After a few months that just seems to grip a choke-hold on the military community that Dh is a part of, I was feeling a little lost and didn’t seem to have anything useful to write. What I did see, all around me, were soldiers and veterans from Dh’s Regiment banding together.  Message groups, phone calls, texts, drop ins.  They seemed to track down everyone and touch base with honest messages that may have all said something different but meant the same thing: “Talk to me. We just can’t go through this again.”  So when Ariel over at PMQ For 2 offered to write something for me while I got my #### together, I loved the memory that the post that she sent invoked. In 2001, Dh and I were teenagers getting married.  We had an offer for a tiny little PMQ right before the wedding and we needed to move all our stuff there. But I had never lived in Edmonton and Dh had only arrived at the unit less than a year before.  We were driving in the U-Haul and moving it all ourselves on a weekday afternoon.  I was dreading trying to help Dh carry our meager hand me down furniture into our new home.   When we pulled up, there were soldiers there from Dh’s unit, in uniform, sitting on the front step waiting for us. “Took you long enough! I was starting to think I shouldn’t have bothered getting them all a short day today!” said the Master Corporal of Dh’s troop.  And the group of them sauntered over to the back of the truck with hardly a word, waiting to help unload. Dh hadn’t wanted…