Not long ago, I watched a friend's husband deploy, with just five days advance notice. And that five-day notice wasn't a clean slice; it was jagged, dragged-out, unpredictable, and gory. The kind that all military spouses fear.
She coped as well as any veteran military wife would.
Ironically, she isn't a veteran military spouse; she's brand new. She didn't grow up in the military, and they've been married for only six months. She could have been bitter at the distant "whoever" responsible for these decisions, and justifiably irritated with that "department" where all assignments originate, for being incoherent, insensitive, and sometimes absurdly unresponsive.
But, she didn't. She had a different strategy:
"I counter every negative thought with a positive one. Consciously. When I realize each thing he's going to miss, I think of the things he'll be home for, and all the things we've done prior to now. When each new fear hits me, I think of how strong our faith will be, on the other side of this..."
At first, I was skeptical. I wondered if she was numb, suppressing stunned emotions that would later return to plague her. I nodded understandingly, but I watched her protectively, and wondered.
But then, my husband came home and soberly announced that he was deploying.
Our orders were more humane; we had a few months to prepare.
But suddenly, I wasn't a sympathetic onlooker. And suddenly, her strategy seemed like the only possibility.
Savor the now. Focus on practicals. Identify negative feelings, but counter them with positives. Don't dwell on negatives for very long. Guard your mind. Guard your heart.
It's human to feel, to be conflicted emotionally. That's not bad. But, to cope, we need the disparate parts to be in a certain ratio. So, we manhandle the unhelpful feelings to the side, and segregate them into a giant pile, and we pull the the helpful feelings forward, so that we'll see them more easily. That's all.
And we talk to other wives. And sip our comfort drinks of choice. And we cry.
Crying is my least favorite part. It clashes against my bravery complex. I feel guilty for crying, when I should be coping. But, I'm learning that crying is part of coping. That's why I quoted Albert Smith to my friend, when she was first gut-punched with their news: "Just remember, tears are the release valve for the heart, when too much pressure is laid on it," I said, reassuringly.
Now, I'm quoting it to myself, to justify my own tears, because -YES- some days I'm totally sobbing while simultaneously writing lists of blessings, in the back of his old notebooks. That's what (my) coping looks like.
I'm sure I'll get good at this. I must. This is our life. And God will help us. So, will about two dozen government counselors/programs. I know that each spouse copes differently, and I know that I'm still testing out my own methods of coping.
So far, I've found only one universal: Like forgiving, balanced coping is a choice - not an instinct.
