the real reason he asked me to join him at the restaurant? And why can’t he go anywhere without drinking?

I was obviously pissed off, and I told him, “I don’t like either of those answers, and I’m not going to choose one. You do what you think is best.”

He said that they were drinking to celebrate his promotion and to say farewell to the first sergeant. As if I care. As if I think celebrating with alcohol is the best way to celebrate anything (not that I never drink, but I can take it or leave it). Will drinks constantly, so how is drinking for a celebratory reason any different from what he does every night at home?

I was mad. I became short with my son (and apologized), but it bothers me that I was angry for an hour or so. I’m still angry, but I am not taking it out on anyone else.

I’m sort of thinking a “better person” wouldn’t be angry. Maybe a better person wouldn’t let this stuff bother her, would be able to say, “That’s my husband, his drinking has nothing to do with whether I love him or not.”

But I think it does. I think his choice to drink (constantly) affects my ability to love him. His drinking feeds selfish behaviors. It is very difficult for an angel like me (sarcasm) to be FINE with his choices when I am driving all over town doing stuff to help the family, and he seems to do whatever he can (besides go to work) to avoid helping himself.

Why didn’t I go today? Because I had a group meeting this morning. Then I had to go withdraw my son from his school and enroll him in the alternative high school. Then I had to take that son to a psychiatry appointment. Then I had to take my youngest to meet a friend (who never showed). Then I had to go grocery shopping.

And what is he doing? Drinking. Not coming home because he planned to get drunk from the get-go. Trying to force me to choose between two unsatisfactory solutions so I “can’t be mad at him because he did what I said to do.”

Bullshit.

So when is it okay for me to be angry? When is it okay for a human to be angry, and what do I do with it when I feel it? How do I get rid of it, find a solution for it, or at least just FEEL it, righteous or not, and move on?

Is it a sin to be angry?

I went to the group meeting yesterday and met several women. Some still in their abusive relationships and some have left; some were in my age range and some were very young women. Some were soldiers, some were civilians. The uniting factor was our experience, and our experiences were both “the same” and horrifyingly different.

The younger women tended to relate stories that reminded me of “where I’ve been.” In their words I heard my own past pains and heartbreaks. I knew that in time, their experience left untouched and unchanged, would evolve into my current story. I knew it in my gut.

The women who were my age (one had been married 14 years, divorcing now) tended to relate stories that I considered far “worse” than my own, and I felt a strange feeling when, as I shared my story, they seemed to look at me as if they had been in my shoes, before the event(s) that shook them into leaving.

I tried very hard to tell myself that I would never be in those women’s shoes. That my husband would never do the types of things they described. But after the story-telling ended and the sharing began, these were the women who seemed to reach out to me the most. I found it unsettling.

While sitting and listening to the women who were “where I’ve been,” I was thinking that after the meeting, I would give them my phone number and offer words of encouragement and a promise that I would be there for them if they wanted to talk or needed help in an emergency, or any time. I envisioned myself standing in the hall way with them, talking and sometimes laughing, helping them to realize that “now” was the time to leave instead of waiting it out, instead of waiting for the “one thing” that would cause them to leave for good.

But my vision didn’t come true. Instead, the three women who I considered to have suffered “more than” me, caught me in the hall. They gave me their phone numbers, offered their support and a place to run to should catastrophe strike. They helped me to laugh although I wanted to cry. One said, “She (me) isn’t ready, yet” to the others, but knowing my secret thoughts didn’t cause them to turn away. We talked and laughed for a half hour after the meeting ended. I left them feeling humbled, and in a way, more alone than when I walked into the group.

I don’t think my husband would escalate his abuse, his attention-getting, to the point of physically or sexually harming my children and threatening us with death. I don’t think my husband would ever pick me up and throw me against a wall, bloody my face, kill my pets. I don’t think he would ever build a funeral pyre in my bedroom “just for me”.

But maybe the women who pulled me aside have reason to think he might.

Last night, Will blew up about my callousness in choosing my and the boys’ mental health and welfare over his career. He got ugly, but I stood up and said, “That’s it. I’m done with this conversation,” and remarkably, he pretty much quit (maybe because the boys were in the room). For whatever reason, he stopped the tirade.

It was obvious that he hadn’t heard my concerns. How could he consider what I’d said when he immediately started yelling about his career? Telling me that it wasn’t my career both highlighted the fact that I don’t have one (so I’m not as valuable as he?) and saying his career was more important than all else, a direct reversal from a previous conversation we’ve had.

Instead of engaging him because I felt a need to defend myself, I made it clear that I wasn’t discussing it further. The incident that could have been 100 times worse faded.

Later when he sat on the couch and removed his boots, laughing at a silly thing on TV, I put my hand on his thigh to get his attention. I told him that how he handles this situation with the Army and with me will show me how serious he is about getting help and fixing our marriage.

He said, “That’s why I’m going to marriage counseling AND whatever the Army tells me to do.” I told him I appreciated that effort, but marriage counseling and group therapy wasn’t going to help if he didn’t address the demons he has within himself. I told him (again) that I was addressing my own demons and willing to take responsibility for my part in our trouble, but I wasn’t the only one who needed to work. I needed to see effort from him, for him.

I don’t look at any of the Army requirement as a “check the block” activity. I mean, if he isn’t going to put any effort into it, then will he be able to make healthy changes? No, because he won’t see where changes could be made.

Now here’s the kicker. Will said, “I don’t have these “demons” you think I do. I don’t have any problems. You are the only person in the world who has ever said there is something wrong with me.”

What?

But, instead of asking anything or rolling my eyes or sighing heavily, I said, “And that attitude, the one that says you are perfect above reproach, is one of the major problems I’m talking about. No one is perfect.”

Perhaps because the boys were still in the room, he did not respond.

So, last December, there was a domestic violence incident at my home. The Army got wind of it in February (early March?) after Will had deployed. So now that he’s back, he’s required to do some sort of counseling.

The Army social services (not state social services) interviewed me at that time. The man I spoke with was very understanding. He asked me what I would like to see happen, and I told him I wanted my family healed. I thought counseling would be good for Will, and I was going to therapy on my own.

The man also addressed my fears of Will losing his career over domestic violence issues. He stated that the Army recognizes that punishment at work often results in abuse at home. He said the Army no longer discharges soldiers for domestic abuse; there are other, more realistic ways to deal with the abuser and to prevent further violence in the home.

Let’s keep our fingers crossed.

Last night, Will came home from work and told me he hadn’t been able to go to social services after work because the workers there leave at 4pm. He said he had been talking to someone (not a case worker, just some soldier) who told him that he was going to have to take an anger management class.

Will said that the social services idiots should be at work when he wasn’t. That he should be able to go there after work to take care of his junk. “That’s okay,” he said, “I’m just going to take the anger management class and when those assholes get their shit together I’ll throw my certificate on the desk and be done with it. If they don’t have me in their system, then I’m not going to draw attention to their fuck up.”

My reaction: not pleased. I told him that neither of us know what counseling he’s required to take, and anger management was not what the social worker had recommended when he spoke to me. I expressed concern that Will was not taking the matter seriously, or at least, not as seriously as I would like or as he had led me to believe via phone and email.

So then he launches into the lecture about how it’s not my 16 year career on the line. “I’m not going to go around throwing up red flags and destroy my career!” Of course, this was done condescendingly and with loads of anger and venom. As if “his” career hasn’t been “mine” too. Dammit, when I decided to be a stay-at-home mother, I sacrificed the career I possibly would have had right now.

For all his talk about how vital I am, enabling him to be a “stellar soldier” by doing everything except go to his job for him, it sure sounds like he is diminishing my importance now. He’s asking me to put his career above my health and our boys’ health, and I am not going to do it.

I was just on facebook reaching out to people I don’t know asking them to be my friends. Kind of nervy, but seeing that yesterday I revealed my facebook identity to some of my current friends, it seemed to be the next step. (I’m not telling Will’s family or “his” friends anything.)

I suppose I’m gearing up for Will’s homecoming. I know that looking to Will for support when he returns is like trying to turn on the tv when it is unplugged. I’m not going to get what I want from him.

He feels attacked and humiliated, judging from his reaction to this blog. If I think he’s going to come home and support my efforts to become different from the wife he left 10 months ago, then I’m a fool.

I wish that the writing I’ve done on this blog in the past year COULD have been personal emails to my husband. I wish it were possible to have an open dialogue with Will about what is going on with us, with me. I wish my concerns and comments meant something more to him than they do. But sharing with Will is like asking for abuse, requesting it, bringing it on.

It feels like he files my words for editing, then spits something back at me that sounds almost like what I said, but never true. My words come back to me twisted and distorted…communicating with him is like talking to my most evil self.

I don’t seem to have too much trouble communicating with anyone other than Will, so I’m inclined to believe the communication problem is rooted firmly inside of him. And if this part of our problem is in him, then there’s really nothing I can do about that.

Which is WHY reaching out on facebook and in my very real world is so important to me.

When I am confused, discombobulated, in danger of losing my sanity, it is YOU and my face-to-face friends who become my mirror. I look to you not for “help” or as my rescuers, but as a mirror reflecting back to me the truth of my situation.

You don’t have to do anything for me. No one does. I can and will work through this homecoming in my own way. I don’t know what the outcome will be (who does?), but that doesn’t bother me anymore.

Because of all of you, I know that I am not alone in this topsy-turvy, manipulative and controlling cycle of abuse. My perceptions are valid. It is okay for me to be afraid. It is okay for me to want a fairy-tale ending. And it’s okay if I don’t get the fairy-tale ending that I want.

Thank you all for being the beauty in my life.

Therapy helps me hear myself think. Sometimes I think some things I don’t want to say out loud. Saying them out loud brings up feelings that I’ve tried to suppress for a long time, and I don’t like it very much.

It was my duty to love my parents, appreciate them, accept them; for the most part, I did. But for some reason, especially after I started to drive myself around, they didn’t support me. I started to feel that what I thought was support was really parental duty…they drove me because they had to, not because they thought what I was doing was worthwhile.

They paid for viola lessons so I could maintain the first chair in concerts they weren’t interested in attending. They bought me art supplies for artwork they wouldn’t try to understand. Thinking about me was a waste of their time. On some level, I agreed with them. I was wasting my time.

Looking back, I was being encouraged to develop talents that were marketable to colleges – but it turned out my parents never had the money to send me to college although I operated under the assumption they would. No, I’ll just say it. I was led to believe that they could and would be able to send me to college so long as I could come up with SOME scholarship money.

I ended up with high academic achievements and talents in art and music that ultimately meant nothing to them. My achievements meant nothing to them. My future meant nothing to them. I meant nothing to them.

And because I felt misled and alone, those lovely achievements meant nothing to me. I had worked SO HARD to make them proud, but there was never a “pay-off” of any sort. My dad slept during the last orchestra concert he attended. My mother commented that she had never liked the “monkey faces” in my artwork. Good grades got an “That’s what I expected of you.” And when I started to bring home average grades and the school was calling the house because of my truancies, no one said a word. Had they ever really cared?

When I joined the Army, my dad told me he was happy I joined the military because he couldn’t have kept me in school for more than a semester. I had wanted him to be proud of me because I was serving our country like he did, or because I was going to receive the GI Bill benefit and put myself through school.

But no. Me not being able to go to school was about HIM, not about me. He didn’t even care about me. At least that’s how I felt. I was crushed. But I played it off at the time.

When I left for the Army, I didn’t allow myself to think about those disappointments any more.

Frankly, it hurts to think of them now. More so, I suppose, because I’m examining the parts of my life that segued into my marriage, and I’ve used my marriage as an excuse to smother my personal aspirations. And why not? Personal achievement never impressed my parents, and since I was basing “who I was” off of their feedback (another can of worms), I’ve denied myself personal achievement since.

Why bother?

One hard lesson I want to learn and accept is that I must pursue things that are meaningful to me so I feel good when I accomplish something. Even if no one but me finds my pursuits meaningful, and even if no one ever praises me or gives me a cookie for pursuing them.

The question is, what is meaningful to me?

I’ve spent my lifetime trying to impress someone else. How do I switch gears and learn to impress myself?

Today I was contacted by a local woman who’s husband is abusing her. She gave me her phone number, and I was able to call her.

The woman, let’s call her Margaret, sounded strong and vibrant. Her voice did not betray the drama going on in her home. She was in the home of someone supportive of her. I am happy that she has a safe place to go, but disheartened to hear that her abuser is trying to make anywhere EXCEPT his and her home “dangerous” for her to visit or to retreat.

I mean, he’s threatening her with all sorts of things of course, but he’s focusing on keeping her a prisoner in her home. He threatens to charge her with child abandonment if she leaves the house.

Margaret is at her wit’s end because she has no support system outside of her family; her abuser’s threats always leave a shadow of a doubt…she “knows” the threats are senseless and meaningless, but what if he’s telling the truth?

Margaret’s abuser is a soldier, and a good one judging by the support HE is getting from his command. The classic “good guy” persona is working its magic for him.

Fortunately, I think I was able to give Margaret some information concerning people within and out of the military who can help her to start building her support system…laying a foundation of both support and education that will help her (as it has me). Of course I could only tell her about “my” support system and how I started building it. I only hope that it works for Margaret as it has for me.

First, I talked with Victim’s Advocacy on post. I found out how I can make a report without sending it straight to his unit’s command if I wanted. This means that I can get the help I need without involving my husband’s boss (a luxury civilians have is keeping work and home separate; without victim’s advocacy, there is no separation of work and home for military families). If you’re military, you can find out about the Victim’s Advocates through the Military Police department, and you can receive help through them even if you live off post.

Secondly, I talked with the “head guy” of domestic violence at the Sheriff’s department. I asked questions about how the police handled domestic disputes and how to get the help I needed even if my husband appeared to be the “victim” of domestic abuse when the patrolmen came to the house. I think that my conversation with him, knowing his name, and having his card handy will go a long way toward saving myself some of the hassles other people have experienced IF the police come to my home.

Third, I went ahead and made an appointment with the domestic abuse division at the Department of Social Services. My DSS angel and her advice were crucial to helping me find my footing in a very upsetting situation. In fact, I may want to revisit her soon. No sense in letting a great support person go unappreciated! Besides, I MAY need to visit her “for real” at some future date, and it’s a good idea for my record to be current.

Fourth, I talked with my medical doctor about what was going on at the house and the situation’s effects on my mental health. I was taking a medication that would be expensive without the military’s prescription program, so I switched to an anti-depressant that I can buy as a generic in case I ended up leaving my husband. The cost difference between Effexor and my new generic is substantial, and fortunately, the generic seems to be working.

Fifth, I went to Military One Source and talked to a military counselor who set me up with therapy appointments. If you are not military or do not want to go through Military One Source, then you could ask for a referral to a therapist at your doctor’s appointment.

Sixth, I found out about the Divorce and Separation Briefings that the military’s legal department offers. On our post, there are two briefings a week, and you MUST attend one in order to get one on one counseling from JAG. Technically, JAG cannot represent soldiers or dependents in civilian court, but that’s okay. If you go to JAG and go through the briefing, you’ll save yourself time and money if/when you do seek legal counsel. (*Note To Self: Return to JAG and complete the briefing. *Note to military dependents: I was pulled out of my briefing because I was in the office that held my husband’s legal documents like his Will, Beneficiary information, etc – stuff all soldiers must prepare before deployments. I have to go to THE OTHER office to receive my briefing, but I will receive it through JAG because its a service offered to ALL dependents and soldiers.)

Seventh, for me anyway, I opened my big mouth and started my website and this blog. I stopped being ashamed and started rousing support in a very public way. My family is supportive, but they’re not HERE, and because of my low opinion of myself at the onset of this ball of shit, I didn’t feel comfortable “making” new friends or even “enlisting” the friend or two I do have locally. By just showing up online, I’ve made dear friends – wiser and more supportive than most because we’ve all been “here” and, to varying degrees and with different objectives, are sick of being “here” anymore. If I didn’t risk embarassment or if I continued to believe that I was alone and always would be…well, let’s just say I am so happy that I opened my big mouth!

You may notice that there are very few people in my current support system who are going to call me just to see if I’m all right. When was the last time your doctor or sheriff called you just to shoot the breeze? LOL But you know, some of them (Victim’s Advocacy, DSS) do call from time to time, and I’m going to be seeing my therapist on a regular basis. I imagine if I didn’t show, she’d call to find out why.

It’s all right that they don’t call ME. The fact that I have benefited and will continue to benefit from their wisdom, education and support is phenomenally important to me. I went from being someone stuck in isolation to being someone who knows who to call and when. More importantly, I learned that my husband’s SAY-SO isn’t the only or even the right answer anymore.

I’ve got a network, baby! I’ve got a foundation to build upon, and my foundation is solid. I’m overwhelmingly grateful to everyone in my network, even those who will never call or write, but especially to the ones who will.

I pray that Margaret will soon have her network in place, too.