My parents are buried in Arlington National Cemetery, just a few miles from my home. My father was a small town lawyer in Ohio in the 1930s, but he had earned his J.D. at Ohio State through the Army Reserve, so he was called up early and served as a staff officer in England and France throughout World War II. He met my French mother after the liberation of Paris, and when they were posted back to the Pentagon, he decided to make the army his career. When he died, he was buried in the National Cemetery, and when my mother died a decade later, she was buried with him. It’s very convenient for me to visit their grave, and I make a point of going on their birthdays, and St. Patrick’s Day (my father’s favorite celebration!), and in the week before Veterans Day. Their spot is on a slope with views of the Potomac River and the monuments beyond, and the fields of uniform white grave markers encourage awe and contemplation. All these men served their country, and so many of them gave their lives in that service. It struck me during this year’s visit that few people realize their wives are buried here, too. On the back of many stones are their names and the words, “His Wife.” The wives also served, “holding down the fort” when their husbands were away, often raising their families alone. Just being an army wife requires a willingness to move often, to help the kids adjust to new schools, to host gatherings, to find new friends, and to do everything they can to ease the responsibility that rests on the shoulders of their military spouse. Of course now there are women buried here who served as soldiers and officers in their own right. But this year I made the point of walking around to view the back of the gravestones to honor those other veterans, the wives: Sarah, Evangelina, Janice, Martha, Lottie, Noel, Lillian, Mildred, Carmen, Gisela, Roberta, Ruth, Dorsey, Irene, Anna, my mother, Aliki, and so many others.