Our neighbors have just a few weeks, and they are leaving the Navy.

They are finished with their time.  They are at the end of their contract.  The jig is up, as they say.

It’s kind of shocking to hear them talk about it.  To know they’re moving back to Pennsylvania and the home they’ve been renting out for years.  To hear them discussing schools for their kids and whether they need to sell one of their cars before or after they move back.

They’re both job hunting.  Selling their house here.  Garage-selling everything they don’t plan to take with them.  Talking to their children about moving just one more time.

I’m really happy for them.  They are excited for the next chapter.

But it has both my husband and I thinking about what we would do when our time with the Navy is over.

It’s hard to picture, honestly.

Being a military family isn’t just an outfit we put on every day.  It’s like an extra limb.

Every time someone asks me a question or sends me an invitation, I calculate in my head where my husband will be or won’t be.

We don’t follow a normal calendar.  We follow the deployment calendar the Navy changes constantly. 

 We are reliant on a grocery store that’s closed on Mondays.  You can never leave the house without seeing someone you know.

And we all speak a different, coded language, sometimes communicating with just a nod or a wink or a shrug that can mean the world.

But what about when we don’t?

What about when “How are you doing?” is just that, instead of code for “Your husband is deployed. Can I offer you some help?”

It will be a happy time, to move on and out of the military.  But I think it may be a little bewildering, too.

It’s losing part of our identity.  It’s who we’ve been for 10, 13, or 27 years.  It’s how we’ve put food on the table; it’s affected how we celebrate holidays.

It’s where we made friends and homes and memories.

It is, in essence, just a job.  But I think for most military families, it’s more than that.

It encompasses more of our lives.  It affects day-to-day happenings.  We wouldn’t live in Georgia or Connecticut or Hawaii if it weren’t for the Navy.

It’s not everything we are.  But it’s a huge thing.

And it’s going to be the missing limb for a while when we finally separate.

Sure, it’s exciting.  But it’s also a little scary, too.