Ken knew everyone in every place we moved.  He had been to war with most of them, or in flight school, or when they came in and out of the other places he had served.  (Except Pendleton--it was all ground.)  They were his friends--Band of Brothers.  I didn't know anybody.  I didn't have a clue what was going on where he worked.  I didn't have a clue what he did.  He never said much about it.

I, on the other hand, didn't know anybody when we moved.  I was drifting from one house to another across America.  We had been married two and a half years and I had moved four times.  I had no home, no washing machine, no car, no education, no friends and was surrounded by people who had already "Seen the elephant."  Whatever that meant.  It was almost unbearable.  Lonely squared.

It was an enormous struggle for me.  Looking back, I really don't know how I did it.  The divorce rate in the services is astronomical.  People just can't juggle all that is expected from them.  I understand why.  The thing that held it all together was that we loved each other.  That was all we had in common.  That, and parents that expected us to make it.  That, and a Christian background.  Ken was doing his thing.  I was trying desperately to learn how to do mine.  He was flying a sound-breaker called the F-4D and ecstatic.  He came home happy every day.  I was trying very hard to be happy.

And I was pregnant again.  Pat was 18 months old when Becky was born.  And four months later Ken was transferred overseas.  I went back to Oklahoma, moved in with my folks and I didn't have to fail at cooking any more.  My mom did the cooking.  It was like being in heaven.  Wonderful food.  No responsibilities, all my old friends, no juggling money--I finally got to rest.  I couldn't believe how little I had appreciated all my folks did for me as a child growing up.  Being an adult was killing me.

Ken was gone thirteen months.  Thirteen months raising two babies by myself.  When he came home, I met him at the airport with these first words:  "I am not getting pregnant again--do you understand what I'm telling you?"  Four months later I was hospitalized with pneumonia and after tests, the nurse asked, "Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?"

I could literally have blown my brains out.