The Things We Remember

Days like today bring back lots of memories.

On most days, I’m focused on the task at hand. A lot of the time, it’s like basic moment to moment stuff like getting kids ready for school, packing lunch, remembering to grab my tablet and supplies and put them in my bag before we dash out the door to start the day. It’s getting the girl in the building, and now unbundling her from all her snow clothes and making sure she’s in her classroom so that I can start my own day, running around, helping other students with the support they need. Then it’s picking up kids and getting them home, unbundled and playing together nicely , I mean safely in their rooms or at least not downstairs rehearsing WWE moves. Evenings filled with “Get your homework done.” “Put the cat down.” “Leave the dog alone.” “Turn that music down.” And other motherly quotes. Most evenings are a rush of dinner and dishes, baths, brushing teeth, book reading and bedtime prayers. On most days, I’m so focused on making a good life for my kids and husband now, that I forget that I had a very different life not so long ago.

On days like today, I remember that couple, who had no children of their own and could go wherever and do whatever they chose to do. I remember plenty of friends and acquaintances over the years that shared our holidays and special times, when we had no family around. I remember houses and garages and dive bars, restaurants, coffee houses; VFWs and O and E Clubs where we spent our time chewing the fat and rehashing squadron or ship events and the crazy things we did. I remember learning as I went, how to love my military husband, and watching other marriages fall apart when I thought they were stronger than ours. I remember hours and hours spent ironing and washing, sewing and admiring those uniforms, awards and medals. I remember the feeling of freezing panic at every surprise inspection and every planned inspection for that matter. I remember feeling resentful when he had muster or duty. I remember how jealous I was of the women who worked with him. After all, he was my husband, and I couldn’t get enough of him. I wanted to be with him all the time. The saying , “absence makes the heart grow fonder” is so true, especially for this Navy wife.

On days like today, I remember feeling brokenhearted and lost and afraid when he would leave. I never really thought much about our newlywed situation, but looking back now, it’s a wonder that we ever made it past the first deployment. I’m certain God is the only reason we have survived together. Of course, I always tell people it’s because we’re both either stubborn or stupid, and we’re still trying to figure out which. I remember deployment times, some at the gates of the terminal, some at the gates of the pier. Either way, goodbye seemed so final. The ache always started at POM Leave. It was a time we were supposed to relax and enjoy each other’s company, but we always spent it tense. Sometimes we were silent, sometimes we would bicker. Always, always we were tense. Smothered by the sense that around us the world was closing in and our private world would soon be standing still, frozen in time until the next time we said hello, we said goodbye.

Those first goodbye days were devastating. I was left standing alone, watching him walk away from me, trusting him to be all the things he promised in our vows, praying God would take care of him and bring him safely back home to me. He was trained to keep walking, to not turn back around and see a sobbing wife standing alone, watching through tear filled eyes. He was trained to keep moving, ever inching toward that ship or aircraft, whichever were the vessel to carry him off. He never looked back, never turned his eyes backward. I guess that was for the best for him, and me. When he kept moving, it forced me to accept the fate that was at hand. A time of solitude that I came to embrace as “me” time. I was able to do those girly things that I didn’t have time for when he was around. Two hour baths, falling asleep with a book in my hands, painting my fingernails in the middle of the living room floor. I could eat cereal or frozen pizza every night and never hear a complaint or request for anything of substance. I could watch chick flicks and Lifetime on cable all weekend, and every night, without so much as a whimper. I took my time perusing shops and stores that my dear husband would never enter into. And when the tears came, and they always came, I would wash them down with as much sweet tea as I wanted, because I never had to worry about leaving the sugar out for him. I had many good friends and usually worked two full time jobs while he was away, to keep me occupied and active, but I always longed for him to be home.

The longing, the waiting, the wondering… those feelings were intense and ever present while he was gone away. But with every deployment there is a Homecoming. Initially, I had no desire to become a part of any Navy Wives Support group, because from what I’d heard, they just want to get in your business, and control your life. I learned that I needed some friends to lean on while he was gone. I had made some very close civilian friends, and church friends, but I needed some women who understood the unique struggle that is the life of a military spouse. So I joined our Family Networking Group, and became the secretary, where I helped to plan the Homecoming. I had no idea how amazing it would be. The group had started planning the Homecoming just after the ship set sail. We are talking about six months of planning, and so you know that’s gonna be a great party! Like any party, there are decorations, drinks, food, painted signs, signs in windows and on billboards, advertisements on television, and plenty of excitement. What separates a military homecoming from any other homecoming is the people. When you go to a homecoming at a pier, you get there about six hours early, if you want to park within five miles. And you dress in layers, and you watch everything. There were so many people at the pier to support all those who serve, that it was like the closest town next to my hometown all showing up to the courthouse at the same time. It was incredible. To this day, I haven’t experienced anything like it.

The feelings of homecoming are just as you may think they’d be. Excitement, fear, anxiety, giddiness, fluttery, gooey, happy, easy feelings. The longing for someone to be there that isn’t disappears and is replaced by the longing for the ship to be docked, the bows to come down, and the sailors to disembark. I believe that may be the most difficult part of the cruise – the waiting. You see, after getting to the pier six hours early, and standing around visiting with people you don’t know, but have something in common with, (much like tailgating), you have to stand and wait. And when you see an aircraft carrier come around the last turn on an inlet, headed for the pier, every sense you have is heightened, and the air is electric. You can smell and taste the salt from the water. You can also smell the seagulls, but you don’t see too many, because you’re so focused on that ship. You hear them though, screeching and crying out, it’s like they’re yelling “hurry up, I’m waiting!” You feel the warmth from the bodies that are now crowded together, about ten thousand of them, on a 200 yard pier. You feel their jubilance and their pride, it’s as if every heart is ten sizes bigger on this day. The ship inches closer, and you can see the sailors in their “crackerjacks” (dress uniforms) on deck. They stand like statues, ties waving in the wind. You hear the band as it fires up, first a horn, then a drum, then the entire band, joining in the song of reunion. There are balloons whipping in the sea breeze, pounding against each other, like the waves that lap the concrete on the pier. The smell of barbeque is in the air, from the hospitality tents, and you remember that you ate seven hours ago, when you finished your breakfast in the car at 5:00 in the morning. You hear babies crying from the new mom’s tent, where they wait, these new mothers, for their sailors to disembark first. Oh and that one special lady or gent, who won “The First Kiss”, usually raffled off at a fundraiser that made money to pay for this entire day.

When the ship finally crawls into the pier, crewmembers prepare for the deck ropes to be fired from their canons onto the pier. Cheers of celebration rise up from this city of strangers, each looking to find their sailor. The sounds of those canons, the smell of the ropes, the way it seems as if we will all be knocked down by them only heightens the excitement of the crowd. The sailors on deck remain at attention, looking majestic, like something from an artist’s portfolio, they stand, fitting that they are looking as still as that picture from the cracker jack box. Finally, the bridges drop, and the First Kiss is called. Then, the new parents are called. You can see men reaching for babies who may be screaming and crying out in objection of being picked up by a man they do not know, or they may simply be staring in awe of the person before them. The moms are always in tears. He’s home. Then the calls are made for upper ranks. If your sailor is new, you’ll be waiting another torturous half hour to an hour. Even though there are two bridges, there are five to eight thousand souls aboard, and they all must come off in an orderly fashion. And then his rank is called, and you start searching the sea of people. Some know their sailor from a distance. It always took him being right in front of me for me to know him. I think he always changed on cruise.

Once reunited, the challenge is to connect with the person you love so much. This is another opportunity to grow together, or to fall apart. I remember that no one taught us how to reunite together in a way that was helpful to us. I always felt awkward and a bit aloof at homecoming, as if I were running off with a man that I didn’t know, but the reunion always ended well. We always figured it out.

It’s funny how days like today bring so many memories of things I hadn’t thought about in so long. I think I’ll think about those things tomorrow too… Funny the things we remember.