Keep the House

 

                                                                                                

                       Keep the House              

My husband and I met in the Army. We fell in love and got married at the nearest Justice of the Peace before our separate, conflicting orders put us on opposite ends of

the globe. Soon after, I became pregnant and left active duty, the toughest job I had known. We moved to Germany and had two children. Gradually, my status as a stay-

at-home mom made me the most important person in the world to those little people. Instead of missing the active Army, I shuddered at the thought of going

back.            

When Sept. 11, 2001 came, I was pregnant with our third child. A few months later, we were in the middle of another move. The kids and I stayed with my parents during

the holidays, and my husband went on to Ft. Drum, and found us a place to live. I was thrilled. It was going to be the longest we had been in one place, maybe a whole

three years. I eagerly started planning. A week later, he called me. “You’d better sit down,” he said. “I’m being deployed. I don’t know where, and I don’t know for how

long. But I leave in two days. Do you want to keep the house?”            

We had been through deployment before, and yet I cried and cried, unable to hold it in. We had been about to get our lives together, and we had just found a house. I

considered my options. The kids weren’t in school yet; I could stay with my parents and have the baby in Colorado. At least I would have help, I told myself. Being forced

to rely on strangers would be my worse nightmare. But, still, I wanted to have a place that was ours, and a place he could come home to. I thought about it all night, and

called him back the next day. “Keep the house,” I said.             

By mid-December, I was seven months pregnant, and it had been ages since I heard from him. Each day I waddled out to the mailbox at my parent’s house, hoping for

a letter, something. One day, I pulled out a manila envelope from the Department of the Army with orders calling me back to active duty. My pregnancy at the time

exempted me, but it made me think about what my life would be like if I had to endure 6 months to a year with out my children. Yet my husband does it all the time. I

decided that life waits for no one, and gathered my resolve to make the most of moving.             

Shortly after Christmas, I packed up our van and embarked on a three-day journey to New York with two toddlers and a small dog that whines on road trips. Family and

friends put us up along the way, and we reached Fort Drum on New Year’s Eve, just after a huge snowstorm. I dug out our new address and pulled up next to where the

sidewalk should have been. I was looking at 3 feet of snow. Not only was getting in the driveway impossible, but I didn’t own any boots. I searched the stark landscape

and saw a man down the street with a snow blower. Casually, I waddled down the street toward him and introduced myself. I asked to borrow his machine to get into

my driveway. Instead, he came and did it for me.             

I was exhausted but I showed the kids around our dark, cold and empty house. Our furniture was on its way, but I was too pregnant to even dream of moving furniture

and lifting boxes. Disheartened and lonely, I sat down and cried. I was used to being self-reliant, but I realized this was going to be a tough winter.             

During the next few weeks, however, I met some incredible people. I had neighbors who brought cookies and shoveled snow. Strangers called me up out of the blue to

ask if I needed help moving things. Guys from my husband’s unit- who hadn’t even met him yet- showed up well after duty hours to move furniture around and help me

get set up. Other wives offered to take the kids for a while.             

In February, my mom flew out to take my husbands place at my side, and I had our baby surrounded by the support and love of the strangers I now call friends. Ladies

brought food and gifts to my door for days afterward, and I was overwhelmed by their generosity. I cried a big thank you to God for surrounding me with so many

wonderful friends and family. I cried in relief that I had succeeded, and for the strength of other military wives who give so much to help those who need it so

desperately.             

No one can do it alone, and when you are in a community of friends, you don’t have to.