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It’s her job—her duty—to be willing to send him off in the service of his country, even if that meant sending him into harm’s way.
We junior officer’s wives were a needy lot, many of us away from home for the first time. I don’t think I could have survived that first deployment without the company of these women, each of whom knew exactly what I was going through.
As is true for any group of women, we were a diverse bunch. Along with the Alicias and Rachels, there were gossips and back stabbers, women who drank too much and women whose husbands fooled around. Affairs were strictly forbidden—and predictably rampant. Saddest of all were the wives for whom their husbands’ absences were too lonely to bear.
As for me, I was determined to do more than wait. I wanted to live a rich, full life.
That’s what I learned from my fellow Navy wives. The ones who suffered and sometimes failed during deployment were those who allowed themselves to be defined entirely by their husbands. They could not imagine any sort of life beyond their role as a wife.
That, I quickly discovered, is the kiss of death when it comes to marriage. Any marriage, even a civilian one.
The women who thrived even while their husbands were gone were those who did what my instincts have always urged me to do. They cultivate lives that fulfill them even when their husbands are far away, assuming their husbands tolerate this. I’m sorry to say that some men don’t. They expect their wives to do nothing but wait and hope and worry about them.
I’m proud to say that Steve always encouraged me to be an independent wife. If he felt threatened by a woman with a mind of her own, he never let it show. Over the years, when he was away for months at a time, I learned foreign languages, taught myself to cook, learned to serve coffee to a crowd of fifty women. Despite the dire predictions of my parents, I finished my degree. I stayed active in the Officers’ Spouse’s Clubs worldwide, a path which has had a significant impact on me. In short, I made a life for myself, one that works whether or not my husband is by my side.
Sometimes, I admit, there were things I found very appealing about deployment. I was in charge. It was up to me to determine how that day would go, and that sense of control has always felt natural and right. Each time Steve returned, I welcomed him with open arms. But sometimes I struggled to surrender control to him, biting my tongue when he organized the bathroom his way, rehung pictures on the wall, made dates and appointments without checking with me. As a wife, I felt the tension of mixed messages. When my husband was gone, I was strong, independent, sure of my ability to deal with things. Upon his return, my role shifted to that of partner and helpmeet.
Small things, really, a pebble in the shoe. For the most part, life was a joy. It was the adventure Gran wanted for me.
I wrote letters to her and to Steve. Sometimes I would lie awake at night and, against my will, I’d find myself imagining the very events a military man is trained for—enemy strikes, explosions, plane crashes, bombings, terror attacks. At those times, I’d pull my pillow over my head, shut my eyes tight and pray.
I’ve never met a Navy wife who didn’t know how to pray.
Chapter Seventeen
Both Steve and I greeted my first pregnancy with a sense of tenderness and awe. This was exactly what we wanted, to bring a child into the circle of love we’d created. Then when we discovered I was carrying twins, I longed for him to beg for a deferment from the next deployment. Having a baby alone was a frightening enough concept. Having twins was, well, doubly terrifying.
However, by then I’d learned the ways of a Navy wife. “We’ll be fine,” I told Steve with a brave smile. And we were, of course.
Brian and Emma were born while Steve’s CO’s wife gripped my hand in the delivery room and encouraged me. Three years after that, back in Pensacola once again, our little Katie joined the family while Steve was in special training to face the terrors of Desert Storm. Did he lose something by not cradling those brand-new slippery bodies in his strong hands and watching our children take their first breaths? Does it matter that he never saw our newborns take on the flush of life and open their eyes for the first time?
