Retirement Memoir: Help is on the Way

Yahoo

4 days ago

This is Chapter 3 in our Mighty MilSpouse Retirement Memoir, a monthly series written in real-time by military spouse Lindsay Swoboda. Read Chapter 1: Now What, and Chapter 2: Don't Stay for the Comfort.
When we were stationed in Hawaii, we lived in a small Ohana house behind a local family. And by family, I mean they became our island grandparents. An adorable couple in their seventies who carried plates of sweet pork up our house steps when their kids came over for a BBQ, made a quilt for our newborn daughter, and welcomed all our island visitors with a warm wave and smile. As I start to reminisce about our journey in military life, I can't help but notice the common threads that bind us. We have always had support from others woven throughout our story.
We were surrounded by our military family on the island, too, which was a balm to my weary military spouse's heart when Ryan deployed two times. I remember standing in our small house, the palm trees swaying outside, and stroking my enormous pregnant belly. I stared up at the Christmas decorations, far out of my reach, that were stashed in the annex space of our bedroom.
I bemoaned to my friend Miranda later in the week that it would be so lovely to get them down, but I dared not climb the shaky ladder necessary for their retrieval. With a health factor that made my pregnancy high-risk, I was warned from carrying heavy weight (and I'm sure, but proxy, climbing high ladders). By that evening, her husband, a fellow Marine in my husband's battalion, showed up at my door. 'I hear you need your Christmas decorations,' he said, and asked me where the ladder was and where to go. It took him less than fifteen minutes to accomplish the task. I was stringing lights and pulling out ornaments, full of contented joy, all evening. When Ryan came back from deployment, he came home to the extra comfort of the Christmas season.
There are perhaps hundreds of these instances across our family's time in the military—gifts of time and help, with no need for payback. I have watched someone's child for a week because she needed to get home for an unexpected funeral. This trusting mama had never even seen me before. I'll never forget finally meeting her when she returned, and the hug we exchanged. I had been able to take care of her most precious someone, and her service member was able to remain on mission. I told her it was my honor. I know she would have done the same for me.
Is this rare? The community exchange of caring for one another? During our time in the greater military family, there has been a general understanding that we show up and we take care of one another. We haven't been able to control world conflict or the rampant grief cycle that is military life. However, we can bring over hot meals, offer a free ride to the airport, and provide spontaneous babysitting. We can sit with one another in the painful moments, and also have evenings where tears of laughter stream down our faces. These seemingly small efforts have a significant ripple effect. Hope is renewed in the everyday actions we have taken to pull one another along.
I should have known the same would be true as we approach the end of active-duty life. Help has been abundant. The help swung into full effect as I made my way to the Military Influencer Conference in Atlanta in September 2024. It was here that I met countless new contacts, all asking similar questions, 'What do you need? How can I help? Tell me your story.' I discovered numerous connections between all of us, and the courage to share that my first book was going to be released in May 2025. One night in the lounge over a late-night dinner, my long-time friend Amanda Huffman encouraged me to read a snippet of the book aloud to the group. With a shaky voice and sweaty palms, I read my favorite part. The reading was met with warm applause and kind boosts of confidence.
I also interviewed for a new work opportunity at the conference. I felt that military spouse and veteran-owned companies often want to hire from within 'the family' of existing service and military family members. On another evening, I met the firecracker team of the MilSpouse Transition Program, Anna Larson and Selena Conmackie. It was a friend-at-first-sight kind of meeting. They connected me with the in-person program offering they were holding at a base near me in the fall. I made the trip and received valuable information during the day session. It was comforting to know I wasn't alone in all the questions and concerns I had about Ryan retiring. This journey wasn't just for him. Just as military life had involved all of us moving and weathering uncertainty, getting to the finish line of his time in was going to take all of us, too.
The transition program provided us with an incredible workbook of questions to work through as a couple. Ryan and I scheduled a trip to see my parents, and they graciously watched our little ones as we set off on the hiking trails of Arkansas with our workbook. On a high mountain peak, we broke to rest and pulled out the workbook, batted around ideas, unpacked complex topics, and allowed ourselves to talk it out. Help wasn't just on the way, it was here. The conference, the connections made, and the furthering of my education and awareness for what we needed to discuss became healthy catalysts to help us enter retirement season.
The help hasn't made our subsequent decisions any easier, but it has brought clarity. Where we were once surrounded by a community that would stand up to defend and fight together, I find that we are now surrounded by those who have gone before, and they want us to succeed. Lately, that has looked like quieter conversations with veterans for my husband. Help looks like asking our extended family for some extra support with the kids, so that we can get a dose of respite. It also looks like forging deeper connections where we now live, as we are starting to think it's the place we intend to stay. We recognize that we don't want to leave the military community completely. We need to be near those who have walked this journey, too. It makes all the difference to have help, and to know that we're not alone.
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