“Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world. And whoever saves a life, it is considered as if he saved an entire world.”  Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 4:8 (37a)

LT Miroslav “Steve” Zilberman, call sign “Abrek,” saved the world three times over when he stayed at the controls of his failing E-2C Hawkeye, keeping it steady enough to allow the other members of the crew to bail out.  He was not able to follow them to safety.  Rescuers quickly plucked the three survivors from the water, but three days of search efforts did not succeed in recovering the man to whom those three owe their lives — their worlds.

When he was declared dead, the Hawkeye-Greyhound community knew it had lost one of its noblest members.  A wife had lost her husband.  Two young children had lost their father.  They were wrenched from the world in which they once lived, and I cannot imagine how much it hurts to try to make a home in their new one.

We all know that naval aviation is a dangerous business.  Flight is not a forgiving environment.  We know it, we really do… but it is not something we dwell on every minute of every day.  I do not want to live my life under the weight of constant fear that the Swiss cheese will line up in exactly the wrong way and my husband will be hurt or killed because of it.  The worry is there, of course, but on most days, I think most of us spouses are able to keep it on the periphery.  We can see our husbands off to work, saying, “Have a good flight, love you, call when you’re on deck so I can preheat the oven for dinner.”  It doesn’t even register that the vast majority of people in this country would find it very strange indeed to send their spouses off to strap on multiple tons of steel and fuel to go zooming around the atmosphere.

It is amazing what begins to feel “normal” after a while, isn’t it?

I didn’t feel very normal when I first read news of the E-2 mishap.  I was in my parents’ home, visiting for a week over Passover.  My husband had been able to come up for the Seder, but he was already back to work for his final check flight with the FRS before he had to head out to San Diego for a few days of training.  My heart sank when I saw the headline, and immediately leaped into my throat when I read the name of the ship and squadron.  I had to read it again before it registered that a good friend of ours, an E-2 pilot, was deployed on the Ike with the Bluetails.  The feeling of disconnect was surreal as I sat in the recliner in my childhood den and wondered if my friend was dead.  My parents were sympathetic, but I wished I had my husband there.  I felt very isolated from my military community just then.

Our friend was eventually allowed to give us word that he was safe; we were, of course, relieved to hear that he was alive and unharmed.  We were glad to learn that three people had survived the mishap when it could have easily resulted in the deaths of all members of the crew.  None of that changed the fact that one family had received the worst possible news, the realization of all the darkest worries that we military spouses are able so often to shove aside in our bids to believe that our loved ones’ jobs are perfectly normal and routine.

Now, just a few days ago, we have suffered the loss of another airplane, this time with all its crew.  Four people died in the T-39N Sabreliner mishap in Georgia.  Four more worlds ended.

I did not know LT Zilberman personally, but everything I have heard about him since his death makes me think he must have been a stalwart friend and squadronmate.  His wife and children, whom I have also never met, are nonetheless frequently in my thoughts.  I did not know any of those killed in the T-39 mishap, but my heart breaks for their loved ones.

I pray they can eventually find some brightness and joy in this alien world they now must walk.

This week has been full of excellent news.

1. My husband successfully completed carrier qualification in the C-2A Greyhound and has just a few more events before he’s totally done with the FRS.
2. We got word that he’s going to our first choice of fleet squadron!

As for Item the First, CQ was a major hurdle and I’m so proud of my husband for clearing it.  Fun fact: his class did CQ on a carrier whose commissioning we witnessed and on whose flight deck I have walked.  We are excited that my husband is a heartbeat away from the fleet.  After so long in the schoolhouse, we are looking forward to seeing what life in the “real” Navy holds.  He is keen to start actually doing the job for which he has trained with years of hard work and determination, and I am proud of him for it.

Sure, hitting the fleet squadron means that we now must be prepared for longer periods of separation and all the challenges thereof, but in some ways we are heading into a more stable part of the career.  We know where our home will be for the next three years, which is much more than we could say during any phase of flight training.  The sheer abundance of variables that affect the length of a given part of flight school meant that the only guidance we had as to how long we would be stationed in a particular place was, “You’ll be here as long as it takes to complete the syllabus.”  Now we’re starting the “normal” rotation between sea and shore tours, and while we know things can always change, it makes a huge difference to have a pretty solid guess as to when we can expect the next set of orders.

Bonus: We don't have to worry about hauling carsick cats across the country just yet.

Item the Second is one about which I’m almost afraid to be too elated.  We had been hoping for a long time that things would work out so we could stay in our current town and in our own house and not have to see all our worldly possessions disappear into the back of a moving van before starting the sea tour, and the word right now is that we got what we wished for.  As a matter of fact, the distribution of East Coast, West Coast, and Japan slots for the COD guys in the class happened to fall out fortuitously, so all the guys are heading to their top choices.  Perfect, right?  We couldn’t have planned it better.

We told our parents (who had been waiting on tenterhooks as much as we) and I’m telling you, but we aren’t shouting the good news from the Facebook rooftops or telling aunts and uncles and grandparents.  Why not?  Because we have been living in limbo and agonizing over the assignment possibilities for so long that we won’t quite believe that it actually worked out as well as it did until my husband is fully checked into his new squadron.  We’re paranoid, quite frankly, and still half-expecting the rug to get yanked out from under us with a last-minute reshuffling.  It’s unlikely, sure, but I guess we’re still a little superstitious about our good fortune.  Should we ever be blessed with children, I am sure that I will be the kind of woman who waits until the first trimester is completely over before announcing that we’re expecting — I’m the kind of person who wants to be really, really sure before allowing myself to get excited.

We are happy, though.  Little by little, I’m letting myself start to think about things like renewing our membership to the botanical garden, choosing a fancy new gas range for the kitchen in this house, participating in local CAP events this summer and beyond, and looking for jobs in this area.  I am looking forward to settling comfortably into the idea that this place will remain home for three more years.

A C-2A prepares to land on the Boat.

Sunday afternoon is drifting into evening, I have a glass of red wine in hand, and I miss my husband.  (I wonder how many other military wives out there could start out with that precise sentence at this very moment.  I can’t be the only one relaxing into the day’s end with a pleasant vino.)  He’s been away for a couple weeks flying day and night to get ready to take the beast that is the C-2A Greyhound to the Boat — and yes, I’m far too immersed in the world of tailhook aviation to refer to an aircraft carrier as anything other than “the Boat,” make the SWOs wince though the term might.  Actually, from what I’ve seen, most Nasal Radiators will cheerfully admit that irritating SWOs is a wonderful reason to say “Boat” instead of “ship.”

Uh.  Where was I?  That’s one pitfall of mixing blogging with alcohol: my merry path through a given paragraph is far more likely to involve detours and sidetracks.  Bear with me and I’ll eventually figure out where I was going.  Or not.  Isn’t the journey supposed to be the important thing, anyway?

So my husband is getting ready for carrier qualification, which means that we can almost make out the light at the end of the FRS tunnel. If all goes as planned, we should soon find out where we will be stationed for my husband’s first sea tour. The wait is agonizing. We are both ready to be done with life in limbo and learn what it’s like to have some semblance of geographical stability for a predetermined (or at least a lot more concrete than anyplace we’ve been previously) period of time. At this point, I am trying to tell myself that regardless of whether we get our top location choice, knowing that we have three years anywhere is an amazing prospect.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m quietly freaking out over the possibility that we might have to launch into full-blown PCS mode before the end of the month, this time with a house to prepare for rental and feline overlords to transport across the country (or into another country) rather than simply a lease to dissolve and ourselves to get from Point A to Point B.

I know I would grow to enjoy either of the not-staying-here possibilities, but damn, do I ever hate the uprooting/moving/household-reestablishing process and all its associated chaos.

The worst part about right now is that we could either be mere weeks away from a move or we could be three years away from even the possibility. I sure wish I knew which it was, because I might be borrowing a whole lot of trouble I don’t really need. Luckily, I am told that sipping a glass of wine is an excellent way to focus on the moment instead of getting worked up over things about which one cannot do a thing except wait.