Sacrifice

These are words from Col. Steven A. Arrington:

"I will never say military spouses are better or worse than other spouses. But I will say there is a difference. And I will say that our country asks more of military spouses than is asked of other spouses. And I will say, without hesitation, that military spouses pay just as high a price for freedom as do their active-duty husbands or wives. Perhaps the price they pay is even higher. They do what they have to do, bound together not only by blood or friendship, but with a shared spirit whose origin is in the very essence of what love truly is. Dying in service to our country is not nearly as hard as loving someone who has died in service to our country, and having to live without them.
God bless our military spouses for all they freely give. And God bless America."

Sometimes I get overwhelmed with all I have to do, since I do everything by myself when my husband's gone. I wonder how other wives can handle everything with such grace when I feel like my head is going to explode if one more kid yells. And then I remember: they are not doing it alone. They have husbands who help, give them a break at the end of the day, or take the kids so the mom can have some time to herself or a night with friends once a week or month. They live near family who will take said kids overnight so Mommy and Daddy can have some grown-up time. They don't move every couple of years. Their kids stay in the same school system more than a few years at a time. They don't keep stacks of plastic tubs and cardboard boxes in their garages in preparation for perpetual relocation. They get to share graduations, birthdays, 4th of July fireworks, and goodnight kisses with their husbands all the time.

But they also don't get to see their husbands in uniform. Military uniform, which any woman knows is an immediate turn-on. Their kids don't have their dads' medals in their top dresser drawers. They don't know the joy of that 2 am phone call from a war zone overseas. Their wedding pictures show a man in a suit or tux, not full military dress. They don't get to cut their wedding cake with a saber. They don't share the instant bond with other military wives upon meeting them for the first time. And they don't know the supreme joy, the heart-racing excitement, and the relief that bubbles up into tears at seeing their husband come towards them, home from an overseas deployment.

Women who have friends that are military wives exclaim about tax-free shopping at the commissary and PX, free health care, and housing allowances. They don't understand that these are not "freebies"; they are "compensation," as Amy J. Fetzer's mother said. Compensation for your husband being shot at, compensation for all the missed holidays, birthdays, and events, compensation for the sacrifice of a "normal" life so that your husband may serve and protect this country while you do everything else.

I embrace, at least metaphorically, every military wife I meet. Because I know she has gone through it too, and maybe more than me. Rank or branch matters not; we all share the same sacrifice, the same frustrations, the same joys, the same heartaches. We've all held our husbands' dog tags in our palms, with the chain wrapped around our fingers, with tears in our eyes. This is our exclusive sisterhood, our sorority. Our dues are the sacrifice of precious time with our husbands; our community service is the help and support we give to each other; our parties are coming-home receptions and potluck suppers; our formal events are military balls and dinings-in. Our degrees, from the school of military life, are in concentrations such as single-parenting, home and car repair, peer counseling, time and resource management, red-tape navigation, and career adaptation. Patience and flexibility are not virtues here; they are required attributes. It is not an easy life; those who must be coddled and spoiled need not apply, and those who are don't last long. We wear only the rank of military spouse, each of us of equal importance and due equal respect.

Before I was married to my soldier, before I'd even met him or had any inkling that I would be a military wife myself, I attended an interment at Arlington National Cemetary. The deceased soldier was a family member whom I didn't really know that well, but the awe of the venue and ceremony did not escape me. I saw not only the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, but also watched the changing of the guard. It is among the most somber moments I have ever born witness to. We've all see the pictures of the rows upon rows of tombstones, uniform in shape, size and color (we are all of the same importance in death), but to actually stand there and follow them with your eyes out to the horizon inspires a reverance like no other. I have been present at funerals of military servicemembers where taps are blown and the flag is ceremoniously presented to the widow or next of kin, but, at Arlington, to watch the horse-drawn caisson followed by the riderless horse with empty, backward-facing boots defies description. It is slow and measured, carried out with utmost dignity and respect, and agonizingly heartrending to watch. The riderless horse is the powerful image of the soldier who will never again return home; I cried, and still cry, for their widows, their children, their parents, their comrades, their friends. Life cut short but honorably served is the inescapable theme there, and you cannot help but draw your breath.

I am glad I was able to witness it all both while I was an adult and able to remember it, and before I met my soldier. I could not watch that procession now without breaking down into unabating sobs. I can't even watch war movies anymore without my husband's arms around me. He's inspired by them; I am terrified. Military wives cannot even watch news of war or attacks without inevitably turning silent. They are thinking one of two things: thank God that's not my husband or is my husband in that hell? (Of course, they might also be thinking is the husband of someone I know in that hell?)

My husband is stateside now, and those fears, for the moment, have abated. But there are those ladies for whom they are just beginning, or beginning again, and to them I send out my encouragement and support. We are all in this together.