STRONG ENOUGH

I remember one song I requested at our wedding. Sheryl Crow’s “Strong Enough.” I felt it defined me then (and maybe now) — it was an ode to my craziness and a nod to my husband’s courage to put up with it (me), and I wanted it to play as a tribute to him. Although he never found the tune particularly appealing, either for the lyrics or the music — in fact, I’m pretty sure he was mildly offended by both. I tried to explain what they meant to me, and why it was my way of sort of apologizing in advance in perpetuity (I even stood up at a karaoke bar once and SANG this song!), but I’m not sure he bought it.

When the time came at our reception, and the song played, my newly minted husband was nowhere to be found (was this coincidence?). A well-meaning friend saw the look of desperation in my eyes and took the dance floor in his stead. I don’t know if my friend knew the significance to me at the time, or if I ever thanked him. But it’s ironic how that song has flipped back on itself. I still play it on the guitar. It still means something to me, although the meaning has transcended a bit. Being strong enough for my husband and for our children has been quite a journey for me. Facing our ever-changing circumstances, along with Rick’s ever-evolving schedule of home again not again, has found me at times down in the deepest depths of myself.

Along the way, though, I’ve met some of the most solid, funny, wickedly smart, interesting women, who, too, have chosen to share this crazy journey with their husbands who’ve chosen the United States Air Force, and in in many of our cases, special operations, as the place they want to be. They are my Air Force family — my sisters. They hold me together when pieces are broken, because it is a unique existence and difficult to comprehend unless you've walked a similar path. There must be an unspoken litmus test for potential spouses. Seriously, how much sh*& can we throw your way before you cry, “Uncle!” You know the active-duty factor in this marital equation has been tested to the extreme … surviving on bugs somewhere in the wild for days while on the run from real or perceived bad guys. We, on the other, hand, do not get the benefits of training. We are thrown into it in full up — sink or swim fashion, bugs optional.

In addition to the daily rigors, the longer you stay in service, and the more successful your counterpart, the more involved you may become in the day-to-day life of the entire squadron. It is the job for which you never applied and rarely get thanked —the job of spouse. For some of us, stakes are even higher in the role of director of operations or commander’s spouse, in which case you take on the status of caring for the welfare of the entire squadron. There is no training here, or little. An orientation is required. I’ve heard this referred to as a one to two-week charm school, where you are given briefs on what your new life entails as commander’s spouse. Paycheck? Nope? No application required. You are there, sister, by virtue of your husband’s new role. This is your service. And many (most?) see it as such. We watch our husbands stick their necks out time and again to rescue, save, ensure and protect — many of us our willing and able to do the same — if only on a more domestic level.

In my professional days, I learned much from the doings of others as I climbed the ladder — daily lessons made by living examples of what to do and what NOT to do. In comparison (or contrast?) I’ve been in awe of the women who’ve led the charge in their assumed duties as spouse. In the strenuous and most tragic of times, these people have held together not only themselves, but the entire gaggle of families around them, for better or worse. It was at a spouses’ coffee (very important social/informational gatherings led mostly monthly where one comes to see and be seen; literally in some cases. It serves as a Checkpoint Charlie when the “actives” have been gone for weeks. This is a time to touch base and see how everyone is coping …) where I stood in the crowd while children scrambled and babies slept in the chaos, listening to the commander’s spouse explain that we needed to be patient (probably at the time in knowing where our husbands had gone and when they were due to return)… and by the way, she didn’t ask for this role, it came with the house. That was a wake-up call to me. Because we all looked to her for so much: leadership; organization; encouragement; strength.

I already had great respect for the responsibilities this woman carried prior to my epiphany at the coffee. As a stranger in a strange land, I had my third child shortly after the plane touched down. Okay — it was about three weeks, later, but I was feeling pretty alone in a big world at the time. I was in the bathroom of my little hospital room, when I heard voices and realized I had company. I wondered who it could possibly be, as I barely had time to meet anyone between landing, finding a house, a car; let alone a car seat. It was the commander and director of operations’ spouses. They’d come to welcome the baby, gifts in hand. I was overwhelmed. They didn’t know me, let alone my baby, or my family. But this is what they do. They reach out and embrace the task before them. I still have the hand-made quilt from this visit. It’s become an heirloom piece I hope gets passed down to my grandchildren.

This was just the first example of the strength, courage and charity shown by people who are not only amazing in their own right, but carry the weight of their assumed spousal role with grace. There are many stories here. I learned so much from these women over the years for whom I hold the greatest respect. I did what I could to help out, quietly watching those who led us, wondering if I would ever be in their shoes, and if so — will I be strong enough?