As military spouses, we are no strangers to loss. But just as much as we lose, we gain. We are in a constant game of hide and seek—only it’s more like loss and go seek. Our families say “hello” and “goodbye” more than most people will ever experience. As I often tell my three girls, we don’t even know who will love us yet. This might be one of military life’s most unexpected and appreciated parts. We meet new people, form connections, and forge relationships through shared sacrifice and service.

However, with those gains come losses. There’s a deep sorrow when a trusted neighbor packs up and moves across the world, or grief when we switch units or commands and start over with new colleagues. The overwhelming feeling of leaving everything behind and rebuilding an entire life is often indescribable.

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on community, the power of connection, and the trust required for us to truly belong. It’s not just the grief of what we’ve lost that impacts our social and emotional health, but also the challenge of finding well-being after loss. I was recently talking with my spouse about how well our kids were doing at school, feeling part of the community, challenged, and growing because of the investment from their teachers and coaches. Shortly after, an unexpected event rattled us, forcing us to grieve. We questioned what went wrong, and began to explore how we could grow from the experience.

A situation from nearly ten years ago suddenly resurfaced, triggered by recent events. Though not a core memory, it felt like I had hit the jackpot—I realized what I’d been missing all these years: connection and trust.

Ten years ago, my spouse was deployed in the Middle East, while our family was in San Diego. I was working as a hospice social worker, often on the road. One day, a light on my dashboard came on, and I had to stop by the dealership for a loaner car. The process took longer than expected, so I called the childcare center to let them know I’d be late. We were already strapped for childcare costs, and every minute late cost us more. The receptionist reassured me to drive safely.

When I arrived a few minutes past 6:00 p.m., I rushed to pick up our two-year-old, eager to head to the after-school program for our older child. As I was leaving, one of the staff members stopped me and asked, “Did you swap out the car seats?” I froze. I had forgotten entirely. For a split second, I considered lying—the house was just a block away, no harm, right? But instead, I admitted I had forgotten. She commended me for being honest and told me that she would have had to call child services if I had left without the proper car seat. Then, she kindly watched my daughter while I went home to get a spare car seat—no charge.

I barely made it to the car before tears welled up. That woman had saved me from making a huge mistake, and in doing so, reminded me of the power of compassion and community. I hadn’t thought about that memory for a decade, but it suddenly became clear how much I had been grieving the sense of trust and connection that once existed in my community.

Later that week, I shared the story with my spouse, and we both wondered how we could reinvest in our current community. We decided to be proactive in fostering connection: chatting with neighborhood kids, helping with after-school pick-ups, and inviting new families for marshmallow roasting. We even started leaving handwritten notes for new neighbors, welcoming them and offering support.

These small acts go a long way toward building trust and connection, which can offer a sense of control in a chaotic military life. Grieving the loss of community allowed me to reflect and realize that what our family needed was more connection and trust—and that we had the power to make that happen, one handwritten note at a time.

Greiving community-starting over with connection and trust By Crystal Bettenhausen-Bubulka As military spouses, we are no stranges to loss, just as much as we loose, we gain. We are on a constant and ever lasting game of hide and go seek. Only it is a loss and go seek. Our families will say “hello” and “good-bye” more than most people will ever realize, and as I tell my three girls, we don’t even know who will love us yet. That might be one of the most unexpected, and appreciated part of mlitlary life. We constantly get to meet new people, make new connection and forge relationshps due to circumstances and a like-minded goal of sacrifice and service. However, with those gains, come the losses. The deep sorrow that can come after a neihbor and tursted confidant packs up the house and moves to another country, the grief that takes place when we change units or commands, and start over with new collegues and norms. The exream feeling of overwelmth that takes place when we leave everything and rebuild our entire life. I’ve been reflecting latly on communicyt, and the power of connection, and the trust that is necessary for us all to find a place of belonging. It isn’t just the grief of what we have lost that can impact our social and emoitnal health, it is figuring out the magic recipie to find well-being after that loss. In a conversation I recently had with my spouse we reflected on just how great our kids were doing in school, how they felt a part of the community, a snese of belonging, and how they were being challenged and growing because of the strong invenstment that their schools, teachers, leaders and coaches were making in them. However, shortly after that conversation, we had an unfortante event take palce, something that rattled our world a bit, and we all had to grief a loss. We found ourselves questioning our errors, and getting curious with how we could work to learn and grow from the experiences. A situation from nearly 10 years prior suddently decided to make its way into my life, and while this memory was far from a core memory, the situation we were dealing with triggered this memory and it was like winning the jack pot, I knew what I was missing, and maybe what I had been missing for seeral years. Connection and trust. Ten years ago, my spouse was in the middle-east on a geo bachelor tour, and our family was in San Diego. I was working as a hospice social worker, where I was often on the road visiting patients. That day I had a light come up on my dashboard, and made it a priority to stop at the dealership. We needed to have services done, and I had to get a loner car. The exchange of cars took longer than I anticipated and I called the child care center to let them know that I would be late, at the time, we would be charged for every minute we were late after hours, and we were already in the red so to speak with chid care, so I didn’t want to waste a minute. The receptionist told me shewould be here and to drive safe. I arrived just afew minutes past 6:00pm and ran to grab our 2-year-old, as I had to head to the after school program to grab our 10-year old. On my way out the door, the staff members stopped me. She said: Crystal, did you swap out the car seats?. I stopped in my tracks, I completely forgot the carseats, I was running late and didn’t even think, I took a minute and to be honest, there was part of me who contimpated just lying, our house was a block away, it was such a short drive, no harm right? Instead I turned on my heals and told her that I had forgotten. She told me how proud she was that I admitted that I had forgotten them, and that she would have had to contact child welfare if she knew I put a toodler in a car without the proper restraints. She then told me to run home and get my spare car seat, and that she would watch our daughter, no charge. I hardly made it to my car without tears rolling down my checks. She kept me from making a huge mistake that could have gravely injured our daughter, had she not said something, I would have gotten to the car, and been by myself without a carseat. She took the time to ensure our safety, she went the extra mile to support me, the compassion and the humanity she showed me today got filed in my brain, and I didn’t think about that memory for ten years. I didn’t realie just how impotent it was until I realized that I had been missing that trust, that connection, and just how much I was grieving our past duty stations, perhaps even grieiving a lost time in which we were given second chances, where we informed eachother with compassion and dignity, and respected each other and truly wanted to see our neighbors and community members thrive. The irony is that during that geo bach tour, I lived in a community that didn’t have many military service members, I was the token military spouse at the school and in the community, we were isolated from the miltayr community, and I hadn’t connected much as I was so busy working and taking care of the kids. It wasn’t until I confided in a friend and told her that story, that I realized just how much I was grieving what I am now refering to as “the good old days”. While I cannot identify exactly what has shifted, or what is at fault, I did identify a deep yearning for more connecting, and more turst, and to own up to my own grief in a loss of a sense of community.

Later the following weekend, I reflected to my spose and shared that same story, and we both questioned what we could do to further invest and build back up something that we had both lost over the past several years. We decided to to invest in connecting. Getitng out into our neihrohood and talking to the neghborhood kids, taking a kid under our wing and including them when we were hanging out with our kids, offering to help a neighbor with afterschool activity pick up, and inviging a new family to roast marshmellows. We also started writing hand written notes to new neighbors, sharing our phone numbers and a little bit about ourselves, welcoming them, and offering support and a place for connection. These little formalities can go a long way to connecting, they can offer us the ability to meet new people, and allow us to feel some control over the oftentimes caiotic miltiayr life were we have little control. Grieving community, identifuing the loss I had felt, and owning my own feelings allowed me the ability to reflect, and grow, realizing what our family needed more was connection and trust in our community, and that we had the power to make that happen, one hand written note at a time.