My name is Jaime. At the age of 18, I met my future husband. At a Goth club. Yes, I know, how cliche. At the time, we were both involved with other people, but that didn't stop us from flirting. He was fresh out of the USMC at the time, and drunk as hell. We left the club with a group of friends, and went to Denny's. He was so drunk, he couldn't feed himself.
So, doing my duty as a military supporter, I fed him his cheese fries while completely ignoring my boyfriend. ;) That was the last time I would see him for about 2 years. We never forget each other.
When those 2 years had passed, and I had moved back to NH, we ended up bumping into each other, and the rest is history.
We got pregnany, we broke up, we got back together, had a daughter and got hitched. Then real life hit.
We were both in our early 20's, new parents, with no college education. I was lucky enough to have a decent job at a hotel, where I was an assistant manager. He, however, couldn't find anything other than a shitty job at Wal- Mart. In 2007, things had become desperate. We were in debt up to our eyeballs, risking eviction, and skipping meals to feed our daughter. This is the following conversation that would change our lives.
Derrick: I think I should go talk to a recruiter.
Jaime: A recruiter for what?
Derrick: The military. The Army.
J: The Army? Since when did you want to go back in the military?
D: Well, I've been thinking about it for a while, and I think it would really get us back on track.
J: Alright, well, let's go talk to one then.
And that was that. The papers were signed within a week, and he left for WTC (Warrior Transition Course) a couple days before our first wedding anniversary.
He was stationed in Alaska, where we now reside. Our first deployment is fast approaching. And the unit he has been assigned to is the most ridiculous, mickey-mouse, ass-kissing group of morons I've ever met who wear uniforms.
Don't get me wrong, I support and respect all the men and women of the Armed Forces. But the sheer amount of office politics and brown nosing that occurs within this particular unit is rather disturbing.
This is my place, for our story. Where I don't have to worry about other people on post reading. Where I can say what I want, without the 18 year old Army Wives talking shit. This is where I can tell my husband's story, pre-deployment and all the way through to his homecoming.
This is my new Sanctuary.
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