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An emotional exit strategy

In the Navy legal aid office, my husband Jim and I talked about “what if.”

In the worst-case scenario, my sister Judy would take our kids. She also would be executor. My brother would be the backup.

Short of the worst case, Jim wanted me to marry again. He had purchased enough life insurance to make sure I would be comfortable. I insisted on doing the same — so he could hire two younger women to take my place in case things went the other way.

Marriage to a military man means facing questions of mortality much sooner than most occupations, as the odds of dying on the job are greater.

My husband retired from the Navy more than a decade ago, but living that life helped us better cope with issues raised by the heart problems he has struggled with for the past five years. It gave us the tools to tailor his “exit strategy” to one that’s practical yet personal. Danger, worry come with job The service requires its members write wills and get their affairs in order before leaving U.S. shores, and a common practice is to also write a personal, “do not open unless I die” letter to loved ones. I have one in a drawer at home.

Deployments, separations and the intrinsically dangerous nature of the job rob us of the luxury of pretending our loved ones will live forever, or even into old age.

I am sure military wives are not alone in this lifestyle. Spouses of firefighters, police officers and others with dangerous jobs also must face mortality earlier than might be comfortable. But I can speak of the experience only from the perspective of a Navy wife.

When he was gone, I made a habit of not missing my husband until two weeks had passed. That state of deliberate denial helped me on the shorter separations — those of six weeks or less. By the time I missed him, I could already look forward to his return.

On a real deployment, that just postponed the moment when I could feel the hole in my chest.

On my husband’s first deployment, his ship, the frigate Samuel B. Roberts, hit a mine. No one died and the crew saved the ship, but it was very difficult to have him half a world away, unable to reassure me with his breath and pulse that he was alive.

Drawing on experience Subsequent deployments were not as dangerous or difficult, but they always reminded me that life without my partner would have to go on.

Seven years after his retirement from the Navy, my sailor headed back to the front lines as a military contractor involved in nation-building in Afghanistan.

For the next 2½ years, I practiced a new kind of denial, which involved believing that all of the precautions his company took would be enough.

Thankfully, they were, and the technology of cell phones, e-mail and texting made it easier to fortify the safe place where I took my mind.

The result of these years of separation and sometimes of danger is to convince us both that I will outlive my husband. The actuarial tables and our divergent health habits support us in this belief (he smokes, I go to the gym). The only real questions are when and how I enter widowhood.

There are moments when I can imagine the pain, and I know there will be no way to stop it, so I let it flow for a minute. Maybe I am desensitizing myself, immunizing myself against what will be my greatest loss. Then I say, “Enough,” and snap back to reality. He is here, and it is too soon to mourn.

My husband’s greatest fear of death is is that he will linger long enough to become a burden. That fear has become more realistic since blocked arteries five years ago required intervention.

He would prefer to die in battle or a sudden crash. Even a massive heart attack would do. He doesn’t want to fade away in a hospital bed.

To address his fear, I came up with an exit strategy far more comforting than provided by the legal language of wills and insurance policies. When he thinks he is worn down and ready to go, he can stop his heart meds and load up on Viagra. Then we’ll send him to the next life with a smile on his face.

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About The Normans Jean Reid Norman worked as a journalist for 30 years, including a stint as managing editor of Navy Times from 1993 to 1998. She now teaches health and wellness classes to senior citizens for the University of Nevada Cooperative Extension and is working on a doctoral degree in public policy.

Jim Norman retired from the Navy in 1998 as a senior chief data systems technician and is now a customer relations manager for Iron Mountain Digital.

They have been married since 1982.