There was an Op-Ed piece in the Washington Post on Veteran’s Day about the sacrifices of military families. It is written by a soldier and a wonderful read.

It also has me thinking about whether anyone – including Paul – will ever understand how hard this year was for me. We joke about it sometimes and I say “When’s the last time anyone thanked me in an airport?” The answer, of course, is never. Military spouses don’t wear uniforms – or special patches – there is no outward sign of what we’re going through.

Sometimes I really think Paul believes that I spent the year relaxing here at home, hanging out with the dogs and happily spending his paychecks. (Don’t get me wrong – I am NOT capable of doing the job he does, and would never pretend I was or wish to trade places with him – but I did run our farm by myself for a year, without the luxury of calling him when I had a question or a problem… don’t I deserve a little credit?)

Paul is usually really good at recognizing that in my own way, I serve, too. And I’m not sure he would be able to spend a whole year balancing our checkbook, doing all the laundry and keeping the house clean, taking care of the dogs and starting a business all by himself. But we have had a few arguments over the fact that he doesn’t always see my contributions as equal to his.

“You never thought you were going to die this year,” he says.
True.
But as I remind him, I did often think he would die. And at the end of every day, he knew he was OK. I didn’t always have that reassurance.

Now that our deployment is over, I feel so blessed to have my husband back home. And I do know that out of the two of us, he has given more. But sometimes I wonder if he will ever be as proud of me as I am of him.