Keeping it together

Destiny, who is 5, comes in next, hops on a plastic bike and rumbles over the kitchen linoleum.

The phone rings again.

"Can someone get that?" Cari yells, balancing a second load from the car.

Ashlin, who is 10, heads straight for the DVD player and starts a Barbie movie. Cartoon doll singing warbles into the house. The phone rings a third time. Karina, who is in high school, finally picks up.

"Mo-om, it's for yo-ou!"

Thursday night at the Collins' house in Wasilla: Four girls, two rabbits, a dog and a phone that never stops. Chaotic, but still you can feel something's missing.

There's no smell of coffee first thing in the morning, no man-size shoes on the mat by the door, no one to sleep on the other side of Cari's bed. Brian Collins, a captain in Iraq, has been deployed more than a year. He lives in e-mail and telephone lines. The younger girls fall asleep each night clutching a plush doll made with his picture ironed on cloth.

Cari, who is now 39, and Brian found each other in the Army, at Fort Jackson in South Carolina. At the time Cari was raising two daughters from a previous relationship. She and Brian had gone to the same basic training and even sang in the same church choir, but didn't start dating until they were in advanced individual training, learning to photograph and record combat. Months into their relationship, their drill instructor called them to her office and told them it would never work, but they celebrated their 10th wedding anniversary this month, long distance, with love letters and a surprise box from Victoria's Secret.

Brian, 38, is career military and that's a choice they've made together. She left the Army after Ashlin was born. Brian's been away from the family plenty of times before. But, nothing's been like this deployment.

The only place they could find an affordable house big enough for five children was in Wasilla, far away from Fort Richardson, where Cari was comfortable and able to make easy connections with other women. Even though her neighborhood was dotted with the homes of other Army wives, she felt lonely. Her sister died from cancer just before Brian shipped out. Her oldest daughter, Cristina, left home for college.

Isolated in a suburban subdivision, one loss seemed to bleed into the next.

In the weeks that followed Brian's departure, Cari couldn't keep up. The girls got behind in home school. She just wanted to sleep, and would have if she didn't have swim practice, groceries, teenager angst and a never-ending stream of laundry.

In the kitchen, phone in crook of her neck, Cari cuts slices of pumpkin pie and scoops dollops of Cool Whip. Ashlin eyes her piece.

"Vitamins first!" Cari says.

She sets a plate in front of Divine who's coloring at the table, and corrals Destiny on her bike. Does Karina need help with math homework? Where is the graph paper? The dryer buzzes.

Even keeping the television off and avoiding newspapers, there's a certain edge all the time when your husband is in Iraq. Exhaustion doesn't dull the anxiety.

Cari will hear from Brian every day, then all of a sudden he doesn't call or come online. Fear hammers at her all night, stealing her sleep. Has something happened? Will she get the knock at the door?

Then it's 6 a.m. and time to get Karina ready for school, and do home school with Ashlin; then the little ones appear in the kitchen ready for breakfast. Finally, after she's checked a hundred times, there's an e-mail from Brian in her inbox.

"Then I can exhale," she says.

A neighbor's husband was killed in an explosion in the spring. Each time some of his remains are identified, they're cremated and sent to his wife. There's a line of little urns on her mantle. Bless her, Cari thinks as she drives by the house. Then her mind flashes on Brian, and she goes to the "what if" place in every Army wife's mind. Just keep him intact, she prays. If the Lord's going to take him from her, keep him in one piece so she can hold him and say goodbye.

Cari herds the girls upstairs. Everyone puts away their clean clothes. Tiny pink sweaters on tiny pink hangers. When you have five kids, you have to get them to help, or else you end up doing everything and you can't keep up, especially if you're by yourself. Storm, the family terrier, barks. The doorbell rings.

It's Cari's friend Joanne McAuliff. They shop together, buying in bulk to save money. Cari budgets by keeping cash in envelopes for designated expenses: utilities, groceries, gas and $100 for entertainment. She and Joanne settle at the kitchen table with a calculator, sorting out who has the mini rice cakes and splitting the toothbrushes and paper towels. The dog's excited, running laps, skittering on the floor. The Barbie movie's still playing.

When Joanne leaves, Divine and Destiny head to Cari's bathroom, drawn by the steam and spatter of the bath water. Soon it's time to brush teeth. Tangly hair must be smoothed into braids. Divine wears dress mary-janes with her pink nightgown, her latest personal fashion statement. The girls gather at the foot of the bunk beds and Ashlin reads them "The Very Hungry Caterpillar." Cari lies on the bedroom carpet, her eyes droop. When Brian gets back, she wants a spa day. She dreams of a night at a hotel. Make that two.

Soon there are prayers for Brian and princess dreams, and lights go out. Cari heads downstairs, where laundry waits for her, tumbling in the dryer.

It's nearly 11 p.m. She puts on the Discovery Health channel and wills herself to stay awake.

Twelve time zones away, Brian's up already, doing PT, having breakfast. She waits for a sign from him, to see him come online or hear the phone ring, so she can say good morning and he can say good night.

Find Julia O'Malley online at adn.com/contact/jomalley or call 257-4591.

ABOUT THIS SERIES

TODAY: Cari Collins has five girls, two rabbits, a dog and a phone that never stops, but still you can feel something's missing.

MONDAY: Lauren Bretz doesn't worry about her husband, Nat, in Iraq; she prays for him.

TUESDAY: For Vicki Bell, the million little everyday decisions are the loneliest.

WEDNESDAY: Colleen Mihalic had enough. What could she do, she wondered, to make her husband come home?