Escape: it sounds so nice when I am surrounded by memories of him. I am surrounded by his scent, his toothbrush, shoes, clothes, favorite drinks in the fridge. But not him. I long for his arms around me and a place to put my cold feet when we crawl into bed (between his calves). I long for that smile and the light in his eyes that appears when he walks into the house and says “Hello, Gorgeous.” I miss him, and the house is just a constant reminder that he is gone.
So I run. I pack up kids, dogs, toys, snacks, suitcases and drive 20+ hours to escape. I escape the place I share with him, but I cannot escape the missing. We grew up in the same hometown and everywhere I look, I remember us. I remember skipping school and hanging out at Sullivan Park and later him asking me to be his wife there–and finally saying “I do” overlooking the river just beyond the swing set that is now gone. I now walk my kids through the park’s trees and I am hit with a time when it was just me and him. Just us dreaming about the future and making plans together; never dreaming of years of separation.
Even with all the memories, I have escaped. But not in the way I had hoped. I can walk into the stores and not be looked at twice and the patrons in the store will not be wondering if my husband is gone. I go into a restaurant and I hand them a military ID along with my credit card and I am informed that she has never seen a military ID. My expression of complete shock is met with doe eyes that have never been touched by goodbyes that might really be a goodbye. She has never seen or been a part of a community that struggles. But struggles together. She has never seen or felt a soldier hug his children and wife with his weapon slung over his shoulder.
I feel more alone. My escape has reminded me that just being next door to a person whot gets it is comforting. It has flung understanding into my face that being able to just talk without having to translate the acronyms is wonderful. I have come to appreciate un-asked questions or expressed concerns by my counterparts. “Oh, it must be so hard to have him gone.” “How do you do it?” “He will be home soon and everything will be fine.” “You guys must be used to this by now?”
Our home may be full of reminders of his absence but all I have to do to be understood completely is walk outside those doors.
Tags: Army wife, Chris Piper, Christina Piper, Deployment, her war, her war her voice, military life, Military spouses, military wife, military wives
I just moved back from a complete non-military community (childhood home) to our home in Colorado Springs. It is amazing the difference going from no military reminders to military in every place you look. I also believe having a site like this to share on helps even a 9 year Army wife feel normal and understood.
Chris…awesome blog. I think you definitely put into words what nearly all of us feel. I don’t doubt that I made the right decision to move to Savannah for the year that my wife is gone. I’m really thankful to have the help they’ve offered. That said, I am completely surrounded by people who have no idea what a separation is like. The war hasn’t touched them. They’ve never said goodbye and hoped like hell it wasn’t a final goodbye. Being here is just like what you experienced on your trip. No one understands what we go through. But spouses do. We get it. I am so thankful for people like you and other military spouses who understand the pain of separation. We are not alone.