End of the Road

"Life's under no obligation to give us what we expect."  — Margaret Mitchell

There were no phone calls. There were no officers stopping by with long-winded explanations. There was no elaborate discharge ceremony with salutes and guns. Somehow, I thought there would be something. But there was nothing but a letter. Just a letter, arriving on a Saturday- a single sheet of paper typed with faded-looking ink that read, "You are discharged from the Army National Guard." A failed PT test, and here we are. At the end.

Just like that. 

Instantly, I felt like everything was gone. I can't begin to even describe how far reaching the military is in even a Guard family (let alone, active duty, I'm sure.) It was like a huge part of my identity vanished in an instant- it honestly feels like a death. One of the pieces is obviously my military blogging identity. Suddenly, I wonder if I am kicked out of the club- basically, the only club I've really felt I belonged to, and the biggest source of friendship for me. (By the way- thank you, Kris, for emailing me sweet encouragement as you deal with your husband's deployment. Gosh, you humbled me tonight!) But I'm not struggling with my husband's retirement or his end of contract- this is something unexpected, unwanted, and unbelievable. 

I feel like Sky has lost some of his identity too. I have never known him as not being a soldier. I have never known how to feel completely at rest, because I knew they could call him for anything at any minute. Deployments and separations were an accepted part of our future. It was something that could give me pride, knowing that my husband had been to war. "He is a soldier" is now "he was." Was. Is a veteran. Was a soldier.

Just like that. 

I mourn the things I'm losing. When we weren't making ends meet before, I sit in disbelief wondering how on earth we'll make it without his drill pay every month. Watching TV and 'fancy' phones are long gone- now I'm back to an old one- ironically, the one that used to beep when a boy in Afghanistan was talking to me. I used to think I was 'poor' before, but I have a feeling it was just the tip of the iceberg then. People who have more probably can't understand, but being poor is really isolating, and it's hard for even an introvert like me to accept it. I've missed one of my closest friend's wedding and another close friend's birthday this summer, because I couldn't afford to go. (Kim and Dena- I'm so sorry.) When I can't afford to use extra gas money to take Millie to the park, other activity seems really out of the question. So we stay home. She doesn't seem to know what she's missing yet- but I know.

What I'm really missing is the future we had planned. It's unreal how much centered on the military. If we could work out all our marriage issues, we planned to possibly try for a baby after he came home from the next deployment. We talked about using the money he'd earn overseas to try and get a better car to fit our family, and to open a bank account for Millie's future. We even discussed the possibility of taking a trip to England- my lifelong dream. We talked about using the VA home loans to get a place of our own. Because he'd have to extend his contract to deploy (because his time would have been up around the same month he would leave), it meant enough time in service that he could transfer his GI bill to me- I could have finally been able to go to school. All of that is gone.

Just like that. 

No shopping at the PX after flashing our military IDs at the base gate. No dressing up for batllion balls. No switching over from ACUs to multicam. No asking the store for a military discount. No washing uniforms after a long weekend at drill. No hunts for military scholarships. No excitement at the possibility of a bonus for Sky finding a new recruit. Instead, we spend hours scouring the internet- he searches for a better paying job, and I search for a part time job that somehow could fit in between his work hours and caring for Millie. In the meantime, I put away photos, pens with the National Guard logo, everything and anything that reminds me of the Army. I spent an hour just clicking 'hide' on all the Facebook pages I've liked as a military spouse. The reminders are a bit heartbreaking already.

And what are we supposed to do with all of it? His piles of uniforms. All the patches and pins and medals. His beret, his PC. The photo of us from the ball, with my grey dress and his class A jacket that he wore when he married me. A military prayer book that was made to fit in his ACUs pocket. The wine glass from the ball with his unit's crest. His dog tags. His pairs of boots that walked on foreign roads, narrowly escaping roadside bombs at times. I don't even know if I want the reminders now. Because it's gone.

Just like that.