Lauren Ober / The Citizen
Jim Meyer is not known for being a slouch at work.
But during the 11 months that his daughter, Rebecca, a captain in the Washington state National Guard, served in Iraq, it was not uncommon for Meyer to leave his shop in the middle of the day.
He would turn off all the lights, flip the "Open" sign to "Closed" and make his way home so he could deal with his anxiety and fear privately. His shuttered shop became a symbol of Meyer's inner tumult and his backlog of work now a constant reminder of those dark days.
Becky, 28, served as an enlisted soldier in the first Gulf War and has been in the reserves ever since, first in New York, then in Washington state. In the years since her first tour, Becky received a college education and became an officer with the guard. The military has been good to her, but Meyer would give anything for his daughter to be through with it.
Meyer, a Vietnam veteran, is outspoken in his disapproval of the Bush administration's handling of Iraq. He can hardly speak of his daughter's service without condemning the war. But still, during Becky's time in Iraq, Meyer and his wife Bonnie experienced the same emotions as every other military parent.
During wars of the past, families rarely, if at all spoke with their loved ones serving abroad. Many would wait for the odd letter and pray that all was well. No news was good news.
Now, in the era of instant communication, it's possible to get an updated account of wartime events. Families don't need to wait months, even years before hearing from their loved ones. They can communicate every day.
But this instant communication has at times been more of a bane than a boon for Meyer. He would hear television reports of seven soldiers killed in Balad or nine soldiers killed in Fallujah and know that Becky's unit was stationed in those cities. He would have to wait for her to call or e-mail, and the waiting was what paralyzed him most. It was on those days that patrons of Meyer's Bookbinding would often find the shop closed.
"During that time, my wife would look right at me and know something was wrong," Meyer said. "I would turn on my computer and wait for a message."
When Becky's unit sustained casualties - nine total - all e-mail and phone access would be suspended until the soldier's next of kin was notified. That left Meyer and his wife under constant stress until they were able to get in touch with Becky. In those blackout hours and even days, Meyer began to wonder about the green car pulling up in the driveway, the prophetic symbol of a combat death.
"We both had visions of the car pulling up in the driveway. You won't get a call. An officer will just come to your door," Meyer said. "My wife said she wouldn't answer the door if that car came to our house."
Meyer and his wife turned to a support group sponsored by Becky's unit when they struggled with their emotions. And to keep themselves busy, they sent Becky care packages full of essentials, such as coffee, that the soldiers crave.
When Becky finally returned home in May, Meyer felt a great burden had been lifted. He could be productive at work. While he counts himself lucky that his daughter returned unscathed, he still fumes for the other parents whose children are in harm's way.
"In war, there are winners and losers. But one thing's for certain - the military families are always the losers," he said. "This war will stop when American families have had enough."
But during the 11 months that his daughter, Rebecca, a captain in the Washington state National Guard, served in Iraq, it was not uncommon for Meyer to leave his shop in the middle of the day.
He would turn off all the lights, flip the "Open" sign to "Closed" and make his way home so he could deal with his anxiety and fear privately. His shuttered shop became a symbol of Meyer's inner tumult and his backlog of work now a constant reminder of those dark days.
Becky, 28, served as an enlisted soldier in the first Gulf War and has been in the reserves ever since, first in New York, then in Washington state. In the years since her first tour, Becky received a college education and became an officer with the guard. The military has been good to her, but Meyer would give anything for his daughter to be through with it.
Meyer, a Vietnam veteran, is outspoken in his disapproval of the Bush administration's handling of Iraq. He can hardly speak of his daughter's service without condemning the war. But still, during Becky's time in Iraq, Meyer and his wife Bonnie experienced the same emotions as every other military parent.
During wars of the past, families rarely, if at all spoke with their loved ones serving abroad. Many would wait for the odd letter and pray that all was well. No news was good news.
Now, in the era of instant communication, it's possible to get an updated account of wartime events. Families don't need to wait months, even years before hearing from their loved ones. They can communicate every day.
But this instant communication has at times been more of a bane than a boon for Meyer. He would hear television reports of seven soldiers killed in Balad or nine soldiers killed in Fallujah and know that Becky's unit was stationed in those cities. He would have to wait for her to call or e-mail, and the waiting was what paralyzed him most. It was on those days that patrons of Meyer's Bookbinding would often find the shop closed.
"During that time, my wife would look right at me and know something was wrong," Meyer said. "I would turn on my computer and wait for a message."
When Becky's unit sustained casualties - nine total - all e-mail and phone access would be suspended until the soldier's next of kin was notified. That left Meyer and his wife under constant stress until they were able to get in touch with Becky. In those blackout hours and even days, Meyer began to wonder about the green car pulling up in the driveway, the prophetic symbol of a combat death.
"We both had visions of the car pulling up in the driveway. You won't get a call. An officer will just come to your door," Meyer said. "My wife said she wouldn't answer the door if that car came to our house."
Meyer and his wife turned to a support group sponsored by Becky's unit when they struggled with their emotions. And to keep themselves busy, they sent Becky care packages full of essentials, such as coffee, that the soldiers crave.
When Becky finally returned home in May, Meyer felt a great burden had been lifted. He could be productive at work. While he counts himself lucky that his daughter returned unscathed, he still fumes for the other parents whose children are in harm's way.
"In war, there are winners and losers. But one thing's for certain - the military families are always the losers," he said. "This war will stop when American families have had enough."
