By Capt Jim Darenkamp, USN, (Ret.)

In my 37 years of naval service, I was blessed with opportunities I never imagined when I started as an E-1. From E-8 to O-1E to O-6, every step was cheered on by my best friend, partner, and wife of 33 years. She was my encourager, the quiet strength behind the uniform.

But in 2011, the very day I learned I had been selected for Captain — an honor that surprised us both — we also received her diagnosis. A bittersweet moment: the pinnacle of my career collided with the beginning of her battle.

Aggressive treatment was planned in Hawaii, but orders sent us to Millington. Specialists were promised, but the move proved hollow. In August 2012, less than a month before she would have proudly pinned on those eagles, I lost her.

The Navy pressed on, as it must. But for me, the winds had left my sails. Some advice from detailers, mentors, and flag officers rang hollow, because they had not walked through such a tragedy. Yet one admiral — a woman outside my community — showed genuine compassion. She hadn’t experienced this loss herself, but she took time to listen, and even shared that she had once gone to grief counseling before continuing on with life. Her authenticity made all the difference.

That’s why I wrote a letter asking not to be considered for major command. I could have faked it. I could have stayed silent, pretended I was ready, and carried on. But that would have been wrong for the Navy, wrong for the Sailors who deserved my best, and wrong for me. Integrity demanded I step aside. It upset some who didn’t understand — but they hadn’t lived it.

So when I see success stories of careers shared with loving spouses, I celebrate them. But I also sit with the memory of what might have been if my wife had lived. Life happened. I was down, broken, and questioning. Yet in that lowest place, Isaiah 57:15 and John 6:44 became true in my life.

God, in His mercy, reunited me with my high school sweetheart, who not only saw my final years in uniform but honored the deep sacrifice of the woman who carried me through most of my journey.

This story — of love, loss, faith, and unexpected redemption — will be told more fully in my upcoming memoir. But for now, I share this reflection with the hope that others who feel “the wind leave their sails” might see that, even in loss, God can bring renewal.

P.S.

I share this not as criticism of the Navy, but as a reflection on leadership, loss, and integrity.

Sometimes the most faithful service you can render is knowing when not to take a command. For those still serving, I pray you’ll lead with compassion, and remember that life can change the course of even the strongest careers.

My late wife was Dinah L. (Saavedra) Darenkamp. She was a CTTSN, and we were married in Pensacola in 1979. We were both in an “A” school. We both had orders to VA, but in late 1979, she decided (her own decision) to take the Discharge (giving up her career) for our incoming newborn. She went into the reserves 2 years later.

Jim’s LinkedIn page: https://www.linkedin.com/in/jim-d-68bbb525/

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