I’m standing in a crowded bar watching the UFC when it hits me. There’s a stage of life that Dh and I missed. I look around, listening to invincible young men give commentary on the fight and realize the reason I feel so out of place is not only my age now, but that at their age, Dh was in Afghanistan for the 3rd time and I was expecting my 3rd child. Our life then was far removed from their lives, now. Not better, or more important, or more mature.  Just removed. Different. Our life looks like the life of any Canadian middle class family. We go to work, our kids go to school.  We go to the gym, we drive kids to Youth Group, running club, babysitting, birthday parties and martial arts. But then, someone in line behind me at Starbucks has a loud and mostly ignorant conversation with their partner about the current government and the illequiped Canadian Forces who are ‘war hungry‘. And I think to myself, perhaps they confused ‘hungry‘ with ‘weary’. In 2002 my country reacted with overwhelming pride when Dh left to fight a war against those responsible for acts of terror.  Surprisingly, the Prime Minister didn’t call and ask his opinion on whether was the right place to fight, or the right time, or with the right equipment.  The powers that be said ‘Go’ and Dh left. In 2004 my community acted with overwhelming indifference when Dh went back to the same war again, as though somehow maybe he was at fault that they didn’t get it all sorted out those first 6 months.  When I responded to people by telling them Dh was in Afghanistan…