I received an email today from an Army Commander who had just learned that Paul and I divorced. He told me that he was planning a relationship workshop for his troops, who are currently deployed.

I wrote back, telling him that I thought it was a wonderful – and much needed – idea. Then, as I mulled over my relationship with post-deployment Paul (which was not the same as my relationship with pre-deployment Paul) I came up with the clearest way to date that I have explained what happened between us:

I believe that I somehow became part of the deployment to him. It was a horrible year full of stress and pain and loss, and I was the only person he spoke to about any of it. We spoke frequently during his time away and he was open and vulnerable with me, as he always has been. But once he came home, he would not speak to me anymore, and I believe I was a reminder of that year to him – the only person who knew about his “weak” moments. He could still hang out with other soldiers who had been there, because they “understood” and had felt (and done) the same things he did. And he could re-form relationships with friends that he didn’t keep in touch with during the deployment, because they didn’t know about the things he had seen or done. I was the only person who knew everything – and yet didn’t participate. In Paul’s mind, I was in a position to “judge” him, and he couldn’t tolerate that. So he had to get rid of me.

So there it is. Does it make the divorce or all the pain he caused me when he left any easier? No. But it does give me some kernel of understanding to hold on to. Closure. And that’s all I ever wanted.

And maybe there’s another military wife reading this post; finding herself in the same position I was in last winter. And maybe for her, it’s not too late. If that’s true – then I have something else in addition to closure. I have purpose. And meaning. And that somehow makes the pain OK.