Retirement, before age 40. Sweet, right? Military members who join at 18, or like my husband who joined at age 17, can enjoy the carefree life of retirement long before their civilian counterparts.
And for me as a spouse, it's pretty great. No more uniforms, no more deployment books. No more officers' wives dirty looks. The retirement package that the military offers its career service members cannot be beat in the civilian world, even with the recent changes made by Congress.
After 15 years of military marriage and all the red tape, rules and insanity caused by this military life, I was ready to go. I didn't realize, however, how unprepared I was to exit the rigor of Army life.
My husband left our last duty station in Hawaii three months before I did to take care of things on the mainland and prepare for our family's arrival. When he pulled up to the airport terminal to rescue us after 24 hours of traveling, his hair was touching his collar. No, it was below his collar. Unkempt. Uneven. His bangs covered his forehead.
His face was scruffy. He had the beginnings of a beard. His shirt was not tucked in.
He was parked in a no loading zone and dared the authority that wasn't there to tell him to move it. My by the books, strict, E-7 husband was breaking the rules.
There was no uniformed, lower enlisted in tow to help us drag our stacks of suitcases from the curb. There was no paperwork to hand off. No one knew we were there and frankly, no one cared.
At our new home, there was no TA-50 (military equipment) to stash trip over until someone finally stashed it in the hall closet. No one called to remind my husband of PT in the morning or make sure he had signed in.
Our move was quiet. It was lonely. I felt lost without the stack of paperwork that normally greets me at each new place. There were no built-in friends at the FRG calling to welcome us.
We were officially on our own. Retired. Free.
And I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.
I suddenly feel like I don't fit in anymore. At dinner at a local restaurant, we were asked, "Are you military?" Yes. No. Kind of. Used to be?
Younger troops at the gate eye my ID card suspiciously. I can no longer pass for a college student but their raised eyebrows clearly indicate that I don't fit their idea of what a retiree spouse should like either.
When I unpacked a decorative sign we carried for the last 10 years that exclaims "Home is Where the Army Sends Us" I'm not sure if I should hang it, stash it or donate it.
It seems the Army life we dreamed of someday leaving behind is a hard habit to break.
