GAINS AND LOSSES

Gains and losses, in military terms, refers to the constant flow of people coming in and out of a squadron. As members arrive with their families, we gain. We gain a unit member, who, along with their family (if they have one), become our extended squadron family —at least for a while.

We gain responsibility for each other. On an overseas base, in a time when our military members are stretched thinner than ever, family support is crucial. The need to reach out to each other is at an all-time high. We try diligently to keep on top of our gains and losses.

Sometimes, if we’re lucky, we gain a friend.

The Army is known for a very high rate of deployment. This fact is oft-reported news. With our “quiet professionals,” all those who comprise special operations, it’s a fact understood mostly just by us. Our Air Force members here are in constant motion. And when they hit the ground running, sometimes (often) their family must fend for themselves.

This can be lonely, and this is when the role of the rest of the squadron, comprised of spouses, comes into play. We are supposed to look out for each other.

And we try.

The Air Force in recent years formalized its Key Spouse program under the guise of Suzie Schwartz. She is spouse to General Norton Schwartz, USAF chief of staff. She was here last week. I was in the audience of spouses with whom she met on RAF Mildenhall.

So much of what she said was so near my emotional core and sensibilities. I think many of us — those who serve silently and without compensation next to our active-duty partners — are cut from similar cloth; the sturdy, flexible kind.

But not always.

Again — we gained formality to a program that has existed in some form for some time. But, in the end, we are all too human. We are not perfect, or omniscient. Sometimes we do not know, even though we, as Key Spouses, are trained to be watchful and look for signs of an impending loss.

Last week we lost. We lost a spouse. We did not know.

My daughter came home from school to let me know her classmate’s mommy died the night before. Her friend found her Mommy. Her daddy was “at work.” This news was delivered by the school counselor at the end of the day. She said it wasn’t hard to figure out, because there were only two people absent that day. The counselor used the term “suicide.”

My daughter is nine.

It turns out our Daddy was at work with her Daddy. They worked together. Different squadrons; same group of quiet professionals. Minutes after my daughter told me,  the phone rang. It was our Daddy letting us know the “unofficial” news.

We lost.

Usually, losses are defined as those members, along with their families, who leave the squadron; on to the next adventure the USAF plans for them, or maybe to retire to a place of their own design.

But not this time.

This time the loss seemed unnecessary and especially painful, because she didn’t show any signs of suffering. And we were supposed to be looking out for each other; the spouses.

We did not know we might lose someone.

This loss left someone behind. A girl who lost her mommy; her husband; her friends who didn’t know.

Somehow this is almost more difficult (I say almost) than bearing the loss of our military members. We’ve suffered this kind of loss, too, here. Overseas, when we, the squadron, collectively were the only family here to support those left behind in the early morning hours. This is part of who I am now. 

So we gain new resolve, and vigilance. Today I received an e-mail from the squadron, updating me on our gains and losses this month.

I stare and wonder how I can outweigh the losses with the gains.