Homelessness in the Military or The Story of My Kids' Lives

When I met my husband, he had already been in the Army for several years. He readily admitted that he intended to pursue this career until retirement. At the time, I didn't care much because it was just good times and fun. But things quickly changed and marriage happened almost before we even knew each other's favorite colors. For the first couple of years of our marriage, I could pretend that he had a "normal" job and the idea of war and trainings and moves didn't affect us all that much, not even with a baby in the picture. Then 9/11 happened, and things became horribly real. The moves started to kick in and toting one, then two kids all over the country to visit relatives and find new homes wasn't always pleasant.

There were great things too. Like living close enough to the coast to be able to hear the sea lions barking at night. Being able to spend lazy Sundays walking the edge of Lake Ontario. Experiencing the crazy, powerful energy of a Kansas storm. Disneyland, Golden Gate Bridge, Chinatown, Niagara Falls. So many wonderful things I have seen because of this life, I can't even list them all.

Even the not so great things taught me stuff. Since it is almost always just us, we are pretty tight, the four of us. Randy and I truly enjoy each other's company, and because he is gone so often, he makes every effort to spend time with us when he is home. Family time is sacred. The deployment completely, totally sucked, but it made our marriage stronger. It made me stronger.

But...I have been setting up new households for a long time. Trying to create stability out of nothing, the only anchor my kids have. I lived in the same house until I finished college. I have childhood friends. I have a place to go back to, even as an adult. I read a quote from a military brat once. She was commenting on how people say you can't go home again, and how, for a brat, it is true because there is NO home to go back to. Just a sea of Army posts or military dominated neighborhoods. None of the people they knew when they lived there will be there anymore. It is a never ending ride of change.

My friend has tried to tell me that everyone moves around nowadays. The loss of a permanent home for my kids is not something I should lament. This is true. Lots of people move around in these modern times. But for us, it is not a possibility, but a certainty. One of the only certainties we have. When we move, we look at a place and think, "Well, this is home, at least for the next two or three years." And mostly, it is not even a choice to move, just something that we have to do.

I suppose I shouldn't complain about the trade-off. Randy supports us very nicely doing this career. And I knew what he did when we married. But my heart breaks for my girls. My girls that will never casually visit either of their grandmothers after school or spend weekends hanging out with cousins. My girls that miss so much time with their father. They won't have friends that trail them from kinder to graduation. We planted trees in our new home. My kids won't be able to carve their names in them once they are big enough because we won't be here anymore.

At night, when my husband and I lie together in bed, he often shares his dream with me of what our someday permanent home will be like. Sometimes he says, "The kids can do this, the kids can do that." I have to remind him that by that time, it will be too late. They won't be kids, they will be young women and getting ready to fly off on their own. I feel the time slipping by me and I am trying frantically to make it stop, but my chance to give them a childhood home is rapidly spiraling away. Sometimes, I want to scream and cry at him that I don't want to do this anymore, I just want to stop. But I don't because where he has gone, I have always followed.

My friend says that I focus too much on what they don't have, and not enough on the unique and wonderful aspects of what they do have. But it is hard not to do that when what they don't have seems so very, very important.