The Painful Privilege: Why Deployed Soldiers Feel Like “The Walking Dead”
My birthday is today, and it hurts. I’m a deployed Army officer, living a half marathon distance from the Demilitarized Zone in Korea and 6,000 miles from home (which may as well read “1,000,000”). Service is a privilege; deployed service is a painful privilege that grinds at the soldier’s soul like cancer corrodes the body.
It’s the little things that wear you down, like the videophone calls that go wrong. We thought it would be nice to set up a “goodnight” for our 4-year-old daughter, and it was, right up until she asked, “Daddy, will you be home tomorrow?” It stunned me, and tears dripped down my face before I could form words. If I were a traveling salesman, my response might have been an excited “yes.” But I’m not; our family is still inside of the first month of a yearlong separation.
The Army trains us to use positive psychology to “hunt the good stuff.” They perch Nietzsche on one shoulder, whispering “whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” and on the other, the ancient mariner’s rhyme: “calm seas do not make good sailors.” We really have tried to see the good. My wife and I constantly restate the linings of silver: With a lean-parenting regime, our daughters will be “free range.” If they’re “free range,” they’ll be independent. And if they’re independent, they’ll be more self-aware.
Or not: What possible “good stuff” can be found when a little girl’s cries for her father go unanswered?
So distance rips at emotions, and warps time in the process. Routine is broken. A vacuum emerges. I occasionally (read: “binge”) watch AMC’s zombie apocalyptic show The Walking Dead. The program depicts a brutal, Hobbesian world, full of violence, fear, and extreme scarcity, which often turns into an extended lesson in morality. The lack of security, food, water, and trust leads to terrible choices, compromises, and conflict. In the first episode, the main character, Rick Grimes (played by Andrew Lincoln), is a cop whose injury during duty lands him in the hospital at the precise moment the world erupts in an extreme zombie pandemic. He awakens, alone on a gurney, separated from his family. When he eventually makes his way home, his wife and son are gone. Rick falls to the floor, disillusioned and distraught at the loss of his family, and alternates between shouts, sobs, and shocked silence.
Rick ultimately reconnects with his family, demonstrates a physical aptitude for survival in a zombie-dominated world, and becomes the leader of a small group of survivors. Watching Rick’s development as a character, his moral arc, provides a sense for the internal struggles of a deployed military person. The tension is familiar: to balance one’s duty to secure the larger community versus the individual need to be a good husband and parent. When Rick privileges the group over his family, resulting in personal loss, it tortures, saddens, and eventually maddens him. While leading the others to safety, Rick loses his wife in childbirth. And he loses contact with his newborn daughter for nearly a full season after an attack has him defending the perimeter instead of his child. When he’s away serving the group, by his choice, his family routinely suffers, and Rick wears his guilt like a trench coat.
These experiences culminate when Rick shares a lesson he learned from his grandfather, a World War II veteran. Rick’s grandfather said that during the war in Germany he pretended to be “dead the minute he stepped into enemy territory.” In turn, this informs the philosophy Rick passes on to the group surviving in the grotesque new world: “We do what we need to do, and then, we get to live. This is how we survive. We tell ourselves that, we, are the Walking Dead.” To a military-interested audience, this is no new philosophy. In the popular Band of Brothers mini-series, Lt. Ronald Speirs, advises a soldier to “Accept the fact that [he’s] already dead,” because only then will he be able to “function as a soldier.” These twin sages — Rick and Ron — counsel a harsh way of being.
During this deployment, I rely on new daily routines to avoid thinking about such things. I connect with my family as much as I am able. I write every day, two letters, one for my wife and one for the girls (typically a postcard with a drawing only a preschool teacher could love). In the letter to my wife, I place a small bead in the envelope. We each have a jar. The emptier mine gets, the fuller hers gets — and the closer we are to together. The letters and beads are physical, daily reminders that I’m still with them. But our older daughter is starting to realize I’m gone. She’s not sleeping, and the other night woke up so many times my wife essentially pulled an all-nighter. And when I call to show sympathy and support … we both know my worthless words can’t help. That’s precisely when I feel I’m not really here in Korea, not all of me, that I’m there, that at least my soul is there with them, if for no other reason than I wish it were so, and badly.
And if my soul is with them, gone from my body: Am I already the Walking Dead? Is this feeling a sign that I should just give in and listen to Rick and Ron? When we are so far away from the warmth family provides, maybe we should stiffen our hearts, become almost soulless, in an effort to survive. Or should I focus on a more positive lesson, that love is a scarce resource, more precious than we realize? This could equally be a daily reminder that we are a family because we choose to be one, and ultimately, you cannot appreciate the bright glow of the sun until you’ve felt the cool dark of the moon.
It’s probably both. In The Walking Dead, a grandfatherly figure quotes Steinbeck: “A sad soul can kill you quicker, far quicker, than a germ.” How true. Being in Korea, MERS may have missed me, but I definitely have an infection that might not clear up until next year’s birthday.
Major Matt Cavanaugh is a U.S. Army Strategist that has served in assignments ranging from Iraq to the Pentagon, New Zealand and at West Point. He writes regularly at WarCouncil.org and invites others to connect via Twitter @MLCavanaugh. This essay is an unofficial expression of opinion; the views expressed are those of the author and not necessarily those of the U.S. Military Academy, Department of the Army, the Department of Defense, or any agency of the U.S. government.
Photo credit: The U.S. Army
Lgreen 
Steve Wasilausky 
CDR 
Mitch 
jonw 
CW4 (ret) HN 
Joe Davis 
Ryan Evans 
Josh 
Warlock 
Don 
Emily Werner 
Bob 
Richard Bennett 
Dervan 
Ana 
Greg 
Nolob Nad 
Jeff Hill 
T.S. Allen 
Sir,
You are at the beginning and it is hard I understand. We have experienced similar. The first deployment was 3 days before Christmas. Our kids were still young. My husband called and he hung up on me and cried.
That was a long time ago and now our son is all grown up and a soldier himself.
I recently had both soldier and dad deployed at the same time. That was an interesting experience. I would be willing to bet under your command you have soldiers who were military brats themselves. They have the answers to the problems you face because they experienced that growing up. Talk to your soldiers and make it a round table discussion that other fathers experiencing the same feelings can grow from. Use that to grow your family and improve your skills as a leader.
Just please don’t do what they did to my kid. All military brats raise your hand, ok leave the room you’re excused. Everyone else we’re going to discuss the FRG. That leader dismissed his best resources.
Sorry, but I don’t compare a year in Korea (no matter where you are located) with a deployment to Iraq or Afghanistan. Yes there is separation to deal with but there isn’t the same level of stress on the spouse and older children like there is when in a combat zone. I think the family of LT Justin Sisson would have loved having their loved one serving in Korea versus deployed to Afghanistan.
The article is well-intentioned. But the term ‘deployed’ has well-established connotations. Pre-9/11, we didn’t say we were ‘deployed’ there, we were just ‘stationed’ or ‘assigned’ there. Or simply ‘serving’ in Korea. Family separation for a lengthy period of time is tough. Being ‘Army’ is tough. But let’s keep things in perspective.
I concur. You are not “deployed”. You are doing a one year, unaccompanied tour in Korea. Many of us have been there and done that. Also, you are a Strategist, not an Ops guy so I suspect that the closest you are to the DMZ is 2ID HQ at Camp Red Cloud. You are probably living pretty large.
Separation sucks, but you volunteered for this Army thing. Suck it up!
Roger that. There are plenty of civilians serving in positions similar to the Major’s, working political strategy from a destitute post or consulate in Africa or Central Asia. Being stationed in proximity to Seoul can barely be considered hardship, and complaining about it does a disservice to those who undergo greater hardship with stiffer upper lips.
Yes and no. True Korea is a voluntary geo-bach choice, not a combat deployment. However in my experience the separation stresses are very comparable. And really? for most DOD “combat theater” deployments, separation is a bigger problem than physical danger.
A good friend of mine moved his un-sponsored wife and baby to the ROK and housed them in a Korean home just outside his base so they would be together during his tour there–and this was in the 70’s. It can be done–IF one is willing to make the sacrifice. The USAF already sponsors accompanied tours in the ROK.
Thanks for sharing your continued commitment and thoughts, and may your wife’s bead jar continue to grow fuller as the days pass, which they will.
I’m thrilled to see that this piece is being so widely read and it is interesting to see such a variety of reactions. I would just like to take this opportunity to remind readers that we have one rule in the comments section: Don’t be a jerk.
Okay my comment was a little jerkish. But if this article was written in the 1990’s people would be able to understand more. But it is written after a decade plus of war and once people come across from it guys with multiple deployments are just going to see it just rage on it because what this ROTATION is, is just a cake walk to what guys who are still in Afghanistan are doing.
Josh: The author is not complaining about his duties or any physical hardship. He is talking about the difficulties of being so far from his wife and daughters. I do not think he should be castigated for sharing his views on this experience. He also happens to be in a place where a major (and perhaps nuclear) war could conceivably break out any day with the neighbors. And Matt also did two rounds of Operation Iraqi Freedom in Tal’Afar and Fallujah. So I think he understands the hardships of being in a combat zone as well. But even if he was not an OIF veteran, this article would still be a valid and important expression of the hardships of being far from family while in uniform.
The hardships of being away from family are not unique to us uniformed service members. This article came across as completely selfish to me, and casts doubts on MAJ Cavanaugh’s ability to serve effectively in foreign service.
Yes, overseas service is difficult whether in combat or not. Not everyone is cut out for it. The fact is, however, that the Major volunteered for this, and yet the tone of his article conveys that this was an inevitable state thrust upon him. If he cannot handle being away from his family, or his family cannot handle it, then he should stay behind a desk at USMA or Crystal City where he won’t have to deal with time zones and draw hardship and famsep pay.
Matt — I suspect that if you wrote this a couple months later, it would read differently. You’re focused on that fact that you’re Not There. But you’re also a window into someplace exotic and exciting (to them, at least) — embrace that. I kept my then 5-year-old son fascinated for several phone calls (at one a week) from Osan by reminding him that while he was getting ready for bed, I was getting ready for breakfast. These days, between Skype, What’s App, and cheap international phone calls, you’re not really gone…you’re just beyond sight.
Sure, you’re not there for ear infections, carpool duty, and helping with homework is a bit more difficult. Focus on the suck, and that’s all you and they will see. Focus on what you can bring them with each contact, and the time goes faster.
And know that when you eventually break the news to your 15-year-old daughter that you’re headed out the door again, and she calmly says, “It’s OK, Dad, that’s what you do,” it’s been harder on you than on them.
I just wanted to drop in to say I found this article very helpful in getting to see a little of what it is like for my wife. We are civilians, lucky enough to need to move for her great new job. Nevertheless, the 5 months of transition with her in one place and our 2 yr old daughter and me in another has been tough. I know the obvious stuff, but she never talks about what it is like to be the one away. This piece, like all good writing, was for me not about details (his posting) but a larger theme, family and separation. Thanks.
Hi Matt, I enjoy reading these little snippets about your life and how it’s changed now that you have your wonderful family. Thanks for sharing. My little ones are close in age to yours and I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to leave them. Your article is a great testimony to your heart as a father. It sounds like you are finding meaningful ways to connect with them despite the distance, and I have a hunch that your love for them will win out over the distance. I’ll keep your family in my prayers. Thank you for your service.
Read RED PHOENIX by Larry Bond. Great story that begins with DMZ boredom/loneliness but quickly morphs into how important the job might be. Sensing and accepting the importance of our mission should be helpful to both deployed soldiers and family members left at home.
At the same time, understand that “homecoming” after a long deployment is one of the most memorable periods of military life. Almost like a honeymoon with kids. The appreciation of family gained through separation is part of the bittersweet experience most civilians don’t understand. Obviously there is such a thing as “too much” ….but that’s another issue….
I reckon that thousands have done it before and the nation will ask thousands to do it in the future and some will make the decision that it is worthwhile and others, not so much. While the article addresses the desire for physical contact, I fear that the changing of social expectations in the age of full electronic connectedness will deplete the pool of Sailors who conduct the strategic deterrent patrols in near-complete isolation from their loved ones.
Sorry, Sir, but USFK doesn’t count as a deployment. Your time in Fallujah and Tal Afar with 4ID and your CAB should have taught you that. The straight truth is that the “pain” you’re describing is faced by everyone from civilian Foreign Service Officers to private oil rig contractors. You are not the first person in history to have their job separate them from their loved ones.
All of us have served downrange, spending time in combat zones like Iraq or the Stan, Somalia or Mindanao. Being in proximity to Seoul does not cut it. You complain being able to Skype or Facetime your children makes you too emotional, but end up coming across as vain and selfish. I personally come from a line of servicemembers; growing up, my father was always away on deployments. He was a senior NCO in combat in 2003 when you were a butterbar. I didn’t quite understand the gravity of the situation, but I didn’t cry for him and he wouldn’t have wanted me to. I was proud of him – he was my hero. He came home and later I joined as well; we both ended up on combat deployments to Iraq, each with different units.
I didn’t have Skype or Facetime when he was crossing the Kuwaiti border in ’03. Nor did I have that in the ’90s, when he worked for a year at a time in Haiti, South Korea, Thailand, and other locations. For you to portray yourself as such a helpless and pitiable creature in a forum such as this brings discredit upon yourself, the uniform you wear, and the commissioned officers you represent.
Major, you volunteered to serve at the pleasure of the President of the United States. If you have any qualms with what your nation asked of you to do, you should resign your commission immediately. This essay is a failure of leadership on your part and should erode all confidence in your ability to carry out your mission effectively.
Mitch: Thank you for showing all of us how hard you are. We are very impressed. I find your remarks – especially those at the end of your comment – to be regrettable and insulting. They have no place at War on the Rocks. Please refrain from making judgments on the ability of others to lead and serve in our comments section.
Mitch: Insulting those that you disagree with is a failure of leadership. If you have subordinates, I doubt that they feel comfortable discussing alternative perspectives or ideas with you. That is a recipe for groupthink, poor decision-making, and a toxic command climate.
Thank you for sharing. As a daughter of a man who spent the better time of our childhood overseas— however you want to define deployment— the guilt aspect of the piece I find to be fascinating. My father is the best man I know, formed by his devotion to God and country. The hard reality from a familial standpoint is he was not there when we were kids; though, whether now as adults or children then, none of us ever found fault in that. To be honest, it is difficult to comprehend why a good father such as himself grappled with that brand of guilt, and I appreciated reading your perspective on the matter. I would add that when it is your reality, I hope you find comfort in the knowledge that children are surprisingly malleable, the attentions of their heart and mind capable of adapting.
Now while I could continue to reflect on heart matters in which I will never fully know, the nerd in me must add that the degree of communication between families now versus then never ceases to presently amaze me. Sure the trajectory is a given— and you could take any linear sample from the past few decades alone— however, the anecdotal part of it all tickles me pink— or just shows my age. When I was kid— in the late 80’s/ early 90’s, my mother would sit us in front of a camcorder and leave us alone to talk to our dad. It wasn’t until I was tasked with converting all those VHS tapes that the distance between our father and us became truly significant; just watching him sit in front of his buddy’s camcorder to talk to us— so removed and isolated— it’s baffling considering what an iPhone could of solved. By the time he was able to call the hospital in 1990— via a handheld radio— to see if my mother had my younger sister, she had already checked out. It would be days till he could get in touch with her, a month before he could meet her. Man, those 90’s will get you ever time.
Again, thanks for sharing. The best to you and your family as you all continue to navigate through this season.
sir, some people will parse words just for the sake of being argumentative. Drawing a distinction between Iraq and Korea is silly for a lot of reasons. The common person understands the difference between being shot at and being near Seoul. But it wasn’t you who defined Korea as a deployment; HRC did that when they added it as a short tour on the ORB/ERB.
Your article is valuable to me because it adds to the national conversation we need in order to inform the 95% who are out of touch with military service. Putting a yellow ribbon on the back window of a car does not constitute “support”. Perhaps if those with no skin in the game encounter your writing, they can at least sympathize with the hardships we endure on their behalf.
Maybe this article also points at the larger elephant in the room that is American Imperialism worldwide and the use of our standing army in a way that would make George Washington roll in his grave. The issues that Matt brings up are real and they are second and third order effects of flawed foreign policy.
In response to the article “Why Deployed Soldiers Feel Like ‘the Walking Dead,’” I am speaking (chronologically) as a Vietnam veteran, someone with a graduate degree in Japanese psychological anthropology, and a DoD civilian for the past 13 years.
While in Vietnam, our contact with our loved ones back home was limited to snail mail. As I remember it, we all emotionally accepted the fact of life that we would be there for a year. As 22 year-old enlisted personnel, almost all of us were unmarried college drop-outs. Instead of dwelling on any family back home, the vast majority of us talked about women we had known prior to Vietnam and fantasized about women we had met or were going to meet when on R&R. In other words, we had made a clean break from “the world.”
When I subsequently studied Japanese psychological anthropology at Sophia University, Tokyo on the GI Bill, I learned the medieval Samurai orientation of “the only way to have chance of surviving a battlefield situation is to convince yourself you are already dead. If your concentration is broken by thoughts of possibly surviving the fight, you will hesitate and you’ll die.” There are no defensive moves with the samurai sword. Whoever strikes first and accurately wins. The other dies.
As a civilian analyst with the Army since 2002, I have periodically attended training seminars on everything from the roots of terrorism, to prevention of sexual harassment, to suicide prevention. The session I attended on suicide prevention a few years ago included a video with scenarios that involved soldiers serving in the Middle East becoming suicidal because of upsetting personal interactions with loved ones in daily e-mails, voice mails, and skype. When my soldier neighbor was in the Middle East on deployment a couple of years ago, his wife told me about whining to him about aggravations caused by their kids that day, and how his angry retort to her was that he had just been in a firefight that had cost the life of one of his unit and he wasn’t in the mood to listen to her problems.
For the emotional well-being of all concerned as well as to maximize mission efficiency, I would change the “Walking Dead” orientation to “Clean Break.”
Sir, have you ever read Michel de Montaigne’s essay “To philosophize is to learn how to die?” It is brilliant, as he was, and death was Montaigne’s real obsession, and it addresses this very topic. I will not try to summarize it, but here’s a teaser to whet your appetite: “When a soldier of Caesar’s guard, broken and worn out, came up to him in the street and begged leave to kill himself, Caesar looked at his decrepit bearing and said with a smile: ‘So you think you are still alive, then?'”