Sixteen years ago today, I couldn't walk fast enough down the aisle to say YES to the most handsome newly commissioned 2nd lieutenant fresh off a college graduation that took him from the Green of his days as an Army infantryman to the Gold of his new life in the U.S. Army Medical Corps.
At age 21, I knew exactly nothing about military life.
But my Prince Charming was quick to fill me in.
"Military life is like one big, free vacation with an opportunity to see the world!" he promised this twitterpated girl who also heard the words "side of adult prom" and signed her name in blood.
Tiny, itty bitty omission: Without him.
Because as we loaded up our possessions and moved (three times via full DITY, God bless our marriage and the entire 10 pizzas we ate late into the night as we packed up Granny's China for yet *another* destination where it would be thought about and then used exactly NEVER) to places like Alaska and Washington and Texas and Kentucky, one thing always seemed to be missing.
That steadfast soldier I married.
Through 11 deployments and eight mailing addresses, we often celebrated our love and our life from separate addresses and separate continents.
Super-Spouse discovered the sex of Superhero 1 on a phone call from Iraq the week following my ultrasound appointment, and he discovered the sex of baby No. 2 while he was stuck on a broken-down plane in Germany and Superhero 2, our little surprise, made his appearance with a penis a week and a half early on his big brother's 3rd birthday.
The first anniversary we celebrated in person was No. 5.
By the time we made it to anniversary No. 10, we had calculated that we had spent a little more than half of our relationship in the same zip code.
(Listen, anything above 50 percent is WINNING in this military life.)
And now today, at year 16, we find ourselves winding down this big "free vacation."
Super-Spouse turned in his military gear to his unit's Central Issue Facility this week, and he's been completing online retirement paperwork and training from home all month.
He'd been attending out-processing medical appointments and getting surgeries that unexpected business trips put off for three years and beginning this transition to a civilian professional life, all as we've gotten this sweet Corona-cation honeymoon with two months together at home for the first time in our entire married lives.
As memes and friends have documented the struggle of living with their spouses in the same house every second of every day, after a lifetime away from this man I love so much, I've felt more like a girl who's won the lottery.
Until surgery two weeks ago, life with this man and these boys at home was this precious, once-in-a-lifetime, QUALITY TIME adventure. (Keeping it real, post-surgical life and all the pain entailed in a foot surgery that involves plates and screws kind of kills the honeymoon vibe. But it turns out, stacks of ice packs, couch-side tea and a subscription to Netflix, service we've never had in all of married life, are *almost* as good as romantic rocking chair dates at 5 p.m. every Corona-cation day.)
Yesterday, as Super-Spouse returned home after selling the last of his personal military gear, I found myself an emotional mess.
The garage this purger has only DREAMED about clearing for the last 16 years was finally empty of endless boxes of combat boots and ACUs, and the stacks of cold weather gear we will never use in our state was finally OUT.
As I bawled into the arms of a soldier completely baffled by a woman lamenting the loss of holsters and uniforms in this closing-out military life, Super-Spouse, in all his grace and compassion (but NOT so much in his comprehension), just held me ... that thing I've been longing for a husband to be physically capable of doing an entire marriage long.
And it hit me.
That girl who walked down the aisle 16 years ago (after the whole "free opportunity to see the world" scam blew open), thought 20 years of military life might be something that, for the sake of this man she adored, she had to survive.
But it turns out, this military life, in all of its challenges and separations and long-distance dealings, has been the very thing God has used to teach two dense 20-something naive lovebirds how to THRIVE.
This military life has been as much a part of our marriage as the two people committed in the midst of it. And the memories we've made and the challenges we've overcome and the opportunities we've had to work through tough things and learn new ways of growing together from afar has been the very reason that we have pinched ourselves to share the last two months together under one roof in one house.
Super-Spouse, I don't know what this civilian world looks like when we are out in six months, and I don't know how marriage functions outside of deployments and on-call electronic leashes and 4 a.m. alarm clocks and even annual adult prom.
But I know that, as much as I am grieving today over the end of this precious season, I can't wait to walk into the next one hand in hand with you.
Love you to the moon and back.
Happy anniversary.
