Feels the kindness of complete strangers

People never fail to surprise me.

I started writing this column a year ago this month, weeks before my husband left for Iraq. In that time, I have been touched by the kindness of complete strangers more times that I can count.

Of course lately, I haven’t been able to count beyond 20, as that is the number my 3-year-old has determined to be the absolute maximum and infinite. He firmly believes there are no numbers beyond 20.

Is he ever in for a shock when he starts school.

But I digress. I do that a lot.

There are so many people out there who have touched my life in so many ways, some little and some huge, and most have no idea they have done so. They are simply doing something that comes naturally to them.

Being the spouse of a deployed service member is not a fun job, nor is it one that people line up to volunteer for — especially if there are children involved. And cats. We have very spoiled cats, much to my husband’s masculine disgust.

Yet, there are times when complete strangers let me know that they recognize his sacrifice is also mine and that they are thankful for it.

There was the man who owned a local screen printing company. Last fall, I placed I rather large order for some T-shirts for the Fort Richardson Spouses’ Club, where most members had deployed husbands. When he was processing our order and realized who the shirts were intended for, he refused to accept a dime for them. He had never met me before and had no idea who I was. He simply received the order from one of his workers, realized who it was for and made the entire thing complimentary.

The entire club was touched by his generosity.

There was the elderly gentleman who flirted with my young daughter throughout her meal at a local restaurant. Or, most precisely, who accepted my then 11-month-old’s flirtations, complete with gooey saltine cracker blown kisses and glass-shattering squeals of adoration. We got to talking, and when he realized my husband was in Iraq, he paid for our meal. Behind our backs. We didn’t even know until it was time to go and a flustered waitress had to explain there was no bill, that gentleman had already left. I never got his name.

When my husband came home on leave earlier this summer, he and his companions flying in uniform never had to purchase a single meal at any airport.

It takes awhile to fly from Baghdad to Anchorage, so these soldiers weathered a lot of layovers. As a result, they typically received meal vouchers from the various airports they were held up in.

They never used a single voucher. Everywhere they went, people asked for their bills. Strangers insisted on buying their lunches and dinners as a way of telling them thank you. They told them it was so small compared to what they were doing, but that they wanted to do something for the soldiers.

All those soldiers, my husband included, got so much more from those people than just a free meal.

There was the time I called a rather verbose talk radio deejay to see if I could win a contest. This gentleman, well known for flaying people alive with his sharp tongue and acerbic wit, bent over backwards to be nice to me when he discovered my husband was in Iraq. He thanked my husband profusely for his service several times, and thanked me for doing what I do as well.

He also decided I won the contest. I don’t believe he even let anyone else enter.

There was the day care provider who refused to bill me for child care when she discovered that she was watching my children regularly so I could attend memorial services for fallen soldiers at Fort Richardson. When the beginning of the month came around and I asked where my bill was in bewilderment, I was told there was none and that was the end of it.

And then there was my life last week.

As I wrote about before, my wallet was stolen. It had all the money I had recently taken out from an ATM to spend at the Alaska State Fair, as well as my credit cards and identification. I like to pride myself on not being prone to tears, but I was a regular water faucet that day each time I recollected something else in my purse that I needed to cancel, replace or copy.

Seven days after my wallet disappeared, a woman called me. She had found my wallet hidden in the grass to the side of the store I’d lost it in. The cash was missing, but everything else was intact.

She refused to accept any reward for returning my wallet, but admitted being thrilled to be able to assist at all.

A few days later, The Frontiersman contacted me. They had something for me to pick up.

As I went to the office, I racked my brain to try and recall what they might need to give to me.

Once I got there, I received a surprise. A local gentleman had apparently read my column, and wrote me one of the nicest notes I can ever recall receiving. In it, he stressed he wanted me to know that there are a lot more encouraging people out there than most believe, and that he truly hoped my negative experience didn’t dissuade me. He also gave me a wonderful gift.

The tears came again as I read the words of support this man who had never even met me before wrote to me, and I had to admit to myself that they were so true.

I grew up in this Valley. I went to Butte Elementary School, Palmer Junior High School and Wasilla High School. I knew I never wanted to live anywhere else after college, but fate decided otherwise when I married a military man.

But what this small area in Alaska has given to me has made itself evident in my life in so many ways. The people here have been so welcoming to the military families in their midst, sharing in our heartbreak and tears as well as our small triumphs.

Strangers have been vocal and effusive in their support, and it shows in a myriad of ways. I wish there was a way I could say thank you to this entire community.

My husband is not back yet. His time in Iraq was extended by several months — something we knew could happen prior to his departure. I had secretly hoped that this column, in September, would be one of the last ones to speak of my deployed husband and would instead be focused on his homecoming.

Such was not to be.

Yet the support I have felt and continue to feel all around me goes on, and I know I can count on it for as long as I can proudly label myself the wife of a U.S. soldier.

Tiffany Horvath is the mother of two and the stepmother of one. Her husband, Drew, is deployed to Iraq. She writes every Sunday abut life at home for the wife of a deployed soldier.