The answer is... suck it up and drive on

Many a time I am asked, "How do you do it?  How do you live with a man, give him your heart and bear him children, all while knowing he may leave for battle and never return?"  They even ask, "How does he do it?  How does he live with the fact that his job may take his life?"
All too often I want to say, "we don't".  But we do.  We just don't think about it too often and when we do, we pull up our big girl panties, suck it up and drive on.
That is what got every soldier through every battle.  That and the knowledge that 'someone' was back home, praying they would return.
Recently we were blessed to see a dear friend home on R&R (rest and relaxation in the middle of deployment for those non military).  When it was time for us to go, I hugged him and whispered in his ear, "Come home safe. Come home whole.  Not in a box.  Please."  As we walked away all I could think was I love his wife dearly, but I did not know if I would have her strength to help HER through that if it were to happen.
The point is, it happens.  So we cannot ignore it.  We don't "not think about it".  But we do avoid it when we can and live this life, this day, this moment.  We savor this kiss, this hug, this great marital intimacy, NOW.  We even find a way to savor the fights and frustrations.  I may complain that my beloved leaves his dirty underwear on the floor (apparently this is not an uncommon male trait), but as I do, I say a silent prayer of thanks, "he is here to do this, capable to do this, may he always be so."
I teach my children to be proud.  I cry when the National Anthem is played, when any patriotic song comes on.  I teach them and myself to let ourselves be caught up in this moment.  Why?  Because someday, that moment may be all we have left to remind of the one we loved and lost.  But we cannot dwell on it.
I make sure our ducks are in a row. Every good Army wife is trained too.
  Do you believe me?  Our training is subtle, but constant, and as necessary as theirs.   I know where all his paperwork is.  I know whose name is on every policy and what it will deliver should that day come.  I know how to put his ribbons back in order for an open casket.  I know what to expect if that black car pulls up and a chaplain and another officer get out. I know how long I have in housing, how long it will take for the first gratuity to fly in loved ones, what protection is granted us- and what isn't (Westboro baptist thugs) I know these things because if- that ever looming 'if' that is asked all the time of me- if it happens to us, I might be able to lean on that training when nothing else will work inside my broken heart and mind.  My training will be what I act upon by instinct.  And should I never need it, I am surrounded by my sisters in arms, who might need me to be there to gently guide them through in case their training just didn't quite kick in.  That applies in reverse too, which is why I am so invested in training Army spouses (God forbid in all this, but I am being real here.)
So there you have it.  We live with it.  We don't ignore it, we cannot.  It won't let us.  But if we let it consume us, we will drown. What we can do is treasure here, now, and today.  We allow ourselves our moments to delve deeply into the subject, like Memorial Day, when we remember all who have given thier life before us.  We let ourselves shed a tear.  We must do that- to honor them, to remember them.  Then we must let the others take on that task the rest of the time so we can do our job- which is not just to protect and serve, but to live.
Last night a friends husband shared that his mom always tells him"Carpe Diem". I wish that I could, I certainly try.  The thing is, we cannot ignore, we cannot dwell, and some days, we just cannot seize the freaking day.  All we can do is pull up those big girl panties.... suck it up.... and drive on.   That my friends is the answer to how we do it.

facebook gave me roots

We hear it all the time, "facebook ruined my marriage, my friendship, got me fired...".

Well apart from the fact that a computer program cannot do those things, I am here to say that facebook has done something really good, really true, of value, of moment, in my life.

I am a Brat.  yup... proud to say it.  Military, Army to be specific, Brat.  It is what I know.  It is what I do now, I am a BratBride.  I traded one ID card for another.  I had a civilian life once, many years ago, before my parents remarried and I was given a prefix to my sponsors ID#.

To be fair, that first life was when I was young, by the time I was 12 I was a Brat.  But the moving started much earlier.  I love my parents, let me just say that.  I am not trying to be unfair or mean, but the fact is, in general, every time my parents split up or got back together we moved.  So we could argue my training for Army life began early. Add to that, my father is a GOOD solid German Norwegian.  In good Scandinavian style, "we" don't speak about family, it might be gossip.  But that rule also stopped me from learning about my heritage. I lost an invaluable treasure trove of stories about who I am and who I come from.  I know what I learned from my mom's side and can only IMAGINE what I would feel if I had been able to connect to my fathers family in the same way.  I didn't even know what I had lost until I lived in Wisconsin.  There the women of my church and quilting group taught me old family recipes.  They shared thier stories of thier families in that odd womanly way that doesn't qualify as gossip somehow.

Let me back up though.  I have always felt like I had no roots, no home.  Once told that there is no way anyone doesn't have a place they truly call home, they said emphasized by asking where I want to be buried.  In all honesty, with a straight face, I answered, " Dig a hole beside my body and role me in."  I was and still am serious.  I have no place I call home.  None.  In face, I have few places I can go where anyone would recognize me if I showed up today.  My life is that ephemeral. Thus, I have no roots.
That is, I didn't.  Until facebook appeared.

Somehow, the roots to my high school- that no longer exists (due to BRAC, Base Realignment and Closure started in the 80's) were found through this neverland of the world wide web.  There have been reunions, there are groups, there are close friends reconnecting and recalling the fun.  Even the icky stuff too- but all of that is required to have roots.  You know, it takes poop to make good plants grow deep roots too.

 I have found many a dear friend on here.  Some, we find, we read up on each other and we then settle into a non-interactive connection again.  Others, who may not have been my closest confidants, are now quickly becoming the ones to whom I go for support, connection, encouragement and truth.  I know the rules.  I don't do that with the guys.  I have a loving hubby and I am not willing to risk that.  But that doesn't mean I won't add a guy to my friends list.  They are a root too.  Maybe one of those tiny ones, but they count.  They are a part of my past, a part of my now and will be a part of my future, even without facebook.

I have connected with cousins.  I have been shown pictures I did not know existed of me as a young girl.  I have found distant relatives through my grandfathers cousins!  I am finally, creating my own "web" of roots- and facebook is to credit, not to blame.  It has been a blessing in my life.  It has connected me with my college pals in Kansas and Minnesota.  It allows me to participate in Bible study groups.  It has let me learn who my husband is and has given me a key to that treasure trove of stories in my father's family, so that now I may share this with my children. I finally feel almost confidant enough to reach out to family in Minnesota to ask if I may come visit, to see family history in person, to see faces that look like mine, hair of flax that looks like my children's.
Yup... for once, facebook has done as good as an inanimate object may.  This Brat has finally found some roots, in spite of my lifestyle.  Thank goodness for this marriage wrecking, job losing, friend turned enemy making site.

Its Electric!

Cut to the chase: I got struck by lightening.  Yupper.  You know that question about why we are safe in a car in a lightening storm?  Well it also applies to why we are UNSAFE when we touch the chassis of a car in a lightening storm.
I was at the rear of my minivan, the gate up to put groceries in.  I had one foot on the ground (in NON rubber soled shoes) and one in the air to balance me as I bent forward to drop bags of groceries in the rear of the vehicle.  I places one hand on the frame of the door area, with what happened to be ONE ring finger pad touching the actual metal of the car, the rest grabbing onto the plastic material and rubber door seal.  The lightening struck.  Everything went absolute WHITE, then black, then it was all surrounded by halo's in rainbow colors.  The sound was instant and deafening, yet I felt it rather than heard it.
I quickly shoved the rest of the groceries in the car and got in.  I called my hubby as I began to drive toward home.  I told him I thought I was just struck and said the only thing that hurt was my finger- which felt like a bacon grease burn X10,000.  In fact, it was ash white.  As I spoke to him I started to realize I was not feeling so well and my chest was starting to hurt.  I called the nurse line while I drove and they BEGGED me to pull over immediately and call 911.  I told them I was about 1/2 mile from my hubbies office and I would go there and let them do anything.  I also knew the hospital was only a few blocks past that and that I could be there quicker than they could get an ambulance to me.  By the time I got to my hubbies office my chest really hurt and I felt quite weak. He rushed me to the ER and ran home (I had a LOT Of frozen and chilled foods, a whole months budget worth in a hot summer car!) to put them away and pick up kids from the bus.
I walked into the ER, signed in, told them I thought I was struck by lightening and they said have a seat.  I had almost made it to the chairs when I was suddenly surrounded by people, shoved into a wheelchair and whisked away.  They were stripping me before I even got to a private area and were slapping those leads on me like I was a sticker book for a 4 year old with a lifetime supply of stickers.
In the end, my blood work confirmed that I had indeed been struck and I had significant tissue damage.  I remember feeling that jolt go up my arm, through every joint, to my neck and then out- that shoulder hurt for months as the tissue tried to heal.
They said the reason the nurse line wanted me to pull over is that after a lightening strike, even an indirect one, your brain can simply shut down- like a bad PC.  Your heart will just stop and you will stop breathing with NO warning.  This risk lasts approximately 4-6 hours after the strike.

What saved my life was that I had been doing some serious walking recently.  I had noticed feeling disconnected and a little like I was kind of short circuiting lately.  I had been drinking my water and eating a higher sodium diet to avoid washing it out, but NO one told me that our potassium washes out as easily!! I had a nearly fatally low level of potassium in my blood.  Potassium is the lubricant for our nervous system.  Since mine was not lubricated well (the short circuit feeling I had been experiencing lately) it actually stopped the jolt from the damage it could have done.  The likelihood of severe damage or death was SIGNIFICANTLY higher if I had not lost so much potassium according to the docs and the blood work.

breathe.....

For Jeannie, and all who live a day of life missing a loved one who has gone on before us.


You took that breath last night in awe and wonder at amber moon light.
Missing those loved ones now a memory, wondering if connection yet exists.

You breathed them back into you- and sighed them out to the universe.

When we breathe we share infinite atoms that all life has breathed in before us.
That breath during birth shares the last of another and wraps us together eternally.

When you wonder if they will live on, will they be there in Three hundred years,
you can know deep inside, to the very atomic makeup that is Jeannie,
they are still here- and not just with you, but with me.

When I breath in this Christmas, with joy at the smiles of my children,
I will share that love of your loved ones.

It is said when we breathe we are speaking Gods name
and  when we consider breath the most silent and ultimate of gift
it all makes sense in that great cosmic way.

When we say goodbye to this earth, we do leave our love behind,
and it is given and remembered when we sob in grief, when we shout in ecstasy, and when we sigh in exhaustion.
They are in every moment of our lives yet.

Do not wonder my friend... know. And breathe.

night carries on

tis three a.m. and me again, yet wandering to your door
the kettle's on to sing the song that lets me sleep once more.
my mind all wired and tangled up in dreams that cannot be
my pen and cup the tincture sure for whate'er be aillin me.

moonlight the witness, the lonely one, who seeks a living face
to share the quiet, the contemplation, that fills this darkened place
the bed, she calls and seeks my warmth, yet cannot meet my need
an empty mind, a peaceful soul that wanders not, nor bleeds.

thoughts run round like scattered men, hell bent on self destruction
they cannot stand, call hither and flee, promising false seduction
my heart cries out, the loss, the gain, the feelings so full in the night
cannot be changed, nor given away, but hid by the morning's light

that kettle's song, it sings once more, the pen writ sure and true
my soul poured out, like naked at birth, to share who I am with you.
the cup sits empty, the paper full, mine eyes sweet rest implore
I slip away, the moon speaks not, the night carries on once more

~J. Kelly

moving.....

Fold, tape, wrap, nestle, fold, tape, label, repeat. Slice, unfold, unwrap, find the right spot, repeat.

Almond oil for cuticles dried out by packing paper and boxes. Epsom salts for sore muscles and feet. Wine to chill me out so I don't go totally OCD on my family.

Preset postcard in the computer to use for the once a year moving. (don't buy too many stamps since they keep changing price.)

Good Friends over to break in the new house by breaking bread together.

~~~~~~~~

We are moved in. The other house is having the last load moved as I type. Now for unpacking these boxes and making it all fit into yet another house. Lance looks at it and wonders that we even got it into this house, let alone can make it organized and functional. Trust me baby, it will all fit. Well... except the bench kitchen table set maybe.

What I love the most here is that the computer bay (yes Jason, I have geeked out totally when I have a computer BAY with 4 computers at it.) sits with a window only about 3 feet above ground and I can look out at the chipmunks in the sunshine and the trees gently swaying in the breeze.

~~~~~~~~

Moving is traumatic no matter how many times you do it. You may get better at the logistics, but the mental gymnastics of figuring out which cupboard to put your plates in and which drawer for silverware can be exhausting.

It can be exhilarating too. I love the smell of fresh paint, of hanging a painting and thinking, "this is the perfect spot for this one."

I dislike that my fingernails will break at a wrong breath for the next 6-8 weeks as they recover from the trauma of moving. I really absolutely hate that I have said (now at least 11 times) that I need a picture taken of the back of the tv/theater system to make it easier to reconnect all these wires right without spending half a day and a dozen curse words to do it.

I love falling into my bed, made up totally in my new room with all my stuff in place. That night is a good night and I sleep like the dead when I am moving and nesting.

It stinks to try to figure out how to give the best directions to the new place- or trying to remember which accounts I have switched over or not.

~~~~~~~

No matter what I do, I have begun to accept the fact that God has chosen for me to be a nomad. I do not like to move anymore. In fact I rather hate it the more I do it- no matter how good I may be at it. The older I get, the more I move, the less I like it. But it is what I do. It is who I am. Maybe I will start off conversations with new friends by warning them not to put me in their address book in ink......

It will come... sooner or later.

Today is a different day. That doesn't mean that things are different though. Yesterday a friend was laid to rest in Arlington National Cemetery.

Try as I might, I cannot cut short the sadness over the loss of his life in this world. I could not travel the 6 hours each way to honor his life there with others. I chose instead to take a break from moving and see Long Island beaches for the first time. I spent the hour of his interment watching my children jump into the ocean. And the waves crashed over and over again like a heart beat, reminding me of his now gone.

Am I a crappy human for wanting to forget? It was as though my heart said, if I cannot be there to truly grieve with others then I will simply not grieve.

Unfortunately, although I was able to defer pain, I could not cut it off. It remains. I woke this morning with a lump in my throat and a deep need to cry before I even knew why.
It's done. He is gone. There are no more ceremonies or memorials, there is not another step to finalize the formal end. Now comes the time when the others slowly but surely get on with thier lives as his family drowns in grief that has been deferred to a point as well. Now there is nothing else to keep them busy arranging or trying to 'get through'.

100 years ago we still wore black for a year. We showed our grief. A close friend or distant relative wore a black band to show the grief. The widow for a full year or more was clothed in all black with little relief of color.

Today we have no outer way to know of grieving kin. They walk by us in the grocery store and for all intensive purposes carry on thier daily grind as we stand in line behind them or scoot our cart around them in the deli department.

As a not so close friend, but more than mere acquaintance, where do I fit in? Some of us feel grief for others in the oddest of ways with no rhyme or reason. Maybe this is deferred pain over other losses in my life?

All I know is that today I grieve and no matter how enjoyable yesterday was, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it, I was aware all day of my friends who stood by a grave and shed tears at an armed salute, taps and a folded flag. I was so aware that I let out a deep breath- one I did not know I had been holding- around 1500. Surely it was done. Surely his lovely bride stood surrounded by others muttering condolences to her when she only wished to be alone on a mountain top screaming her lungs out over the ugliness of this.

There are no words I can utter to her that will ease her pain. There is no action I can perform to lessen her grief. I can only allow my tears to join hers as they fall to the earth where he is laid. My only hope is that I will be able to travel soon to honor his life where he rests and that I can live my life in a way that honors the love, laughter, friendship, and heartbeat that was his.

Pedro Mercado, my friend, may you rest in peace. May your lovely wife carry a little less pain each day. May your family remember you with honor and smiles. May your memory live on to remind us all that we should live with a HUGE smile that lights up a room, because in the end, while we may try to defer the pain, or even death, we cannot. It will come. Sooner or later.