MISSION CLEARER AFTER RETURNING FROM WAR

By Jeannie Nugent/OF THE COMMERCIAL STAFF

Wiping his hands on a checkered dishcloth then slinging it over his shoulder, Chris Phillips, 28, walks towards the living room. The counter behind him is stacked with clean dishes and the kitchen is immaculate with everything shining and in its proper place.

Even having just finished chores, his uniform of khakis and a polo shirt is impeccable. His shirt is tucked in and his belt and shoes match. His hair is a uniform one-quarter-inch in length and his posture rivals that of Kung Fu experts.

As soon as he sits in the overstuffed recliner, two mischievous blond-haired girls run into the room and leap into his lap. His smile says he’s grateful for the unscripted moment with his daughters, Melody, 7, and Madison, 3, and he is savoring the memory before it’s even made.

From her perch on the couch, his wife Heather Phillips smiles at the scene, only too willing to relinquish her spot as favored parent. Nearly every inch of the family’s living space is decorated in red-white-and-blue Americana, from coasters to wall hangings.

Patriotism is woven into the very fiber of the young family — despite being the root of perhaps their most painful and testing times in their eight years together.

“I had it better than most,” says Chris, gathering his girls closer. His jaw takes a hard line as he talks about his year of deployment in the Iraq war as a sergeant in the Arkansas Army National Guard. His duty as a Night Tactical Operations Center noncommissioned officer kept him — save for a few times on combat duty — on the inside of “the wire.” He had daily access to e-mail, phones and even the occasional video conferences with his family.

“I had an advantage over other soldiers. Some guys couldn’t even make a phone call,” he says.

Heather Phillips is quick to come to the defense of her husband’s self-deprecation. The combat soldiers had more downtime than those in the offices who worked tirelessly to keep lines of communication open and operational to the front line, she says. He worked 12-hour shifts, often seven days a week.

It also caused his time away from home to slink by at a snail’s pace.

On the home front

Her soldier made it stateside two weeks before she could see him, first debriefing in Wisconsin before making his way to Arkansas. To Heather Phillips the wait was pure agony after a year of forced separation and of filling both her shoes and those of her husband’s.

The two-hour drive to Jonesboro last September — with a full caravan of family members following — was torture, she says. She swipes her blond hair out of her eyes, and flashes her husband a playful smirk.

“The closer we got up there, the more nervous I got,” she says. “He kept calling me, asking ‘Where are you at?’”

She couldn’t keep the tears from streaming as she turned into the parking lot, she says.

“You just got chills seeing those buses roll in,” she says. The smile never leaves her face.

The couple only offers pure, unabashed honesty about the inevitable challenges that followed Chris’ homecoming. He felt like a visitor in the home. And, to Heather, who was used to shouldering the responsibility, her husband’s presence was almost intrusive.

“One day I drove up in the driveway after picking the girls up and I thought ‘Ugh! He’s here and he’s going to be under my feet’,” she recalls, smiling at her husband. “It’s still hard. I was so used to our routine when he was gone.”

Each passing day gets better, they both agree.

“For the most part, it’s everything I expected. I knew it was going to be tough,” says Chris. The military prepared him well, requiring the soldiers to take classes on how to re-integrate into home life.

Communication, Heather says, was the biggest hurdle. She also expected her husband to fall right back into the role of disciplinarian to their girls. Chris, on the other hand, wanted to make up for lost time.

“They were real clingy at first. They wouldn’t get out of my lap,” he says. Melody, the oldest, had not changed that much, but Madison was a baby, barely talking, when he left for Iraq.

The curly-headed toddler grins impishly at her daddy from beside her mother.

The impact on his daughters became painfully evident when he left in November for two weeks of training.

“They flipped out,” says Heather. “They didn’t think he was coming back. We had to talk to them and let them know that he wouldn’t be gone that long.”

Each passing day gets easier, more comfortable for the family. He’s a lot more relaxed now, Chris says. And he’s falling back into his fatherly role.

“There have been a lot of changes for the better,” he says. “We’re stronger as a family because of the experience. It was like I had a year of self-evaluation. I was able to appreciate more.”

Heather answers with an ear-to-ear grin.

“Now he’s actually trying to put meals together,” she says. “I was shocked at how I came home from work and he’s doing the dishes and folding clothes. I noticed he takes more time with the kids. He sits at the table and helps Mel do her homework. It’s still hard, but it’s getting easier.”

War stories

His eyes narrow and his jaw clenches when he talks about civilians and their views on the war.

“It has divided the nation, but we’re there for the ones that are asking for our help, that want a better life,” he says.

He’s usually reserved about his experience, but, when asked by well-meaning family and friends, he doesn’t hold back the truth — whether they’re prepared for it or not.

“Probably the thing that bothered me the most about re-integration was when people ask you a question, they don’t care what the answer is,” he says. “It’s already kind of iffy if I even talk about it, but I end up doing more explaining than anything. I’d rather just show them pictures.”

“With normal civilians, you can’t talk ‘military.’ They just won’t get it,” Heather interjects.

But it’s something that the family lives and breathes. Chris re-enlisted “in country” — military speak for “in the war zone” — for another three years. It was a decision that was not reached easily. And it was one that was made as a family.

“I wouldn’t make a decision without her,” he says, glancing at his wife. “I know my family is going along for the ride. I kept thinking it was selfish of me if I re-enlisted. I weighed the outcome though.”

In the end, it came down to his family’s future. He is only a few years short of earning military retirement. He would be eligible for full benefits by the time he turns 39, but would not draw them until he’s 60.

“It’s hard to throw away everything you’ve worked for,” he says, adding that he’s safe from combat duty for one year.

“If you re-enlist you know the consequences. It’s easier for me, if and when it happens, because you know what to expect,” he says. “No, I’m not as scared as I was. I was really scared the first time just like a regular citizen. But it’s nowhere near like the stories.”

Future expectations

Melody’s blond ponytail flips as she slinks head first off the couch. Her little sister giggles, squats down and turns her head upside down to peer into her sister’s face.

The girls have been told their daddy has “re-enlisted”, but they view it as his “other job,” Heather says. His first is at the Department of Correction in Pine Bluff.

Laughter erupts as Melody pins her sister to the floor with an arm hooked around one of her legs.

“One! Two! Three!” she screams, mimicking the wrestlers that the girls watch on television with their daddy.

The 7-year-old is succinct in her father’s new role now that he’s home.

“I want to sit in his lap and watch wrasslin’,” she says. “I want him to rub my back, but he won’t do it all the time.”

Madison giggles then throws in a supportive “Yeah!”

Outside of the military, both Heather and Chris are working towards finishing their college degrees. Chris already holds an associate’s from Southeast Arkansas College.

Family, though, is what the future is all about, says Chris.

“Our third one is on the way,” he says, an exuberant, pride-filled smile swamping his face.

As if on cue, the girls scramble to their mom’s side, smiling as they touch her abdomen.

“I want a boy, but he wants a girl,” says Heather.

But it’s Melody that gets the last word.

“I want a brother!”