That could be the title to my book, or maybe, “Cloudy, with a Chance of Wine.” I remember thinking the gift of time would give me comfort or maybe just tedious familiarity in this life, but time is a fickle, fickle friend. Time has given me over 17 years with my husband, two incredible teenagers, careers, and education. This “time” has taught me empathy, kindness, love, patience and so many things I have yet to discover about myself. But, this thing called time has also stolen memories, aged loved ones and tested my soul. I’ve reinvented myself, more than once. I’ve searched for things I cannot describe with words and I’ve won…and lost. Many times. So, here I am looking at a pile of papers covered in little sticky notes and random scribbles reminding me of who I spoke to at what base and how they can’t answer the question the last person I spoke to said they could. PCS’ing is exciting, intimidating, invigorating, energizing, exhausting, terrifying, and time will speed up when all you want it to do is
slow down stop. The idea of leaving yet another home, job and circle of friends can make your heart hurt. So, since I have not been able to master the art of time travel, I will promise a few things to myself:
I will find good in every day I have left, because even if I return, I will be different and so will the places I have left behind. I will slow time by being present in moments with friends, even when it is easier to say goodbye if we allow the distance to grow between our hearts. I will still plant a garden. It will be full of annuals for myself and perennials for those that follow into what will soon be another former home. I will allow myself to be frustrated (while cursing the world, Navy, my husband, and the movers who lost, broke, or mysteriously added to our HHG’s), but I will lean on my fellow spouses and accept the help when it is offered to me, because it will be offered whether my pride is ready for it or not. I will stop myself from explaining what it’s like to PCS when a civilian acquaintance cheerfully goes on about how lucky I am the military, “does it all for me.” I will take time for myself through the entire process, even if it means just going to the bathroom alone and eating the chocolate hidden in a tampax box. I will tell my husband I love him. Every. Single. Day. Even when he misses every minute of the pack-out and calls from a pub across the country to “check-in” before having a drink with the guys. I will find the good. I will wear the comfy workout pants my husband hates on the umpteen hour flight to our new home, because I can and because if I will follow him around the world, he can get over my unattractive , super comfortable, unflattering pants. I will do my best not to get lost in my own introverted safe place and put myself out there in the crazy, “make new friends at this age?!,” world. I will do this in less than 6 months, knowing in just 2.5 years it will start all over again. So, where do we go from here? Where all milspouses go….
Onto the next adventure.