Military Spouse

Military Spouses
By Paige Swiney

It was just another harried Wednesday afternoon trip to the
commissary.
My husband was off teaching young men to fly. My daughters were going
about their daily activities knowing I would return to them at the
appointed time, bearing, among other things, their favorite fruit snacks
frozen pizza and all the little extras that never had to be written down
on a grocery list.

My grocery list, by the way, was in my 16-month-old daughter's mouth,
and I was lamenting the fact that the next four aisles of needed items
would pass by while extracting the last of my list from my daughters
mouth, when I nearly ran over an old man. This man clearly had no
appreciation for the fact that I had 45 minutes left to finish the grocery
shopping, pick up my 4-year old from tumbling class and get to school,
where my 12-year-old and her car pool mates would be waiting.

I knew men didn't belong in a commissary, and this old guy was no
exception.
He stood in front of the soap selection staring blankly, as if he'd
never had to choose a bar of soap in his life. I was ready to bark an
order at him when l realized there was a tear on his face. Instantly,
this grocery isle roadblock transformed into a human.... "Can I help you
find something?" I asked.

He hesitated, and then told me he was looking for soap.

"Any one in particular?" I continued.

"Well, I'm trying to find my wife's brand of soap."

I started to loan him my cell phone to call her when he said, "She
died a year ago, and I just want to smell her again."

Chills ran down my spine. I don't think the 22,000-pound Mother of
all Bombs could have had the same impact. As tears welled up in my eyes,
my half-eaten grocery list didn't seem so important. Neither did fruit
snacks or frozen pizza. I spent the remainder of my time in the
commissary that day listening to a man tell the story of how Important his
wife was to him -- how she took care of their children while he served our
country. A retired, decorated World War II pilot who flew over 50
missions to protect Americans still needed the protection of a woman who
served him at home.

My life was forever changed that day. Every time my husband works too
late or leaves before the crack of dawn, l try to remember the sense of
importance I felt that day in the commissary. Some times the monotony
of laundry,
housecleaning, grocery shopping and taxi driving leaves military
wives feeling empty -- the kind of emptiness that is rarely fulfilled when
our husbands come home and don't want to or can't talk about work. We
need to be reminded, at times; of the important role we fill for our
family and for our country.

Over the years, I've talked a lot about military spouses..how special
they are and the price they pay for freedom too. The funny thing is;
most military spouses don't consider themselves different from other
spouses. They do what they have to do, bound together not by blood or
merely friendship, but with a shared spirit whose origin is in the very
essence of what love truly is.

Is there truly a difference? I think there is. You have to decide for
yourself.

Other spouses get married and look forward to building equity in a
home and putting down family roots.

Military spouses get married and know they'll live in base housing or
rent, and their roots must be short so they can be transplanted
frequently.

Other spouses decorate a home with flair and personality that will
last a lifetime.

Military spouses decorate a home with flare tempered with the
knowledge that no two base houses have the same size windows or same size
rooms. Curtains have to be flexible and multiple sets are a plus. Furniture
must fit like puzzle pieces.

Other spouses have living rooms that are immaculate and seldom used.

Military spouses have immaculate living room/dining room combos. The
coffee table got a scratch or two moving from Germany, but it still
looks pretty good.

Other spouses say good-bye to their spouse for a business trip and
know they won't see them for a week. They are lonely, but can survive.

Military spouses say good-bye to their deploying spouse and know they
won't see them for months, or for a remote, a year. They are lonely,
but will survive.

Other spouses, when a washer hose blows off, call Maytag and then
write a check out for having the hose reconnected.

Military spouses will cut the water off and fix it themselves.

Other spouses get used to saying "hello" to friends they see all the
time.

Military spouses get used to saying "good-bye" to friends made the
last two years.

Other spouses worry about whether their child will be class president
next year.

Military spouses worry about whether their child will be accepted in
yet another school next year and whether that school will be the worst
in the city...again.

Other spouses can count on spouse participation in special
events...birthdays, anniversaries, concerts, football games,
graduation, and even the birth of a child.

Military spouses only count on each other; because they realize that
the flag has to come first if freedom is to survive. It has to be that
way.

Other spouses put up yellow ribbons when the troops are imperiled
across the globe and take them down when the troops come home.

Military spouses wear yellow ribbons around their hearts and they
never go away.

Other spouses worry about being late for mom's Thanksgiving
dinner.

Military spouses worry about getting back from Japan in time
for dad's funeral.

The television program showing an elderly lady putting a card down in
front of a long, black wall that has names on it touches other spouses.
The card simply says, "Happy Birthday, Sweetheart. You would have been
sixty today."

A military spouse is the lady with the card, and the wall is the
Vietnam Memorial.

I would never say military spouses are better than other
spouses are. But I will say there is a difference. I will say,
without
hesitation, that military spouses pay just as high a price for
freedom as do their active duty husbands and wives.
Perhaps the price they pay is even higher. Dying in service to our
country isn't near as hard as loving someone who has died in service to
our country, and having to live without them.