Unarmoured: PTSD Affects Us All

By K. R. Butt

Twenty-five-year-old Norah, a young, single flight attendant, finds herself the last of her friend group to find love, get married and live her happily ever after. She turns to online dating, hoping to meet the man of her dreams to settle down, get married and start a family with.

She meets Grant, an army officer in the Canadian Armed Forces who has served tours in Afghanistan and Bosnia. What Norah does not know are the secrets that lie deep beneath the uniform, secrets she won't learn until it's too late.

Along her journey, Norah discovers numerous issues within the Canadian legal system, the Canadian Armed Forces as well as the Quebec government that have impacted her life and the lives of her children negatively. Her hope is that her story will bring these issues to light in efforts to help prevent other families from experiencing similar injustices. Unarmoured is the true story of a Canadian military family suffering in silence through the ripple effects of PTSD caused by war.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: Aug 23, 2023
• ISBN: 9780228869580

K. R. Butt

K. R. BUTT is a single mom to three teenage daughters and a former Canadian military spouse. She holds a Bachelor of Arts degree from Memorial University of Newfoundland and Labrador. She has devoted much of her previous pastime volunteering at her children's former elementary school and the Military Family Resource Centre. Currently, she is in active pursuit of justice and it is her hope that this book will play a role in that quest. She is from Spaniard's Bay, Newfoundland, and presently resides in Alymer, QC.

Book preview

Unarmoured

PTSD Affects Us All

K. R. Butt

Unarmoured

Copyright © 2023 by K. R. Butt

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Tellwell Talent

www.tellwell.ca

ISBN

978-0-2288-6957-3 (Hardcover)

978-0-2288-6956-6 (Paperback)

978-0-2288-6958-0 (eBook)

Please, God, let me write it, and let me write it well.

For all the times they didn’t listen, I pray they will listen now.

Dedicated to all former Canadian military spouses and their children.

Also dedicated to all of the single moms just trying to survive.

The events recounted here are all true. I have changed names, addresses, and other identifying information to protect the privacy of individuals mentioned.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Chapter 1: To Meet or Not to Meet

Chapter 2: Love Bombed

Chapter 3: Posting 1: CFB Petawawa, Ontario

Chapter 4: Trauma Aftermath

Chapter 5: Family is Everything

Chapter 6: Deployed: CFB Task Force Kandahar, Afghanistan

Chapter 7: Posting 2: CFB Shilo, Manitoba

Chapter 8: Posting 3: Ottawa, Ontario

Chapter 9: Unlawful Laws

Chapter 10: Lights Out

Chapter 11: Divine Intervention

Chapter 12: Judgment Day: Take 3

Chapter 13: Running in Circles

Chapter 14: On Guard

Chapter 15: Death by PTSD

Chapter 16: Legal Thievery

Chapter 17: Keep Going

Chapter 18: Closer to Fine

Call for Change

Epilogue

References/ Further Information

Picture Credits

Acknowledgements

I have so much gratitude for the immense support I have been given over the past couple of years, from a complete stranger at the beginning to a lifelong friend at the end. Without your help, I am not sure where I or my children would be; you have given us wings to fly. Thank you.

To my parents, I love you. Thank you for raising us with good values and for always being there to offer your unconditional love and support. I am so incredibly blessed to have you both in my life.

To my three beautiful daughters, I love you more than life itself. Thank you for your patience over the past year as I dedicated so much time towards the writing and editing of this book. Thank you for your maturity and understanding on how much this means to me.

To my dear friend Jaime, thank you for encouraging me to write and to continue to write. Thank you for believing in me; you gave me strength to believe in myself.

To my friends Lisa, Sheri-Lynn, and Jeri, thank you for being my cheerleaders and following along with me on my writing journey. I cannot tell you enough how appreciative I am for all of you taking the time out of your busy schedules to read through my manuscript, chapter by chapter as I was writing them.

To the team at Tellwell Publishing, thank you for your words of encouragement, professionalism and outstanding expertise throughout the publishing process.

To all of the women on the Facebook page Canadian Women Supporting Canadian Women, thank you to each and every one of you for your support. Every invite, every join matters. With awareness comes discussion; with discussion comes change.

Thank you to Anna Sadurski at A Media Life Productions for helping me to create an impactful promotional video for marketing. Anna was an absolute pleasure to work with. http://amedialife.net

Last, but certainly not least, special thanks to Kelsey Power at Kelsey’s Art & Design in Newfoundland for an outstanding job on the cover of this book. She took my vision and made it come to life. Thank you. https://www.facebook.com/KelseyArtDesign/

Introduction

Trauma has a way of messing with your mind and holding you prisoner in your own body, and no matter what you try to do to free yourself, it always has a way of creeping back in. Equally traumatizing as any form of abuse is injustice in relation to that abuse. Injustice is the catalyst that fuels the trauma that continually leaves you feeling broken and defeated. You get back up, but then injustice shoots you straight back down.

There are so many stories out there of trauma and abuse, but the stories we hear are just the very tip of the iceberg. There are people who do not share their experiences because sharing them means re-living them and re-living them is very painful. Despite the pain it brings back, over the years, I feel I’ve told my story more than a thousand times. I retell it with hopes that someone will hear me and perhaps do something to fix it, but after years of screaming it from the mountaintops, no one has listened and it has yet to be fixed.

I never planned to write this book, nor did I want to, but I found myself in a situation where I felt I had no choice. There is a certain amount of humiliation that comes with sharing your intimate story with the world, but after years of following the rules of the law and being continually denied justice, I proclaim that my determination to seek justice, far outweighs my potential humiliation.

Chapter 1

To Meet or Not to Meet

That little inner voice that tells you that something is not right is the Universe’s way of telling you to proceed with caution. Listen to it.

October 2004

The last passenger has just walked down the stairs of the plane and onto the tarmac. I proceed to make my way down towards the back of the plane, crossing seat belts and cleaning out any objects left behind in the seat pockets by the previous passengers. I look up for a moment to notice one of the pilots coming back to help. This is a special treat, as not all pilots offer to do this. It is generally the duty of the flight attendant to prepare the cabin for the next flight, but every now and then they will come help.

Are you seeing anyone? he asks me.

Caught off guard, feeling my cheeks flush a little, I reply, I just met someone online. I haven’t met him in person just yet, but we’re planning to meet this weekend.

He also seems a little caught off guard, and replies, Online? Are you sure you want to meet some guy online?

No, I am not entirely sure, but I am doing it anyway, I think to myself.

All of my friends are married, I don’t really have anyone to go out with or any way to meet people, so why not?

Online dating is in its infancy. It has literally just freshly graduated from the personal want ads in the weekly newspaper to the click of a button at your fingertips—in our little hometown, at least. Why is this so taboo? I think to myself; then the thought quickly leaves my mind, just as quickly as it had entered it.

The pilot looks up for a moment and says, Oh, no reason. It’s just a little different, that’s all.

We proceed to cross the last few seat belts when I look out the oval window and notice the counter agent walking towards the plane, holding a clipboard in her hands and a line of passengers following closely behind her. This was one of our quick turnarounds in an effort to maintain our daily on-time performance.

Thank you for your help, I say, as he heads towards the flight deck and takes his seat next to the captain.

I stand in the doorway, take a deep breath, and smile as the first passenger makes his way up the stairs towards me. Welcome on board sir, you’re in row 7C. He smiles back at me and makes his way towards his seat. As the last passenger is seated, I start my pre-flight checklist. My hand glides along the overhead compartments as I begin my head count. I walk up and down the aisles checking for seat belts and oversized or out-of-place bags that need to be relocated elsewhere. The pilots give me a nod of approval to close the flight deck door. As I check the time, I glance over my left shoulder at my little white note with the details for the flight, to make sure I mention the correct flight time, altitude, and pilot’s name in my announcement.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to welcome you on board Eastcoast Airlines De Havilland Dash 8 Flight 8023 to Goose Bay I begin. Our flight time today will be approximately one hour and twenty minutes, at an altitude of 20,000 feet. On behalf of myself, Captain Bennett, and First Officer Harris, we hope you enjoy your flight.

I start to feel the aircraft move. The safety announcements and window briefings need to be done in a timely yet thorough manner, preferably by the time we reach the runway. I plant my feet firmly on the ground, holding the safety card in my hand, as I begin my safety demonstration. I’ve done this announcement a thousand times; I could do it in my sleep, I’m sure. With a plane full of passengers and dozens of eyes fixed on me, words start to spill from my lips. My mind starts to drift as I go through the procedures. I wonder what he looks like? What does he sound like? Will I like him? Will he like me? Maybe I am crazy to be meeting a complete stranger like this. But I am so curious. I HAVE to meet him.

I zone back to my demonstration just as I recite the last few words from memory. I walk to the middle of the plane, to aisle seven where the first gentleman to board is sitting.

Excuse me sir, I say to him, you are sitting in an emergency row aisle and Transport Canada requires me by law to inform you what to do in the event of an emergency.

He looks at me and gives me a smiling nod of approval to continue speaking. As I finish my briefing, I notice the airplane making a gentle turn. The pilots are waiting for me to confirm that the cabin is secure for take off. I make my way to the back of the plane, open the lavatory door, and check that no one is inside and that the door is closed properly. Then I quickly but thoroughly check back through the cabin to ensure seat belts, seat backs and table trays are in the upright and locked position. I make my way to the front; I double-check that all of the latches in the galley are secure, then I proceed to take my jump seat next to the main cabin door exit. The plane is still, ready, and waiting for take off.

I pick up the phone located to my right. Cabin is secure.

Okay, thanks, replies the captain.

As I hang up, the immediate roar of the engines begins to echo throughout the cabin as we start to head down the runway. I sit with my back straight, locked in place with my hands gripping the harness that is anchoring me in my seat. The words emergency, bend over, stay down, are repeated in my mind as I look back at the passengers with a reassuring smile. The plane’s upward climb starts to level out. I now have a few moments, in between reaching our altitude and beginning my inflight service, to let my mind wander. I wonder what he’s doing right now. Is he as curious as I am? Do I ever cross his mind?

***

Back at home in my little two-bedroom basement apartment, I turn on my computer and I eagerly check the dating site to see if there are any messages from him. The room is lit by the soft glow of candlelight; I breathe a deep sigh of long-term loneliness, combined with large-scale gratitude. A delicious stir-fry, a fresh baguette, and a half-full glass of merlot sits in front of me. I am thankful; I am happy; I am perfectly independent. What more could I ask for? I say to myself, as I bring the glass to my lips. But am I really that happy? It feels like something is missing. It almost feels shameful that I am sitting here eating this wonderful meal all alone. The screen finishes loading and the black silhouette of a man in a little white box stares back at me. It reads, Single male; age 30; no children; separated; non-smoker. Occupation: blank. Highest level of education: bachelor’s degree. Hobbies: blank. Looking for someone to spend time with. I can’t help wondering, why hasn’t he uploaded a photo? Why would I consider this profile over others when he doesn’t care enough to upload a photo or provide more information about himself? He has also been married and separated. Perhaps I should just stay away. But for some reason, it only intrigues me more. Who is this mystery person that I have been talking to for over a month now? What does he look like, and what’s his story? I have so many questions, and the longer I sit here and stare at this screen, the more I need to know.

My profile is pretty transparent; it reads, Single female; age 25; no children; never married; non-smoker. Occupation: flight attendant. Highest level of education: bachelor’s degree. Hobbies: playing the guitar and singing. Looking for long-term; easy-going and looking for the same. I had uploaded a recent photo my sister took of me sitting in a tree near Niagara Falls. It was a beautiful photo of a beautiful sunny summer’s day. I didn’t own a cellphone then, and most people I knew also did not own one. Selfies were not yet part of my vocabulary, but I was more than happy with the photo I had chosen. I was confident that he liked it, at least.

Would you like to meet? I ask him.

He doesn’t reply right away. Why am I bothering with this man who doesn’t seem to care much that I exist? The next day, I get a reply.

Yes; would tomorrow at 7:00 p.m. at Green Sleeves Pub on George Street work?

A flutter of excitement rushes through me as my fingers jump on the keyboard to type the words, Yes. I will meet you there.

***

Attention passengers, this is your captain speaking.

I perk up my ears as I serve the last two passengers in the back row of the aircraft. Back at the airport before taking off, the captain mentioned in our crew briefing that the weather in St. John’s was not looking promising for landing. We would make an attempt and hope that by the time we got there, it would clear off enough so that we could land.

I begin to pour two glasses of water as the announcement continues over the speakers, Just to give you a little update, we are about twenty-five minutes back from the runway and we will be beginning our descent momentarily. Currently, there are two planes in a holding pattern over St. John’s airport, waiting for a window to land as visibility is quite low due to fog. We will be joining the other two planes in a holding pattern and if they are successful in landing, we will be next in line. At this time, I would like to ask the flight attendant to prepare the cabin for landing.

I smile and hand the two women sitting in seats 12A and 12B their beverages, and I begin to make my way to the front of the cabin with my inflight service cart. I quickly store and latch the cart in its secure resting place, ready for use for the next flight. I can feel the plane start to make a slow, gradual descent. I grab a small garbage bag and make my way back through the cabin, collecting used cups and food wrappers while mindfully checking seat backs and table trays. Cabin is secure, I say to the captain, then hang up the phone. I look back at the thirty-seven passengers, who are looking back at me with nervous, anxious eyes. I smile even though I share their concerns. We all want to land, and we want to land safely, but if safely means not landing, then we will have to go to plan B. We sit and we wait patiently as the wheels drop and the plane moves closer and closer to the ground. The lady in 5D is gripping her glass of Iceberg Vodka tightly in her hands as she sits with her eyes closed, feet lodged solidly on the ground. The man in 2C is clearly annoyed by the toddler kicking his seat from behind, but he has no choice but to sit there and accept it. The mother of the toddler in 3D is too busy holding her baby, trying to stop him from crying, to address the kicking of the man’s seat in front.

I sit and listen carefully to the sounds and movement of the plane as it descends full force ahead for landing. We are heading down, but then suddenly we start to go back up. We have missed our window. All eyes are now fixed on me once again, and I can hear the questions before they are asked. Will we try again? the man in 1B asks. But just then, the sound of the intercom being picked up from the flight deck is heard throughout the quiet yet agitated cabin.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is your first officer speaking. We had a small window to land, but unfortunately timing was not on our side this evening and we missed it. We will be heading back to Deer Lake airport where we will be refuelling, and we will provide updates once we get there. The gate agents will be awaiting our arrival and you will be compensated with complimentary meal vouchers. We apologize for the inconvenience, and we thank you for your cooperation and understanding.

My mind drifts to the mystery man I was scheduled to meet at 7:00 p.m. I guess I won’t be meeting him today, after all.

***

At 7:00 a.m. the alarm clock blasts in my ears. I have the day off today, but I have errands to run, so I need to get up and make the most of this day while it belongs to me. I love my job, but I also love my alone time. I think it’s important to find a healthy balance between paid work, non-paid work, and leisure time. Leisure time . . . that reminds me, I have to go online and apologize for not being able to make it last night. I feel so incredibly bad. He will understand, right? Will he still want to meet me? I wonder as I frantically enter my password and log onto the site. I go to my messages and notice immediately that there are no new messages. Hum, he’s definitely not impressed, but I at least owe him an apology. The cursor is lit up and blinking before me as if waiting for that apology.

"I am soooo sorry I could not make it last night. I had to work late, and I had no method to contact you to let you know. I hope we can still meet?" I hit send and sit there waiting as if I might get an immediate reply. How pathetic and desperate am I? Why again am I bothering with this man who I know nothing about? But then, I completely dismiss all thoughts and reservations I have when I look up and notice in the top right-hand corner of the screen the flashing notice: You have one new message waiting. I click on the message, and it is him. I can’t help noticing that he is also up early. A go-getter! At least I know he doesn’t stay in bed all day doing nothing, or at least it looks that way.

The message reads, I understand. No worries. I am available next week, same time, day, and place if that works for you? My eyes light up with hope and a promise of good things to come. This man could be the one! Am I crazy to think that? I am most definitely crazy to think that. But I’ll think it anyway. I’ll just keep it quietly to myself.

I reach for the mouse and click on the message to enter my reply, Thank you for understanding. Yes, that works. I will see you then!

***

The light on the coffee pot indicates a fresh new pot is ready to listen and engage in our weekly meeting of deep soul-sister conversations and off-loading life banter. We are five women in our little friend group, and we have been friends since grade school. Together we have gone through the ups and downs of life as we know it so far.

As young 25-year-olds, we are all pretty naïve. We lived together through our university years and the biggest challenges we had ever faced up to that point included, the usual boyfriend/ girlfriend break-ups; the divorce of one of our friend’s parents when we were about sixteen years old (we provided emotional support for our friend as she went through it); a minor fender-bender at the lights during lunch break in high school; and more recent challenges, which included juggling a career and social life, paying bills, and trying to keep everything afloat. We talked about our problems, and we helped each other through those problems. But we also dreamed together, about getting married and building our dream homes and having babies. Dreaming was good; it gave us something to look forward to and made us forget our worries of the moment.

Sarah and Amelie are both social workers, and Kait is a substitute teacher. They have all recently married their high school sweethearts. While Sarah and Amelie have their own new homes, Kait and her husband live with her parents, and are saving for their dream home. Miriam is a college instructor, also recently married and in the process of building a first home with her husband. During our dorm years in university, Kait and I used to watch baby shows on TV; we couldn’t wait to have our own. She didn’t wait long after getting married to start a family, so our weekly coffee meetings now include her first child, Isabella; we all adore her. There is also one friend who is not part of our weekly coffee group, but she was an important and active part of my life growing up. Ashley and I have been friends since childhood, and like the others, her life seems in order and on track for success. Then there is me, a single flight attendant, renting a two-bedroom basement apartment. I have a university degree with plans to eventually become a schoolteacher, but I am really enjoying my current job so I have that plan on hold for now. While thoughts of a husband and a family are a distant thought for me right now, I also deep down truly long for that life. I am happy for my friends, but I want so desperately to have what they have.

I am meeting up with a guy I met online, I say, slowing raising my coffee cup to my lips. You can cut the silence with a knife as mouths drop open and quick glances are exchanged, before my friends’ eyes turn to meet mine. I can sense immediate opposition. I should have kept my mouth shut. I knew they were not going to accept this, so I am not sure why I feel their need for approval. But I do need it. I need them to be excited for me. They all have their husbands, their houses, and perfect lives, and now I want it to be my turn.

Are you sure you want to meet a stranger online, Norah? Sarah asks in a very concerned tone.

What if he’s a psychopath or a murderer or something? Kait abruptly asks.

I reply, I’m sure he’s not a psychopath or a murderer, I mean, I can’t confirm that he’s not, but I’m sure it will be fine.

Miriam cuts in and asks, When and where are you meeting him?

Tuesday night, downtown at Green Sleeves Pub on George Street, at 7 p.m., I reply.

Do you need us to come along? We can come along and kick his ass if he tries anything, she adds.

Realizing they are not as receptive to the idea as I had hoped, I shake my head with hidden embarrassment, smile, and say, It’s okay, I’ll be okay. I’m sure it will be fine.

***

The hand on the clock hits 6:00 p.m.; one hour to go, before I am scheduled to meet him. I am a giant bag of nerves, but to give myself credit, I am a determined bag of nerves. Jeans and a T-shirt seems like a reasonable outfit for the occasion. It’s a pub, right? Why am I questioning my outfit? I am clearly a nervous wreck! I put on my coat and just as I am about to open the door to leave, I feel that I should double-check my inbox messages. One new message waiting is lit up in the corner of the screen. I click on it, and it reads, I am so sorry, I am unable to make it tonight. Would you be available to meet tomorrow at 5:00 p.m. at the Guv’nor Pub on Elizabeth Avenue?

Unsure how to react or what to think or how to feel, I stare at the message for a moment, before hitting send on my reply: Yes. I will be there.

I am more determined than ever to meet this man; Third time’s the charm as they say, right? We are masters of our own destiny. Change won’t happen if we don’t produce the actions to create that change. What if this man is the man of my dreams and I am not putting in the effort required to secure my destiny? I realize I am no longer nervous, but instead, my driven determination to make this happen has somehow made me optimistically confident.

It is 4:45 p.m. I pull up into the parking lot of the Guv’nor Pub. I step out of my four-door silver Alero, wearing a knee-length, button-up jean dress and black heels. It is a nice combination of pub meets classy in a casual yet sophisticated way. I look around the parking lot for signs of him and his car—a black Hyundai Sonata, but I don’t see it anywhere. What I did not know, and I would later come to find out, was that he was in fact there, but he hadn’t parked in the parking lot of the pub. Instead, he had parked across the street so that he could catch a glimpse of me before making the decision of whether he wanted to meet me or not.

Table for how many? the waiter asks me.

Two, please. I am meeting someone, but I don’t believe he is here yet.

Right this way ma’am, he says, as he shows me to a quiet table nestled in the corner. I barely have time to sit when I notice a man coming towards me. Is this him? He is shorter than I imagined him to be. He’s not as handsome as I pictured him to be but he’s okay. Let’s see how this conversation goes. I’ll give it a chance.

Hi, I’m Rick. Are you Norah?

Okay, so it is him. His voice sounds a little rough but there is a charm to him that I can’t quite put my finger on.

Hi, yes, I am Norah. It is so nice to finally meet you. His dark brown eyes stare directly into mine. I can tell he takes pride in his hair; it looks like he uses product of some sort to slick it upwards in a messy, yet good-intentioned, minimal-effort sort of way.

So, Rick, do you have a last name? I ask.

Adams, he replies.

I am immediately caught off guard at the mention of that name. I have an uncle Rick Adams that my grandmother absolutely and utterly despised with every fibre of her being. He was lazy and considered himself to be a ladies’ man. He was caught cheating on my aunt on numerous occasions and caused much unnecessary heartache and grief. So let me see, now I have a short, not entirely attractive man sitting in front of me, with a name that I’m not sure I can ever adjust to. I am thinking, this isn’t going to work.

***

After a drink and some small talk for an hour or so, we walk out of the restaurant. I plan to leave and never see him again. I politely thank him for meeting me, and proceed towards my car.

My name is not really Rick Adams, he says suddenly. I breath a sigh of relief. I can deal with his height and his less-attractive looks, but the name was most definitely a deal breaker for me.

Oh no? Then what is your name? I reply.

Grant Murphy, he tells me.

That is much better, I think. Instead of focusing on the fact that he used an alias the first time we met, I am more concerned with the negative personal association I have with the original fake name. With the name issue now out of the way, I am back to dealing with the height and looks part of the equation.

Would you like to meet again sometime? he asks. What harm can it do? He seems nice enough.

Sure! I’ll give you my number, I say.

Chapter 2

Love Bombed

Not all people are a product of their upbringing, but some are. Be more observant and less naïve.

November 2004

It’s late at night and the phone rings. I have barely dozed off to sleep, but I fumble and reach to grab the phone. I answer and it is him. There is static on the line; he is not calling from a land line. Where is he?

Hello, I say, my voice tired yet excited to hear from him.

I fucking love you. Do you know that? he says in a slurred but happy tone. How do I even respond to that? He’s in the back of a cab in Nova Scotia, heading back to the hotel from a work function. He is clearly drunk . . . but wait, what? What did he just say? He loves me? My eyes brighten as my heart falls deep into a trap. I’m going to choose to ignore the fact that he is intoxicated at the moment, and focus on those three words, I. Love. You.

I love you too, I reply. Oh my God, he just said it, I just said it . . . we just said it! We are in love!

***

Monday morning has arrived, the morning of the day I get to meet his mother for the first time. We will meet her for lunch across from her work building on Elizabeth Avenue. I can’t believe I am meeting his mother; what is she like? Will she like me? What do I even say to this woman? I hope I don’t mess this up.

Hi, I am Norah, it is a pleasure to meet you. Grant has told me so much about you, I say to her with a soft welcoming smile. I kind of lied a little, as Grant had actually not told me anything about this woman. I just thought it was the polite thing to say in the moment.

Oh, he did, did he? she replies. I hope it was all good, she continues with a bit of a bewildered look followed by an almost forced and unsure smile. My name is Joanne; it is nice to meet you as well.

I can feel her eyes scanning me from the inside out, but I maintain my composure. I recognize there is a feeling of mutual reservation, but I push it aside as we walk towards the doors to the restaurant. Joanne is about my height, 5'5", and has short hair with a combination of dark and blonde highlights. She is wearing a black, knee-length skirt, a rose-coloured floral blazer with a black camisole underneath and a pair of black pumps. She is a fairly attractive, middle-aged woman who appears to have her life in order; good government job, well dressed, good conversationalist, and a quick sense of humour to light up a room.

So, how did you two meet? she asks.

Grant’s eyes widen, and he seems frightened by her question, almost like a like a deer caught in headlights.

We met through mutual friends, he quickly replies, as he breathes a sigh of relief.

Mutual friends, I see. And what do you do for a living, Norah? she asks.

I am a flight attendant, I reply.

A flight attendant; well, you and Grant both have certainly chosen exciting careers.

I sit there, a little confused at how Grant’s career as the Director of Alumni Affairs at the university could be labeled exciting. I mean, it’s a good job and all, but I’m not entirely sure I would place an office job in the category of excitement.

You flying around to different places, and Grant going off to war. You don’t have much time to be bored in either of your lines of work. Wait, what? War? What was this woman talking about?

I am sorry, what do you mean by war? I ask with acute curiosity.

Grant didn’t tell you? she asks me, while redirecting her stare at him.

Yes, I have been meaning to tell you, he says, evidently caught completely off guard. I am an army logistics officer in the Canadian Armed Forces, and I have served in Bosnia and Afghanistan in the past. However, I recently retired from the Regular Force, and I am now in the reserve unit as a part-time job outside of my nine-to-five, Monday-to-Friday job at the university. I work on base once a week on Thursday evenings, and the occasional weekend here and there. I don’t do the war thing anymore, just regular boring office work.

I don’t even know how to process this new information. Military? War? Bosnia? Afghanistan? We have been dating for a month now, and this is the first I hear about it. My respect level for this man, whom I had already fallen deeply in love with, had just soared to a whole new level.

He is following in his grandfather’s footsteps, Joanne goes on to exclaim. My father served in the Second World War. That’s about all we know about it, as he never brought it up.

Oh, no? I ask, my heightened tone implying I want to hear more.

He recently mentioned something about a trip to Holland or something of that nature and how during the war they lived in tents and that they were regularly faced with food shortages. That is about the most I have ever heard him talk about it. All of these years, he never, ever talked about it.

I close my eyes and hang my head out of respect. I then look up and say, Your father was a brave man; you should be very proud. She smiles and nods.

Are you ready to order? the waiter asks.

I’m so sorry, we haven’t had a chance to look at the menu just yet, Grant replies as he reaches to look at the daily specials. We’ll be ready to order in a few more minutes.

***

With the initial ice-breaker meet-the-mother lunch over with, I feel confident that Grant’s roots are well grounded. But I have yet to meet his two sisters and his father. I know his parents are separated but I don’t ask why. I don’t think it is any of my business to ask. We have accepted an invitation to have dinner at his father’s home next Sunday. His father had remarried a woman named Bridget Bishop. I am faced with a name issue yet again as I struggle to disconnect that name with a past personal experience. It is not really my past experience, but a friend of mine. She was once married to a man whose mother’s name was Bridget Bishop. My friend’s mother and her mother-in-law Bridget became close friends and exchanged personal stories, like close friends do. Sadly, my friend’s marriage ended in divorce, and a bitter one at that. News of the divorce put a divide between her mother and