The Story of Us - By Susan Wiggs Page 0,14

wonder to me. One of the key elements of our survival was something I was never aware of as a civilian—the support system of spouses and families, which is the Navy’s gift to us. During deployment, my life was transformed, not just by my husband’s absence and my new-found independence, but by a special society very few are aware of—the world of the Navy wife.

When I married Steve, I was automatically inducted into a sisterhood far more intense and real than my college sorority. This was a revelation to me. We were women from all walks of life, balanced upon a single common denominator—the United States Navy.

I was gratified by the swiftness with which my sisters embraced me. There were welcome coffees and farewell teas, sightseeing and shopping expeditions, baby showers and family socials. We learned to make friends quickly, knowing our time together was limited. These women were my guides through the intricacies of Navy life. I felt as though I had moved not just to another country but to a new plane of existence.

I quickly made friends with Alicia Romano of San Diego, who was six months pregnant and who was a master of fantastically detailed counted cross-stitch. Her father had been in the Navy, and she taught me the art of shopping on base at the Navy Exchange and the commissary, dealing with gas coupons, red tape and banking. The wife of Steve’s commanding officer was a dynamo named Rachel Weeks, who had four children, and, though barely forty, had appointed herself mother hen of the squadron wives. At Captain Weeks’s Change of Command ceremony, I watched her fasten the Command Pin on her husband, and I finally understood the role the wives—and very occasionally, the husbands—played.

It’s her job—her duty—to be willing to send him off in the service of his country, even if that meant sending him into harm’s way.

We junior officer’s wives were a needy lot, many of us away from home for the first time. I don’t think I could have survived that first deployment without the company of these women, each of whom knew exactly what I was going through.

As is true for any group of women, we were a diverse bunch. Along with the Alicias and Rachels, there were gossips and back stabbers, women who drank too much and women whose husbands fooled around. Affairs were strictly forbidden—and predictably rampant. Saddest of all were the wives for whom their husbands’ absences were too lonely to bear.

As for me, I was determined to do more than wait. I wanted to live a rich, full life.

That’s what I learned from my fellow Navy wives. The ones who suffered and sometimes failed during deployment were those who allowed themselves to be defined entirely by their husbands. They could not imagine any sort of life beyond their role as a wife.

That, I quickly discovered, is the kiss of death when it comes to marriage. Any marriage, even a civilian one.

The women who thrived even while their husbands were gone were those who did what my instincts have always urged me to do. They cultivate lives that fulfill them even when their husbands are far away, assuming their husbands tolerate this. I’m sorry to say that some men don’t. They expect their wives to do nothing but wait and hope and worry about them.

I’m proud to say that Steve always encouraged me to be an independent wife. If he felt threatened by a woman with a mind of her own, he never let it show. Over the years, when he was away for months at a time, I learned foreign languages, taught myself to cook, learned to serve coffee to a crowd of fifty women. Despite the dire predictions of my parents, I finished my degree. I stayed active in the Officers’ Spouse’s Clubs worldwide, a path which has had a significant impact on me. In short, I made a life for myself, one that works whether or not my husband is by my side.

Sometimes, I admit, there were things I found very appealing about deployment. I was in charge. It was up to me to determine how that day would go, and that sense of control has always felt natural and right. Each time Steve returned, I welcomed him with open arms. But sometimes I struggled to surrender control to him, biting my tongue when he organized the bathroom his way, rehung pictures on the wall, made dates and appointments without checking with me. As a