You knew what you were getting into

There’s a saying, it can come from the mouths of anyone towards military families. It’s not new, no matter who says it.

“You knew what you were getting into.”

When I look at this photo I’m reminded of what I *knew* I was getting into.

I knew I was marrying the love of my life.

I knew he wore a uniform. Every day. Which I appreciated, because he looked good in it.

I knew there would be moves. And absences. Peacekeeping. Exercises. Courses.

I knew I’d agreed to for better or for worse, and figured that meant every day wouldn’t be rainbows.

I knew those soldiers with those swords had traveled to our wedding, booked hotels and put on those uniforms all for a teenage kid that was new to their unit but was now one of them.

And 0.5 seconds after this photo was taken when the sword smacked my butt and they all said ‘welcome to the Corps’ I knew I felt pretty special.

I’ll tell you what I didn’t know.

I didn’t know our country and my husband would go to war before our first anniversary, to a country I’d barely heard of. But even if I had, there’s no way I knew how to really understand that cost.

I didn’t know what reintegration would look like the 1st or 4th time.

I didn’t know that way your heart fills your throat when a phone call ends in a rocket siren.

Or the pride that would grow in me for the National Anthem.

All the research and marriage preparation courses in the world couldn’t have taught me how to help a sleepwalker believe he’s found the rifle he needed.

Or the sound of his voice when it says “I’m okay, but…”

I didn’t know that crippling feeling of relief mixed with guilt when you find out that casualty wasn’t your husband. It was someone elses.

I didn’t know what a ramp ceremony was. Or the feeling in your chest when the first image you see of your husband in months is a photo in the paper with a casket on his shoulders.

Or how it would feel to attend a Remembrance Day ceremony, or the funeral of one of his squadron brothers, while your husband is still at war.

I never imagined having to know how to hold up the strongest man I know through the grief when another brother is lost to his own demons long after they got home ‘safe.’

I didn’t know yet the friendships I’d make that would become a chosen family. I hadn’t yet been on our adventures or felt our bond.

I didn’t know how good spurs looked on a mess kit, or how big my smile could get at a homecoming.

I didn’t know how grateful I’d feel when the soldiers willing to stand at his wedding would also stand with him in the desert, that they along with the rest would be just as willing to be there for each other in all the years, moves and deployments to come.

I didn’t know the pride or the loss or the fear or the adventure.

One thing I do know, now looking back, is that even if I had somehow known it all from the start, it wouldn’t have made the nights shorter, the fear lighter or the joy less beautiful.

Saying ‘I Do’ wouldn’t mean the same thing if we all ‘knew what we were getting into.’

That’s not how anyone’s life, or love, works.

More than 16 years later, I still don’t know.

None of us do.

We’re just still willing to keep moving forward anyways.

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