I retired from the military in 2022. I also finalized my divorce the same day.
By breakfast, I had signed the divorce papers. By lunch, I had driven across town and signed out of the military. Two endings handled efficiently—one a marriage I never should have been in, the other a career that had shaped my adult life. There was no ceremony, no pause. Just paperwork, signatures, and the understanding that everything familiar had ended before the day was over.
What made that day heavier was knowing I wasn’t starting over alone. I was already a parent to a teenage boy on the autism spectrum, someone who depends on routine, predictability, and steadiness. While my own structure disappeared in the span of a few hours, I still needed to be anchored—for him. There wasn’t space to fall apart. There was only the quiet work of holding things together.
The weight of that day didn’t hit immediately. It came later, in the absence of uniforms and schedules, in the blur of working from home, in the responsibility of creating stability without the systems that once provided it. I wasn’t just rebuilding a life after retirement and divorce—I was learning how to do it while still being someone my son could rely on.
Starting over didn’t begin with clarity or purpose. It began with showing up. Some days, that has been enough. Other days, it has felt impossibly hard. But it has taught me that rebuilding isn’t loud or linear—it happens in small, steady choices, made even when you’re unsure, made especially when someone else needs you to be consistent.
That's Our Alfie 
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