On Friday, I thought our house would never sell. It had been on the market for 20 days already, and while that is a relatively short period of time considering the current state of home sales, I knew it would be just our luck that another nine to 12 months would pass before we had a buyer. Dustin reports to Maine in November. I had made the comment that if the boys started school here in Florida next year, I would let them finish here, too. Now I was holding myself to that promise. No buyer before September meant that me and the boys would live in Florida for most of 2009 while Dustin was in Maine.

“Will we go to school in Florida or Maine next year?” the boys asked.
“Probably Florida,” I said.

The kids told their schoolmates,“Yeah, it looks like we’ll be here next year, too.”
Our civilian friends were glad. Our military friends were skeptical.

Then on Saturday, the real estate agent called at 8 o’clock in the morning. Someone wanted to see our house after lunch. I still thought we’d be here another year. What were the chances that this family, only the second to view the house, would be the one? Then again, my grandfather always used to say, “It just takes one.”

Maybe I was in denial. For weeks, I had lived in a state of not knowing whether or not I should enroll Owen, 5, in Kindergarten in Florida or Maine. When our neighbors asked, “When do you think you’ll move,” I usually just said, “Who knows?” That was easier than explaining Plans A, B, C, D, E, F, and G -- all very complicated strategies involving the BOQ (Bachelor Officer’s Quarters), rental houses, and family separation in various order and duration--plans that confused even me and Dustin. Connecting all the dots and remembering which plan was contingent on which situation felt a lot like herding cats. During this time, I also volunteered for long-range committees at church. I had no reason to think I wouldn’t be here in September, or even December. I scheduled a hair appointment for August.

For whatever misguided reason, our plans never involved moving this summer. Although, in hindsight, I guess that should have been Plan H. The “H” could stand for “hysterics,” “hurried,” “harried,” “hassle,” “hustle,” or even, “how did we not see this coming?”

On Saturday night, our real estate agent called back. The buyers wanted our house, and they wanted it by June 16.

Huh?

The reactions from our friends fell into two categories: the civilian one, and the been-there-done-that military one. When I told military friends that we are moving sooner than we had expected, they hardly blinked an eye. “Wow, that’s great news that you sold your house,” they said. There were no tears or shock.
When I told civilian friends the news, they looked stunned. “But you said you’d be here next year?” they said. And, “How can the military expect you to move so quickly?” Even, “This is terrible.”

I am beginning to realize that while it is always hard to tell people that you are moving, it is decidedly harder to tell people not affiliated with the military. Military friends always know this will happen. The big pink elephant in the middle of your friendship is  the knowledge that one or both of you could move at any time. What’s more, even when you do move, your military friends can be pretty sure that you will meet up again at a different duty station. There are no “goodbyes” with military friends.

Parting with civilian friends isn’t as easy. They also knew this day would come, but because moving every two to three years isn’t part of their lifestyle as well, it’s harder for them to understand and accept. Many of our non-military friends have said that they will come visit us in Maine (always with the caveat that they’d like to come ... in June). I hope that they do. There is no chance of me being stationed with them in Jacksonville, Fla. or San Diego three years from now. There is no chance that we will run into them during a PCS through Norfolk, Va. All I can hope is that our friendship has been such that they will make a special trip to come see us and then open their home for us to come back down and visit them.

On Friday, I thought I’d be in Florida another year. By Saturday, I knew that I’d be moving to Maine in August. Such is life in the military, I guess, but that doesn’t make it an easier.