My FRG

It was just about two years ago when J invited me to my very first military ball (I really wanted there to be a primer for this-- “My First Military Ball” with like, Dick and Jane in stick-figure form putting on formals. FYI- it doesn’t exist...but it should.) There is nothing like attending your first such event. There is pageantry. There is tradition. There are lots and lots of very important people in one room all wearing expensive clothes. And just like all other parts of the Army, there is protocol. It’s a little bit fabulous and a little bit unnerving.

My dear and darling J, the man who would wear a t-shirt, a pair of ratty cargo cut-off s, and a nasty food-stained hoodie all day every day for the rest of his life if he could, surprisingly takes these sorts of ceremonies very seriously. And upon receipt of the invitation to My First Ball, he provided me with a list of appropriate attire items to attend to. “Not too revealing. Not too short. Not too flashy. Not too loud. Simple. Elegant. Classy. And you really shouldn’t be the dressiest girl in the room.” Specific instructions. And totally vague. I was a bit lost and nervous about screwing up and making him look like an idiot.

And so in shopping for this very average special dress, I decided my best move would be to hit up a bridal store. Bridesmaid dresses sorta seemed to fit the bill in my mind. Where else could you find a cocktail party-esque dress that wasn’t cocktail dress length (obviously showing way too much leg!)? And as luck would have it, there just so happened to be a small bridal shop about five minutes from my house. I had passed it a million times and thought that it might be a good place to start. Ah, fate she is a funny thing!

I walked into the small and adorable little boutique and the owner greeted me at the door, a kind looking woman with a sweet smile who seemed about my same age. She asked me what I was looking for.

“Well, I need something not too revealing. Not too short. Not too flashy. Not too loud. Simple. Elegant. Classy. And I can’t be the dressiest person in the room.” I’ll never forget her knowing smile and understanding eyes.

“Aw, honey. Is this your FIRST military ball?” I was awestruck.

“How did you know?”

“I’m married to a man in the Army myself.” And then a long pause. “He’s in Iraq right now. “

And thus our friendship began. K helped me pick out the perfect dress for that evening. (She actually complimented J on his instructions. “Those are really good. You’re lucky he told you. Some people don’t know and they show up looking a disaster.”)

After that I would randomly visit K’s store to say hi, to see how her husband was doing, to look for party dresses. Through our tacit military connection, I felt somehow like I knew her—like that we were old friends somehow. I even convinced my friend C (the one who got married this summer) to buy her dress from my new military wife friend.

It was just about a month after her husband returned from Iraq that I found out that J was going to be going Over There.

“Listen, “ she said. “There are going to be days, when you just need to cry, and you don’t want to do it at home alone. And you don’t want to have to explain it to anyone. I know we don’t know each other that well, but any time, seriously, any time you need to do that, you come here. My sister is the co-owner, and she dealt with me that whole time my husband was Over There. Seriously. No questions. Just come here with us.”

I remember thinking at the time that she was sweet for offering, but she was right—I didn’t know her super well, and I had no reason to believe I would need to have a crying fit at any point in J’s time away, especially not in some acquaintance’s place of business.

As the time passed after J left, K and I started to really become friends. It started with just asking for suggestions for care packages for J and questions about my wedding stuff. (She was one of the first people here in town to know I was engaged. I definitely picked out my dress from her shop immediately after getting engaged.) But then I found that I started to drop by the shop about once a week just to say hi, visit my dress, and hear her news of the week. She and her sister became pals to me, ladies I actually enjoyed going and sharing a laugh with.

But the thing I hadn’t really put my finger on until today was this: She has been an amazing military wife friend. You see, people who live on a post and have family deployed—they have support groups and potlucks and the family readiness groups that help them bide the time or share the load. And when you don’t live on post, you don’t have that support group. I’m 5 hours away from the closest military support group, and even if I was there, I don’t know any of those people. It would be the equivalent of me writing a letter to Dear Abby- I could voice my concerns and I could get the “answer”, but there wouldn’t be a personal connection there. Just a 150-word stock response on page 7 below the fold.

What I realized today is that K, and by extension her family, has become my family readiness group—the girlfriend who can help share the load and give me answers that at least don’t feel like stock responses. And she’s done it since J left. The first weekend J was gone, she didn’t let me sit in my house by myself for the weekend. She drug me out on the town with her friends so that I wouldn’t be alone. So that I would laugh instead of cry. 4th of July, she brought me along to her family picnic. I didn’t know anyone, but no one cared. I was K’s friend. My fiancé was deployed. And I was there with her. So, deal with it. And everyone totally did. Because that’s what you do—you support other military families.

Today, I officially lost it. Like, worse than I have since the first week J left. I made the mistake (NEVER AGAIN) of turning on the news and watching a segment on what’s going on right now Over There. And all of a sudden, more so than I have been since even before J left, I was terrified. It’s like somehow or another, I had mapped out his days in my head. Here was in “X” location doing “X” job and that was safe because he WASN’T in “Y” place doing “Z.” But something about the news today unhinged me. And honestly, the situation is probably no better or worse or different than anything has been the whole time he’s been there. But I hadn’t been paying attention. And when I finally did, for the first time in months, I completely fell apart. (Like, the ugly girl crying with the quiver lip and the mascara tracks. It was not cute.)

I drove straight from work to the shop. I had planned on going by anyway today because K has had a bit of a week herself. I was going to check in on her. But just like she predicted that I might need to do, I walked in, straight to the back store room where she was building new displays, and just let go.

K and her sister were, of course, rockstars. And even though they leveled the same sorts of platitudes everyone does (You’re ok. He’s going to be fine. He’s smart. He loves you, and he’ll be home before you know it… ) somehow those ladies have more street cred to me than others do. K has been there. She predicted this. She gets it. And better still, she survived.

After about thirty minutes I was laughing again and things were fine. And then I remembered that originally I had come into the store to check on her.

“Nope. Not now. We don’t get to both fall apart at the same time. I’ll go next week. This is your day to be a wreck. But you should really pull it together…this isn’t a good look for you.”

I guess that’s what friends do. Sometimes when they’re having a crap day they put it aside and take one for the team. K… Thank you for being my family readiness group. And next week dear, it’s all you.