Story of Us (5 page)

When my husband went to sea, there was an almost complete lack of communication. In the early days of our marriage, email, satellite phones and conference calls were unheard of except for communication at the very highest level of command. My only hope of talking to Steve was via ham radio, when we happened upon a friendly, anonymous operator somewhere who was willing to hook us up. There were calls on the few occasions he made port.

That our marriage survived the stress, excitement and uncertainty of long separations is sometimes a wonder to me. One of the key elements of our survival was something I was never aware of as a civilian—the support system of spouses and families, which is the Navy’s gift to us. During deployment, my life was transformed, not just by my husband’s absence and my new-found independence, but by a special society very few are aware of—the world of the Navy wife.

When I married Steve, I was automatically inducted into a sisterhood far more intense and real than my college sorority. This was a revelation to me. We were women from all walks of life, balanced upon a single common denominator—the United States Navy.

I was gratified by the swiftness with which my sisters embraced me. There were welcome coffees and farewell teas, sightseeing and shopping expeditions, baby showers and family socials. We learned to make friends quickly, knowing our time together was limited. These women were my guides through the intricacies of Navy life. I felt as though I had moved not just to another country but to a new plane of existence.

I quickly made friends with Alicia Romano of San Diego, who was six months pregnant and who was a master of fantastically detailed counted cross-stitch. Her father had been in the Navy, and she taught me the art of shopping on base at the Navy Exchange and the commissary, dealing with gas coupons, red tape and banking. The wife of Steve’s commanding officer was a dynamo named Rachel Weeks, who had four children, and, though barely forty, had appointed herself mother hen of the squadron wives. At Captain Weeks’s Change of Command ceremony, I watched her fasten the Command Pin on her husband, and I finally understood the role the wives—and very occasionally, the husbands—played.

It’s her job—her duty—to be willing to send him off in the service of his country, even if that meant sending him into harm’s way.

We junior officer’s wives were a needy lot, many of us away from home for the first time. I don’t think I could have survived that first deployment without the company of these women, each of whom knew exactly what I was going through.

As is true for any group of women, we were a diverse bunch. Along with the Alicias and Rachels, there were gossips and back stabbers, women who drank too much and women whose husbands fooled around. Affairs were strictly forbidden—and predictably rampant. Saddest of all were the wives for whom their husbands’ absences were too lonely to bear.

As for me, I was determined to do more than wait. I wanted to live a rich, full life.

That’s what I learned from my fellow Navy wives. The ones who suffered and sometimes failed during deployment were those who allowed themselves to be defined entirely by their husbands. They could not imagine any sort of life beyond their role as a wife.

That, I quickly discovered, is the kiss of death when it comes to marriage. Any marriage, even a civilian one.

The women who thrived even while their husbands were gone were those who did what my instincts have always urged me to do. They cultivate lives that fulfill them even when their husbands are far away, assuming their husbands tolerate this. I’m sorry to say that some men don’t. They expect their wives to do nothing but wait and hope and worry about them.

I’m proud to say that Steve always encouraged me to be an independent wife. If he felt threatened by a woman with a mind of her own, he never let it show. Over the years, when he was away for months at a time, I learned foreign languages, taught myself to cook, learned to serve coffee to a crowd of fifty women. Despite the dire predictions of my parents, I finished my degree. I stayed active in the Officers’ Spouse’s Clubs worldwide, a path which has had a significant impact on me. In short, I made a life for myself, one that works whether or not my husband is by my side.

Sometimes, I admit, there were things I found very appealing about deployment. I was in charge. It was up to me to determine how that day would go, and that sense of control has always felt natural and right. Each time Steve returned, I welcomed him with open arms. But sometimes I struggled to surrender control to him, biting my tongue when he organized the bathroom his way, rehung pictures on the wall, made dates and appointments without checking with me. As a wife, I felt the tension of mixed messages. When my husband was gone, I was strong, independent, sure of my ability to deal with things. Upon his return, my role shifted to that of partner and helpmeet.

Small things, really, a pebble in the shoe. For the most part, life was a joy. It was the adventure Gran wanted for me.

I wrote letters to her and to Steve. Sometimes I would lie awake at night and, against my will, I’d find myself imagining the very events a military man is trained for—enemy strikes, explosions, plane crashes, bombings, terror attacks. At those times, I’d pull my pillow over my head, shut my eyes tight and pray.

I’ve never met a Navy wife who didn’t know how to pray.

Both Steve and I greeted my first pregnancy with a sense of tenderness and awe. This was exactly what we wanted, to bring a child into the circle of love we’d created. Then when we discovered I was carrying twins, I longed for him to beg for a deferment from the next deployment. Having a baby alone was a frightening enough concept. Having twins was, well, doubly terrifying.

However, by then I’d learned the ways of a Navy wife. “We’ll be fine,” I told Steve with a brave smile. And we were, of course.

Brian and Emma were born while Steve’s CO’s wife gripped my hand in the delivery room and encouraged me. Three years after that, back in Pensacola once again, our little Katie joined the family while Steve was in special training to face the terrors of Desert Storm. Did he lose something by not cradling those brand-new slippery bodies in his strong hands and watching our children take their first breaths? Does it matter that he never saw our newborns take on the flush of life and open their eyes for the first time?

Oh, I hope not. Missed milestones and moments have always been our reality. The year the twins were born, we went into debt to get the best videotape recorder money could buy, and we’ve done that several times over the years. I’ve never regretted that investment.

Another acquisition during our second stay in Pensacola was that same old chicken pitcher. I had bought and sold the silly thing when we were first married and, walking along, pushing three children in their doublewide stroller one day, I found it again. I knew it was the same because of its imperfections, and I bought it again, vowing I’d keep it with us from now on, no matter where we went.

It was like a talisman or affirmation of some sort. When you rediscover something you’ve lost, it’s a good idea to take care of it.

Of all the places we’ve lived over the years, my favorite is the place we moved the summer before the twins’ senior year in high school. We actually talked about letting them stay in Texas for senior year, but they’re Navy kids. They were ready for the next adventure, too. So we moved as a family to Whidbey Island, Washington, a long narrow island in the glittering blue waters of Puget Sound.

As we stood on the deck of the ferryboat from Seattle, I looked at Steve and said, “I’m in love.”

He kissed me, and even after all the years we’d been married, I still had the same reaction.

“Oh, ick,” said Katie, now fourteen and righteously mortified by her parents.

We shared a grin. Steve made an expansive gesture. “What’s not to love, Grace? Look at this place.”

Brilliant white-capped mountains rose straight out of the sea, the sky a dazzling deep blue, majestic evergreens lining the shore.

I’m going to like it here, I thought. No, I’m going to love it here.

That sentiment proved to be small comfort when I made a suggestion Steve never expected. I wanted to buy a house. I wanted to live here on this magical island, not just for this tour but forever. A legacy from my grandmother, combined with income from a small business I intended to start, would make it possible.

He opposed the idea, and when he was deployed, for the first time in our marriage, we parted on bad terms.

We swore we would never do that, but it was, as the Navy would term it, a mishap—an unanticipated disaster. I think every woman imagines a variety of disasters in her marriage. Navy wives in particular. We are, after all, people who have a great deal of time to imagine the worst-case scenario.

Left on my own, I’m facing changes that, for the first time ever, are starting to scare me. My two older children are leaving the nest. In a few years, Katie will be gone, too. I have to figure out what my life will be when I’m not the mom, the CEO of a busy household. What am I then?

I think about that adventurous girl I was when I first married. I am not her anymore, but I still want adventure. Not by following my husband around the globe. I’m grateful for that part of my life, but now it’s my turn.

There’s a dream that I’ve had for a long time, one I never let myself take seriously or pursue because it would mean settling down and staying put. Trying to go for that dream while Steve went for his was a recipe for frustration, since there was only room in our lives for one big career. Still, it must be a powerful dream, because in twenty years, it’s never died.

Something has happened, a slow and inevitable need has built inside me. I suppose I could keep ignoring it, but why? It’s my turn to take my own shot.

I just turned forty. The flower delivery that should have been from Steve turned out to be from someone quite different, someone I’ve never met but who has become important to me. He’s a client, the first and most important client of my newly incorporated firm, Grace Under Pressure.

I’ve never been the sort of wife who puts life on hold while her husband is away. It’s certainly true of this deployment. I’ve made some changes: buying a house Steve has never set foot in, joining a gym, changing my image and starting a small business. I’ve found a new sense of purpose and, in a lot of ways, reinvented myself.

Here’s a paradox. The very thing that helped us survive and thrive during this adventure as a Navy family is in fact the thing that might just be our undoing. However much I anguished and missed my husband, I was also cultivating my independence in his absence.

Such a trade-off. The sworn duties that prevented Steve from being present at all the children’s milestones, big and small, also enabled us to live a life of rare privilege and adventure. It’s been an honor, not a burden, and together we’ve weathered storms and crises that would tear many families apart.

After nearly twenty years as a Navy wife, I ought to be prepared for any sort of disaster to come our way. We’ve weathered the storms of separation, upheaval, both Gulf wars and changes that occur at the drop of a hat. Somehow it never occurred to me to prepare for a disaster in our marriage.

I’ve gotten good at lying awake. I take inventory of the things I know, the things I can trust. And of the things I can’t trust.

Steve Bennett brought so much into my life. Passion and adventure, the dizzy joy of homecomings and the wrenching pain of farewells, contentment and pride in our children, opportunities most people only ever dream about, perils that civilians never consider. But there are other things he brought, secrets and evasions, a past I knew nothing about.

I always told myself that our differences were what made our bond of love so strong, but of course, as I’ve come to find out, I’ve been wrong before. When I look back at all we’ve done, all the places we’ve been the past two decades, I feel a profound fulfillment. Yet when I look ahead, the picture isn’t clear to me. It’s like I’ve come to a crossroads with no sign to point the way.

It’s hard to believe the twins are about to graduate high school now. They’ve become the young adults Steve and I raised them to be. They’re ready to go off to college next fall.

Brian, as the eldest and only boy, is very well aware that from the moment he was born, his father wanted him to go to United States Naval Academy at Annapolis. Years after my own parents had both passed away, I can still remember what it felt like to bear the weight of family expectations in that way.

When Steve gets home from this deployment, Brian has news for him, but I’ll let him tell it. He’s certainly earned the chance to speak his piece. I hope Emma has some news for her dad, too, but at the moment, she really just seems to be drifting. My beautiful Emma has changed these past months, and I’m not quite sure I understand what’s going on with her. Does any adult understand what’s going on with an eighteen-year-old? She seems very adult lately, yet pensive and quiet. Perhaps she’s struggling with her decision about what to do after high school. Perhaps she needs her father most of all.

And Katie. What can I say about our little Katy-did, our youngest? She’s a daddy’s girl through and through, which is sort of tough when her father is away so much. She is immensely happy here, on this blue-and-green island where we’ve found our first real home. She’s one of only three ninth-graders who made marching band, has a group of friends she adores, and I think she might even have a boyfriend, though she hasn’t said anything yet. The prospect of being torn away from here when the next orders come is unthinkable to her.

I find myself thinking more and more about the dreams I put aside all those years ago to follow Steve on this journey. Right or wrong, I didn’t let myself embrace those dreams or even confess them to Steve because his seemed so much bigger and more important. Now I understand that the human heart can’t survive without dreams.

Sometimes life hands us moments. We can let the moment pass, or explore and embrace the chance we’re given. Right now, life has handed me a new moment.

I don’t know what will happen when Steve comes home this time. I keep trying to envision what will happen, but I don’t have a crystal ball. How do you tell the story of a marriage?

When my grandmother was still alive, she sent me an article she’d saved from a 1975 issue of
Redbook
magazine, underlining her favorite passage. On it, Gran had written, “I was married for sixty years. I’m not ashamed to say that sometimes, this was the reason.
”

The article was by a wise writer named Judith Viorst. The words Grandma had underlined are these: “One advantage of marriage, it seems to me, is that when you fall out of love with him, or he falls out of love with you, it keeps you together until you maybe fall in again.”

I think about that a lot these days.