fireworks

We yell "oooo" and "ahhhh," clapping loudly as each colorful burst fills the air. We are not worried about the person next to us. We don't need to make sure anyone has noise cancelling head phones or emergency anxiety meds. We do not hear anyone mention car bombs or mortars. We are just standing, watching fireworks. The Fourth of July was over a week ago, but none of us got to enjoy fireworks then, because we were taking care of our husbands. Now we are in San Diego on a caregiver retreat with Wounded Warrior Project. We spent the evening on a dinner cruise, some of us dancing wildly to YMCA, Gangnam Style and the Electric Slide. We had cheesecake for dessert. We watched the sunset. Then we got to see fireworks.

As we stood on the deck of the boat, the 20 of us who are here, watching fireworks, I was almost brought to tears. This is all we want. In our lives of caring for men who are missing legs and arms and brains, we just want a moment of normalcy. We don't want a magic potion, though I certainly wouldn't turn it down. I don't want someone to take over and fix everything. I just want moments when life doesn't feel like a tightrope walk.

My husband and I are doing better than we once were. I know I am doing better than I was. I spoke with one woman who is living off roughly 1,600 dollars a month, for her family of six. I remember applying for food stamps when our income was that low. In the grocery store, I would mentally dare people to mention our benefits card as I paid for our groceries. I planned on telling them my husband was a disabled veteran. I planned on making them regret judging me. Luckily for everyone, no one ever even looked at me sideways as I paid for apples, yogurt, goldfish, wishing my husband was different. Now we are financially secure and I still wish sometimes that my husband were different.

Before I came to San Diego, I had a long conversation with my husband about what needed to be done while I was gone.

"The problem is 80 percent of the time you're fine," I said.

"I'd say more like 75 percent," he corrected me.

"Fine, 75 percent of the time, you're fine, but I never know when that 25 percent of the time is going to be."

"I know, I'm sorry," he said and I felt sad for both of us. I wish he wasn't sorry. I wish he didn't carry so much guilt about needing so much. He does need so much and I am always on the verge of being overly stressed out.

It is nice to have a weekend away. The group sessions, the benefits counselor, the spa treatment and the company of women who get what I am going through are all rejuvenating. Most important, though, is the opportunity to just be a woman watching fireworks.