Convicts & Being Homeless...

After returning to St. Louis, we had a whirlwind holiday season.  On January 3, the packers showed up to haul all of our belongings up to the Great White North.  This was our FIRST military move.  Because of the fact that we didn't have very much, neither my engineer nor I had any experience with movers.  Whenever he or I had to move, we had always just loaded up the car and called some friends to help.  Due to the fact that we were, more or less, walking in the dark, we decided to take the USAF up on its offer to move us.

That day was infuriating to me.  I will never forget the shock I felt at inviting two very rough looking, ill mannered, rude men into my home.  The thought that I had to let them pack what few belongings we had was a tough pill to swallow.  For 10 hours, that jagged pill slowly made its way down my throat.

We had been explicitly warned to keep a sharp eye on the packers to prevent theft. This warning planted a seed of panic in me.  The seed was later watered when I laid eyes on them.  Upon hearing them talk among themselves about "Serving Time," that seed started to sprout.  I had convicts in my home!  Not only did I have cons in my home, but I was having to let them pack up everything in my house.  This alarm was further reinforced by the angry, dismissive way in which they spoke to me, as if I was, personally, making their lives miserable.  I wanted it to end...and end NOW.

Once again, I look back on that brand new military spouse.  Oh, the world of information I would give to her regarding military moves and dealing with movers!  I would have told her to be friendly, but very firm. "Hide all signs of fear, they can smell it!"  Movers have a way of dismissing the military wife if she doesn't assert herself and show that she, indeed, is the voice of authority.  I would have offered to come over and be an extra set of eyes.  Beforehand, I would have given her my own personal favorite book on preparing for,and surviving, a military move.  But I can't do that.  That poor, ill-informed young woman had to go by feel, learning from her mistakes.

We did lose stuff in that move.  Items just didn't show up on the over side.  But we weren't to realize that until a month later when our household goods were finally delivered to us in the Great White North.  Until then, after cleaning out the apartment with my mother's help, we were homeless.

Some dear friends let us stay with them until it was time to drive up.  While being very thankful for their hospitality, it felt wrong to impose on them in such a way.  Everyone loves privacy, and I felt that I was stripping them of theirs.  One thing that I would learn in the following years is that there is nothing I could do about the homelessness the USAF would inflict on my family.  Every new assignment means 1-3 months of homelessness.

If I could, I would tell my younger self to square her shoulders and get over it.  "Get used to it, Love.  This is your lot in life.  With every move, you will be right back in this place.  Embrace it, don't fight it. Learn how to laugh at the chaos of the moment and you will be fine!"  But my younger self didn't have Military Sisters at that time to tell her those things.  There was no comfort in knowing that everyone deals with it and that everything hinged on how she looked at it.  The camaraderie that I would later have due to my close relationships with my Military Sisters wouldn't be until a few years later.

So, there we were:  newly married couple, new to the military, new to having convicts in our home, new to homelessness, new to the chaos that would later become our norm.