Military Wives Matter: Support for Today's Military Spouse

    Do you know what it is  to live with an invisible clock, one that times your every movement, counting the days, the hours, the seconds as they slip away?  And, I don't mean a sporty, expensive wrist-watch, or  a small, noisy, alarm clock, or even a charming, antiquated, pocket watch.  Think back to last December 31st; now imagine the count-down clock that presides over Times Square, the one that cheerfully tracks the last ten seconds before the New Year.  Now imagine an even bigger one, visible to no one else but you; imagine an evil-looking clock,  with huge hands, and a dark face with even darker numbers that blink ominously, serving as a silent reminder of just how precious  time is.  If you can imagine that, then you can imagine what it would feel like to go about your day to day routines, ignoring such a monstrosity, only acknowledging its presence when forced to confront it. 
   Since my beloved husband returned from his first tour in Iraq, I've been living with that clock.  The minute he came home and stepped foot on American soil, the count-down began.  We're a military family, and every fifteen-eighteen months, right on schedule, he deploys.  There are certain events, such as moving, or going to school, or just plain luck, that would prevent him from having to go again.  Time would tell what was planned for our family. That clock runs on military time; it's synchronized to the second and is never wrong. 
   Living with that clock is like living with a shadow; just because one can't always see it, one knows it's there.  In the beginning, when my husband was newly returned, I hardly had to think about it.  As a family, we were so caught up in catching up, reconnecting, reestablishing ourselves as a cohesive couple and parental partners.  We had to regain our balance, restructure our routines, while retaining our sense of self.   The first months were challenging. We were shy and awkward, neither of us knowing what was appropriate to say or to ask, each of us  fearing of being insensitive or being too demanding.  We didn't know what to expect; we had no parameters for this experience- his first deployment. When talking, we stuck to safe, shallow topics, but eventually, we just crushed the eggshells on which we were walking. By the time he had been home for a year, we were back to being our normal, real, selves.
     Every few months, that ugly clock would make itself known.  So-and-so was deploying; this one for six months, a neighbor's husband for a year, a friend's nephew for eighteen months.  When it was visible, I would glare and stare it down, defying its disruptions to my day.  A few more months passed; hey! So-and-So was scheduled to go but got pulled at the last minute.  And, this one was going to go, too, but he's moving in six months, so can't make the rotation. As a wife, you pray and hope that your husband will somehow be as lucky, too.  The clock showed that time, and our luck, had run out.  We recently learned that he will be deploying again. 
     And, I hate that stupid, cold, callous clock.  Everyday that passes, every weekend that slips away, is another day closer to his leaving home, leaving his family, leaving me.  Somedays, I just can't bear it. Most days, I go about my life and focus on my tasks. But there are times, when I stop what I am doing, and I want to freeze-frame the moment, keeping my husband and daughter safe in a still-life or a tableau. Mostly, I wish I could grab hold of that clock and break it into a million pieces. I've irrationally rationalized that if I could break it, then I could freeze time. But, I cant; I just can't.
     But, what I can do, is not let that blinking, joy-sucking, second-stealing, time-keeper beat me. I'm going to make the most of the time I have left with my beloved and enjoy every minute of his presence. I'm going to soak up our laughter, swallow the tears, and live in the moment. I'm going to make as many happy memories as I can in the time I've got left; those memories will carry us through the darker moments that lie ahead. I'm going to try, very hard,  to not let the future or the unknown or the weight of a war zone weigh me down. I'm going to enjoy all of the little things we love to do as a family, from the silly to the serious. I'm going to make the most of the time I have left- because that's all I can do.