Retirement

"The hedge out front is beginning to look shaggy." I break the silence of our bedroom where Wally G. sits, still in his robe and slippers at eleven a.m. He's been there since nine, apparently stuck and dozing off. It's been like this for weeks, ever since he brought home his belongings from the office where they gave him the obligatory pen and pencil set, an afterthought. That final act was worse than nothing. He'd sent off other guys to retirement by giving them parties and speeches and accolades. His own C.O. had taken him for granted in his last two years of twenty-three on active duty with the U.S. Marine Corps, delegating all the work to Wally G. and getting all the credit for himself. It was not a sunny beginning to his retirement.

When I saw he had awakened enough to know I was there I gave it another try. "Honey, wouldn't it do you good to get out and get some fresh air? The hedge looks like..."

"Look," He jumped up then, heading for the closet. "You are not my commanding officer!"

I'm taken a-back, but I'd been told that retirement is not easy for a man who's given his all to his profession. I'd tried to make his stay-at-home life pleasant, but he was tired of my suggestions.  I must not be hurt, I thought. I'll just give him time.

Wally G. enlisted first as a Naval cadet back in 1941. Then he'd been given the option to try out for flight school as a Marine fighter pilot. Soon his squadron was sent to Guadalcanal in the thick of the Western Front. He'd made it through all the ranks up to Lt. Colonel and hadn't really planned to go further than full bird colonel. Then he'd retire and figure out what to do with the rest of his life. But those last promotion boards had paid more attention to the men whom they knew from all the buttering up, social drinking, and golf games they'd had together. Not a single one of them knew Wally G. personally and his sterling record went overlooked for the few openings of higher rank that peacetime presented. That, plus his ignominious farewell from the career that had given him much pleasure and pride. He needed to do something, but what could measure up to being a WWII ace pilot flying alone in a sleek jet propelled beast called the F8 off carriers and in places all over the world? Or those moments when night flying took him up so high he swore he could hear music when there was none? It was, no doubt, a come-down to be at home all day and not know what to do with himself.

As for me, I'd never really aspired to anything but having a husband, a home, and children. I left college after my sophomore year to get married at the age of nineteen when he was 26 and a Marine captain. It was a storybook wedding in the Flyers' Chapel at The Mission Inn in Riverside, California.  Although I missed school when fall rolled around, by then I was glad to be a military wife and friend of other wives like me. We soon started a family and frequently had to find living quarters off base in towns where there was no readiness for the influx of military families. I was so busy keeping house, caring for the children, three of them, I had little time to take more than a class or two in nearby colleges now and then, much less hold down a full time job. Homemaking was my job and I liked it a lot, even the frequent moves. When Wally G. had to go overseas in the Korean War and again on a fourteen month tour in Japan, I was in charge on the homefront.

By the time Wally G. retired our kids had left the nest and I had enough spare time to pursue hobbies, read and simply enjoy a retirement of my own, so far as any homemaker gets to do that. But how could I help my struggling husband make the transition to retirement? He was still young, in his fifties, not ready financially or otherwise to be staying at home. He needed another line of work.

As it turned out a civilian job presented itself to him and he was soon as absorbed in that as he'd been in his first career. We built a new house, lived in it for eight years, and then moved onto a ranch in Oregon. There we pursued country life for another eight years and finally sold the ranch for a plump profit in order to retire for good near Seattle. We enjoyed season tickets to the symphony, went to movies, ate out a lot, and took frequent trips. Our home had enough room for the kids to spend holidays with us, bringing along the little ones. We were on easy street.

But that retirement only lasted three and a half years. Even then he couldn't get over the idea that life was not meaningful unless you were promoted in some visible manner and getting old was not his idea of a promotion. He finally found an inner journey to a more spiritually oriented life. I think he saw beyond the grave a better world, one where wars would be no more, in which glory would not be found in wearing shrapnel in his shoulder from getting shot at in air, earning the title of Ace for shooting down enemy planes or bombing the enemy on the ground.

If it hadn't been for the war and the threat of being drafted he might well have pursued a career in music as a tympani player in a symphony orchestra. Music was his joy and that had been his initial ambition.

For the twenty-five years since Wally G left, I still keep house . I'll never retire from that, even though I live alone now. I often wonder what Wally G found to do when his earthly tour of duty ended. I hear a plane above and think maybe he's flying again because he did love flying, especially when he heard music up there alone on those night training missions. And often when I go to symphony concerts, I look through my glasses at the tympani player beating his heart out and I think, Could that be what Wally G is doing at last? Then I think, Wow! Look at that fellow hit those kettle drums!  Maybe Wally G is living out his old age after all and loving it! Now that would be a promotion! Come to think of it, his last words to me were, "I hope you know, girl, there's more going on here than meets the eye!"