Use Your Accent

A woman has the prerogative to change her mind, right? Well, that’s how our second European adventure began…with a bunch of changed minds.

In December of 2021 Joe was tasked with making his wish-list for our Summer 2023 move and he asked me if I wanted to move abroad again. I immediately responded: “NO! I know exactly how much work that is…and now we have 2.5 kids…and I don’t think Liv would be able to make the journey…and it’s just SO MUCH work. No.”

Me, the very next day: “Remember how I said I didn’t want to move abroad? I changed my mind. I absolutely want to do that.” So the list-building began!

In order to have a greater contextual understanding of the coming months, you must be privy to some insider-information on my marriage and my philosophies as a military wife:

1. The Air Force likes to change its mind.
2. I don’t like to know the 673 versions of a tentative Air Force Plan.
3. I only like to know the FINAL plan. Tell me when the plans are final. Don’t tell me the un-finalized plans. Period.

Fast forward to Summer 2022. The list of potential assignments is circulating. Joe has eyes on it. Every week, he and I hit ‘play’ on the same song:

Joe: “I saw the list. Do you want to know where we are moving?”

Trysta: “Is it the final list?”

Joe: “No.”

Trysta: “Then I don’t want to know.”

This goes on for months. The knowledge is burning a hole in him. He so badly wants to tell me, but I don’t want to hear it. (And just so you know, the location changed about five times…so I feel very justified in NOT putting myself through all that mumbo jumbo.)

One random evening that summer, Joe and I were having a date-night. A few whiskies in, I confessed I couldn’t sleep the previous night because I was dreading what might be on that list. I blame the whisky sours for how smoothly the words fell out of my mouth: “Don’t let it be New Jersey. Don’t let it be New Jersey. Don’t let it be New Jersey.”

Joe looked at me, complete deadpan, “Trysta…”

Me: “It’s New Jersey.” He nodded. No words needed.

I swallowed hard and immediately started to boomerang into all the reasons why New Jersey was going to be a smash-hit:

1. I knew exactly where I wanted to live.
2. I knew exactly where I wanted the kids to go to school.
3. Close to our gestational carrier. 
4. Close to family.
5. Easy trips to and from Virginia for grandparents.
6. Easy trips to and from Virginia for crises with our future tenants.
7. And so on and so forth.

Life moved on. For about three weeks. I was still sleepless, too busy talking myself into New Jersey to get any decent shut eye. It was the devil that I knew. But it was still the devil.

One afternoon, Joe and I settled onto the back patio to enjoy a late-summer weekend. He said he had paperwork for me to sign. I sat down behind a blue folder and pen. I was in no rush. Joe kept inching the folder towards me. So, I finally picked up the pen and opened the folder.

I found a map. Of England. And a note: “I hope you’re still ready to pack it up for an adventure?!” A big, red map-bubble indicating our future.

I threw the pen in the air and shouted, “F%&$”.

I looked up, and in that exact moment Liv was pooping near a tree. I stared at her. I started to cry. Hard. Really hard.

I knew she couldn’t make the journey with us. When I agreed to this move, I never thought it would actually happen. But back in Dec of 2021 the 20% chance we would live abroad was apparently 100% happening. And I certainly didn’t want to think about the final days of our beloved fur baby.

This story has diverged away from a key character: Joe. As I was ugly-crying, he was sitting next to me, freaking out. He had tried to create a sweet announcement-moment (just like he did with Freiburg), but was met with cursing and crying.

T:“Is this final?”

J:“Yes. Are you okay?”

T: “No. I just spent the last three weeks wrapping my head around New Jersey. What happened? And what about Liv?”

J: “The list changed. And this is a good thing. This is what we wanted. We will figure out Liv.”

Silence.

Strike that.

It wasn’t silent. There was more crying. Ugly-face crying.

J:“Trysta?! I need to know if you are not okay with this? I need to know…like right away.”

T: “I just need time. Please let me cry.”

Fast forward another few months. We said goodbye to our most beloved Liv. She was 19 years old. She never would have made it, even to New Jersey. But I had no idea, in that moment in the back yard, that our remaining time with her would be so preciously short. She held on longer than she needed to. I know she held on for me. I didn’t want to say goodbye, nobody did. I can’t even write more because the screen is blurry through my ugly-crying, again. It’s the quiet that makes me ache to hear her padding around. I find her hairs in the most random places- I make a wish on every one.

This story has now diverged away from the theme: changing minds. Fast forward another 9 months. We are on our way to England. NOT New Jersey. And we are so grateful someone in the Air Force changed their mind!