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“I cannot drink while on duty, but if you want one, please go ahead.”
“I don’t think so.” I sat.
The colonel didn’t smile. Stoic, he faced me with a tunic full of ribbons, testaments to his valor and longevity. He could have passed for younger than he was with a buzzed haircut and straight teeth. I knew he carried bad news.
“Mrs. Coi-Donald, as you know, your husband Wayne was deployed ten days ago. He led his team on a mission. Three days ago, his team was attacked by a superior force. We were unable to extract them. When we reached the site, we recovered three bodies. None of which was your husband.”
My heart froze. I gripped my hands in my lap and tried to listen, even as my mind began to slow. Wayne was dead? No, no, the Colonel hadn’t said that. Wayne was missing. Yes, that was it. He might be alive. That was a good thing…maybe.
“At this time,” I heard, “your husband is officially missing-in-action, MIA. The corps has a process for this and for you. We’re here to help and support you. Tomorrow, a specialist will call and inform you of all your privileges and choices. We take MIAs seriously. We stand ready to assist in any way we can.”
My brain drifted away from his voice. Wayne was MIA? Was this some kind of joke? He was the most capable person I had ever met. He couldn’t possibly be missing. Not Wayne, not me. This was all some sort of awful dream.
“We will not rest until your husband has been found and returned. We always take care of our own. We do not leave anyone behind.” He produced a card and handed it to me. “You may call me at any time, day or night. I will do whatever can be done to help.”
I nodded, fighting to hang onto my sanity.
“Is there someone I can call to come and be with you?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I…I have a daughter. We will…process.”
“Is there anything I can get you?”
“No.”
“In that case, I will see myself out. I’m serious. If you need help, call.” He paused. “Mrs. Coi-Donald, I have tasked you with the most difficult position imaginable. I have asked you to live with uncertainty. None of us like uncertainty. We want to know. For the foreseeable future, you will not know. Every time the phone rings, every day when you come home, you will wonder if this phone call comes with certainty, if you will greet certainty when you walk through the door. I share your uncertainty. Not in the same way, not as intense, but my job is to give you certainty. I am good at my job. I will provide certainty at the earliest possible moment.”
I nodded again. My thoughts were whirling about inside my head. My worst nightmare had come true. Wayne was gone. In all likelihood, he was already dead. Tears leaked out of my eyes.
“Why are you crying?”
I looked to where Emily stared at me. I could see that she was scared. Her mommy wasn’t supposed to cry, not like this. I wiped away the tears.
“Sometimes, mothers become sad. When that happens, we cry. That makes us feel better?”
“Is it about daddy? I saw the soldier leaving.”
“He’s a Marine, and it was about daddy.” I didn’t know how to tell Emily that her father was MIA. I didn’t want to admit that the colonel had actually been inside my house, that he had given me the worst news possible. Yet, I held his card in my fingers. I hadn’t dreamed him into existence. I forced a half-smile.
“How would you like spaghetti for dinner?”
Emily nodded. “Getti is great.”
“Go play. I’ll call you when it’s ready.”
“You’re not still sad?”
“Not when I have to feed you. Go.”
Emily disappeared. I closed my eyes, willing myself to move to fix dinner for my child. I told myself I was lucky. I had Emily, and Emily had needs. I could cope with the uncertainty if I focused on Emily and her needs. Emily was my lifeline. She would keep me functioning—until it was time to sleep. I stood. I placed the card on my home desk. The kitchen was familiar. Spaghetti was simple. Those things were certain. I would dwell on the certain.
True to his word, he talked to an MIA response specialist the next day. Moria provided me access to a special website containing all the information I would need to navigate the government programs. I was happy to learn that Wayne would continue to receive pay and benefits as long as he was MIA. I could shop on base. I would be enrolled in a database of people just like me, loved ones who lived with uncertainty. There were meetings I could attend. I could be briefed on Wayne’s status whenever I wanted it. Any changes to his status would be immediately texted to my phone, with a follow-up call. I would not lack contact with the corps. I was almost overwhelmed. I was automatically placed in all the programs that pertained. I didn’t have to lift a finger. That wasn’t as helpful as it sounded. I would have welcomed some duties to perform. Within days, I was a full-fledged member of the MIA survivors’ club.
I didn’t like it.
The fog days came, I supposed my mind clouded over because it couldn’t accept the uncertainty of reality. In a fog, people stick to their known paths. There was no wandering, no exploring. Fogs didn’t abide roaming. I was no different. I went to work. I hired people and fired people, and counseled people when they needed it. I wrote memos and attended meetings, and smiled at office birthday parties. I dropped off Emily and picked up Emily and listened as she prattled about the girl who wouldn’t share and the boy who pulled hair. I made dinners and breakfasts and visited my parents every other Sunday. I talked to the Colonel again and learned there was no magic to dispel the fog. I know I attended several bachelorette parties and a wedding or two, but they were fogged out events. They didn’t register. I was surprised when Christmas, Easter, or the Fourth of July appeared.
Somehow, I had lived through several solstices and equinoxes without knowing it. Every day, I touched the photograph of Wayne that sat on the bedside table. It sort of energized me for the uncertainty I had to face. It was the first small crack in the fog. Often, when I came home from work, I was reminded of college, of parties where I had over-indulged. I would wake up after those parties and remember snippets. A face here, a face there, someone puking over a railing, couples kissing in the corner, a lone person (male or female) dancing slowly to a song that called for something fast. Most of the party was hidden by the fog. Did the dancer come before or after the puking? Many mornings, I couldn’t remember. The uncertainty fog was far worse than the frat house party fog. I was a gerbil running on the wheel, stopping to eat and drink, and going back to the wheel. Outside my cage was the…
