Advice

I am, at heart, a weepy, mushy person. I’ve been known to get teary eyed during Hallmark commercials, I openly admit to crying during The Last Unicorn (favorite movie of all times), I even cry when I get angry.

So it’s no surprise, especially here lately, that I’m about 2.5 seconds away from tears quite often. The coming deployment is bearing down on me with all the speed and kinetic energy of a freight-train, and the stress is already beginning to show. It’s why I take such long showers; no one can see me cry in the middle of all the hot water and steam.

But what makes me cry the most, still, even though it happened months ago, is the thank-you. Georgia was still a distant, hazy dream, I was struggling with everything in me to get through a long-distance relationship that was testing the limits of my personal strength and my heart, and I was at work. It was a brilliantly sunny day outside, I was the only one in the office, enjoying a relatively quiet Sunday, in which I could think about all that was going on in my life. My perfectly ordered life, in which I had everything planned out, had exploded when one Sgt. Brown seemingly dropped out of the sky, and at that moment in time, it was like sliding down a mountain, I had no traction, had no footing, and I was clawing at anything to keep my balance.

In wandered this stereotypical little old lady, with pearls around her neck, a good Sunday dress on, and an adorable little black clutch purse. She held out a pair of glasses, and asked me to replace a lost screw, and clean them. While I worked, she stood in the doorway, and we chatted. She ended up taking a spot at one of the desks, resting while her family shopped, and while we talked about inane things, she gave me a very pointed look, and asked me what was causing the dark circles around my eyes. Officially, I always have them, unofficially, they get worse the more stressed out I get, and I was very stressed. School, work, love, family, all of it was crashing over me with the force of a tidal wave, and I was drowning.

After giving her the official version, she nodded, smiled, and told me that every woman has man-problems. Stunned, I sat there and she pulled a picture of a man in a uniform, taken during World War II, and told me about him, about the husband she had loved, wrote letters to, waited on, who had come home, stayed in the Marines, and whom she had followed around the world, raising children, starching his uniforms, and rationing out his cigarettes. In that moment, I could do nothing but blink back tears. I was already harboring a tiny dream, of life with him, and all the pain, drama, and patience it will involve. But I was terrified of that dream as well, I doubted my own strength, I doubted myself, my ability to put myself second, when I had to. I know the selfish, demanding creature that stares back at me in the steamy bathroom mirror; I do battle with her quite often. So I was torn, between taking the plunge, and holding back, knowing that if I held back, I lost what I wanted most.

I listened to her talk for close to half an hour, about what it was like married to the military, about what she went through as a wife, about what they went through together. About the good times and the bad, about all the love, and heartache, and finally, the day she buried him, with full honors, just a few years ago. I was staggered, by the thought of a relationship, a marriage, the kind of which I dreamed about, the good kind that you rarely hear of, the kind that seem to be as elusive as unicorns, lasting half a century. My entire life, and beyond, by many years. Her final words to me, as she patted my hand, were to chase my dreams, and to love him while I had him, with everything I had. She took the time to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, told me to color my hair back to its natural color, I’d look better as a brunette, and kissed my forehead, telling me that I did have the strength I was in doubt of, I just hadn’t seen it yet.

And as she left, she stopped in the doorway, and thanked me for loving a soldier, for being willing to be there for him, through the good times and the bad, when he leaves, and when he comes home. After she left, I had to close the office, and hide in the break room, crying on a friend’s shoulder. No one had thanked me before, for doing something that came as naturally as breathing, and her gentle pep-talk was a soothing balm to my aching soul and heart. Hearing thank you, from anyone, for what I have to do, is still a tear inducing experience. I don’t really have a choice, it’s love him, or lose him. So I chose to follow my heart, and love with all I have, and spend my time as an Army wife, and ignore the terrifying moments.

I do not know her name, I cannot even remember asking for it. She just wandered in and out of my life on a breeze of rose scented perfume. But her words gave me the belief in myself, to take the final plunge.

~Jennifer