This military life is hard. It is difficult. It is lonely.
I could be considered a “seasoned” military spouse at this point; my husband and I have been married for 14 of the 18 years he has been in the Army. We’ve endured six (out of seven) deployments, countless TDYs, and all of the chaos in between, so I’ve earned the disillusionment that can accompany hopes and dreams.
But early into our marriage, my grandmother framed my way of thinking about all of the moving, the ebb and flow of friendships, and the constant change. After nearly thirty years as an active-duty Air Force spouse, Grandma Patton knew what she was talking about. As a fellow military spouse, though separated by a generation, she understood me wholly. However, after patiently listening while I complained and cried about my loneliness and fear, she would comfort me and smile as she imparted her wisdom: “this life is such an adventure.”
She never downplayed my hardship; oh, she understood the pain of being a military spouse. A veteran of World War II and a combat veteran of both the Korean and Vietnam Wars, my grandfather had a full career in the Air Force, with my grandmother by his side. After WWII ended on 2 September 1945, Grandma Patton received a telegram from my grandfather. Meet me in Lincoln, NE to be married. He listed the date and time he would meet her at the train station, and she didn’t hesitate to make the trip from Indiana to Nebraska. This was the fulfillment of their promise to get married after the war. Along with the other lovestruck soldiers wanting to be united with their sweethearts, Grandpa made a reservation for the chapel on post — their allotted date to be married was September 28. On that blissful day, as she waited in a line with other military couples that spilled out onto the sidewalk, Grandma patiently linked her arm through Grandpa’s. With her freshly painted red nails resting on his hand, it was an exciting start to what would be quite the adventure.
She would go on to hold down the fort with five children in Germany in the early ‘60s while Grandpa flew SIGINT C-130 missions every few weeks, including in the 7406th Support Squadron. With eyes wide open, she and Grandpa walked into that notable unit which had lost a crew of 17 in a mission four years before after being shot down by four Soviet MiG-17 pilots. Oh yes, they had an awareness of the danger. The proximity to death inched even closer when one of their good friends, another pilot, was killed during a mission in the Vietnam War, reminding them once more of their mortality. Being a military spouse was not —is not— a job for the faint of heart.
Wherever Grandpa was in the world, regardless of the miles that stretched between him and Grandma, he was always thinking of her. He brought her beautiful souvenirs from far-off places, though no trinket was ever as good as being home. I grew up around these precious keepsakes on display (or worn, in the case of the fur jacket, muff, and hat from Greece), all of which held a lifetime of memories, love, and —yes— adventure.
It’s hard to see the adventure through the loneliness when you are solo once more. It’s hard to see the adventure when you’re up all night with a sick child while your spouse is deployed. It’s hard to see the adventure when you’re crying in your best friend’s arms before a PCS. It’s hard to see the adventure when your children have to start their third school in a handful of years.
But hindsight is a blessing that allows clear eyes to see the benefits littered all around the hardships. My husband and I cherish the time we have together, and when he is gone, I certainly stay busy with work or children or rescuing dogs (something that really can only be done when he doesn’t get a vote). Our family is incredibly close because we’ve recognized that we are frequently all we have. I have deep friendships with people who live all over the world, and my life is richer for them. Our children are adept at inclusion, making friends, and adapting to new situations.
As hard as the days are, I now understand what Grandma Patton was saying. This military life holds a gift within it: the gift of adventure.
