The families war leaves behind

Over the past 15 years, America's armed forces have taken huge strides to retain married service members — improving schools, health programs and child care.

But now, as never before, the military is struggling with the toughest home-front problem of all: Doing right by the often outspoken and ever-growing ranks of the bereaved.

Of the 3,350 Americans who died in Iraq and Afghanistan through early January, 1,586 of them — 47.3 percent — were married. Those fallen warriors left behind 1,954 children, according to the Pentagon's Manpower Data Center. More recent deaths have pushed that figure past 2,000.

Today's volunteer fighting force is older, more reliant on National Guard and Reserve citizen-soldiers, and more likely to be married.

And the new generation of bereaved spouses has been vocal — on their bases, at congressional hearings — in pressing for more compassionate, effective support.

The result has been numerous policy changes, ranging from improved benefits to better training for the officers who break the grim news of war-zone deaths. But the learning process is ongoing and the results are mixed.

Interviews with a dozen widows across the country reveal varied experiences, but also some common bonds.

Across the board, the widows are proud of their husbands — even if they disagree on the wisdom of the Iraq war. Each woman is still grieving, and those with children have extra worries — financial and psychological — that extend far into the future.

Some are deeply grateful for the support provided by the military after their husbands' deaths; others are critical. Among the common complaints: that notification and assistance officers were sometimes ill-informed or aloof, and that they were bounced through different parts of the military bureaucracy when seeking help.

"We have to have someone who knows what they're talking about," said Ursula Pirtle of Fort Hood, Texas, whose daughter, Katie, was born 26 days after her father's death in Iraq in October 2003. "The blind-leading-the-blind system isn't working out."

Many of the now-fatherless older children struggle emotionally — to the point where school can be anguishing and therapy is needed. The military pays for some such counseling but there are limits, and families say the logistics can be difficult.

In Evans, Ga., Irene Prather is looking for a small Christian school for her 11-year-old son, Aaron, who has floundered at public school since his father, Army Chief Warrant Officer Clint Prather, was killed in Afghanistan two years ago.

"It seems like every day is a struggle for him," Prather said. "When we talk to the counselors, nobody understands what's really going on. They weren't prepared to deal with people who've lost somebody in the war."

Clint Prather served 11 years in the Army. His widow, who valued the tight-knit community on base, has found the shift to the civilian world difficult.

"It's kind of like you're pushed to the side," she said. "You're not part of that military family any more."

Other widows still feel those bonds and reunite — often with children in tow — at "grief camps" or expenses-paid holidays arranged by charities.

Some stay in touch with buddies of their late husbands. A Palmer, Mass., widow, Melissa Storey, was still getting calls from soldiers in Iraq eight months after her husband, Staff Sgt. Clint Storey, was killed there.

"We're just as much a part of the Army as before he died," she said.

Storey, 29, has a 4-year-old daughter, Adela, who's had therapy sessions since her father's death. During the couple's final days together, she also became pregnant with a son. She considers her benefits package generous and praised the Army's outreach to families.

"But part of being a good military spouse is accepting that you don't come first — the mission comes first," she added. "It's a hard life. I don't want to sugarcoat it. You suck it up and deal with it."

While many widows have kept a low public profile, some have testified before Congress to urge better benefits or have gained prominence by speaking out elsewhere.

Laura Youngblood of South Hempstead, N.Y., wife of a Navy corpsman killed in Iraq, made national TV appearances assailing anti-war activist Cindy Sheehan, whose son also died in Iraq. Hildi Halley of Falmouth, Maine, met with President Bush last year and blamed his policies for the death of her husband, National Guard Capt. Patrick Damon, from an apparent heart attack in Afghanistan.

Even at Fort Hood, the Army's largest armored base with 43,900 military personnel and 17,800 family members, anti-war sentiment sometimes surfaces.

"I don't support this war," said Ursula Pirtle. "What did my husband die for? I don't believe what we're doing over there helps our country."

Yet she views her fallen husband as a hero. "When he was killed, I would love to have been there holding him," Pirtle said.

The campaign to establish Fort Hood's Gold Star Family Support Center was led by Debbie Busch, whose own Army husband is alive and well, but who grew dismayed by the lack of organized backing for widows she knew. Initially, there were weekly support meetings at a chapel; last September her group got its own building, complete with lounge, kitchenette and playrooms.

Calls have come from other bases, seeking advice on launching similar programs.

A recent report by the Government Accountability Office (GAO) examined some of the issues troubling bereaved families. It said support services were inconsistent and advised the Defense Department to improve its oversight.

"Most survivors don't know what they're entitled to, and that's a big deal," said the GAO's Derek Stewart. "There should be one place that survivors could go and, in one sitting, have an individual spell out all the services and entitlements coming your way."

Addressing some of the concerns, the Defense Department updated its guide to survivors' benefits, which have increased substantially since the Iraq war began. The so-called "death gratuity" for next of kin has climbed from $6,000 to $100,000; military life-insurance payments have risen from $250,000 to $400,000.

Brad Snyder, a benefits expert with the Armed Forces Services Corp., said the package compares well to private-sector plans and can exceed $60,000 a year for a sergeant's widow with three children.

Children of fallen service members now get military medical coverage until adulthood, rather than losing it three years after the death. A bereaved family can now stay in military housing for a year, not six months.

Among the Fort Hood families benefiting from such changes are the widow and four children of Maj. William F. Hecker III, who was killed in January 2006 just six weeks after reaching Iraq.

Richelle Hecker, his widow, said the children — the youngest 3, the oldest 11 — were helped by grief counseling.

She also noted the stream of casualties has prompted many military families to think more seriously about future risks and attend financial-planning sessions that once seemed morbid or unnecessary.

The Army, which accounts for more than two-thirds of the Iraq and Afghanistan deaths, has been striving to address the most prevalent complaints from widows.

In January, it completed an overhaul of the training for casualty notification and assistance officers — the ones who deal directly with grieving families. The goal is for these officers to exhibit "professional compassion."

Col. Patrick Gawkins, director of the Army's Casualty and Mortuary Affairs Operations Center, said the new curriculum includes video footage with actors portraying officers and family members.

The Army also launched a 'round-the-clock call center to assist survivor families with questions about benefits.

Joanne Steen, whose Navy aviator husband died in a helicopter crash in 1992, felt she was filling a gaping void last year by co-authoring "Military Widow: A Survival Guide."

"As a young widow, you may feel like a sideshow in a circus," she wrote. "Because you aren't supposed to be a widow at such a young age, you don't fit in anywhere."

Some widows, though, are well into middle age. Nancy Kelly, of Richmond, Maine, is 52 and has three grandchildren as well as three grown children.

She and her husband, Staff Sgt. Dale James Kelly Jr., had been married 25 years when he was killed in Iraq last May while deployed with the Maine Army National Guard.

Herself an Air National Guard veteran, Kelly said her husband and his Guard colleagues were well-trained and aware of dangers they faced. But she suggested part of the problem for the Guard-dependent military is that troops' families are less steeled for the traumas of war than active-duty families.

"From a family standpoint, no, we're not prepared for this," Kelly said. "The men go off once a month and two weeks a year (for training), and for many of us wives, it's, 'Oh, that's the time we have dinner with the girls while they're off playing soldier.' "