Two in One Day?

May 11, 2010

 

Today I sat in a crowd of people, sleep deprived and teary eyed, and stared at ten men in wonder and awe and later was able to shake their hands as THEY thanked ME for being here. What an honor to be in the same room as these men. What courage they have. You may ask why I'm having this reaction. Three words: Operation Proper Exit.

 

For those of you who are unaware of the meaning behind those three words, I'll explain a little further. I first heard of this program via an AFN commercial (hooah!), thought it was wonderful and a little scary, and never thought much beyond that (funny how one can completely tune out AFN commercials unless the word "Iraq" is used). Anyways, this is a closure program for wounded warriors.

 

I had employed Kirsten to attend with me because I didn't know how emotional it would be. Who wants to be a sobbing basket case by herself, after all? I am happy to report that, though I got teary eyed on a few occasions, I did not once cry. All of the credit for that can be placed on the ten, though. There was not one ounce of self-pity apparent to anyone in the crowd, just a concern for and dedication to fellow service members and the mission.  They very matter-of-factly handed out information and threw in a little bit of comedy tour, too.

 

I watched each of the ten men stand individually and tell what had caused their physical injuries. Some looked physically normal and were (one will be returning to combat, probably in Afghanistan, soon), while others had lost various body parts, whether hands, legs, arms, or eyes. A few had been in comas for extended periods of time while their bodies healed. One told us that his parents were told that their son may never wake up from his coma, and if he did he'd never walk or talk again. Another's life sounded like a country song: woke up from a coma and his mama told him he lost his left arm and leg, his wife left him, and his dog had died. Someone else has had 66 surgeries thus far and has had to be reconstructed basically from head to toe, and is now enjoying the civilian world, getting an education, and wishing he could be back on the front lines. One had been through Balad before, though he didn't remember because of his injuries. When he returned this week the hospital showed him pictures of his innards from when he was med-evaced into and out of Balad.

 

All spoke about wishing they could have continued their mission, coming back to Iraq to keep promises to their troops, or the vast improvements that they have seen in the efforts in Iraq since they were last here. They spoke of patriotism, the love of their work, and faith. They thanked and encouraged those service members who are still here fighting for a cause that they feel justifies their missing limbs.

 

The floor was opened for questions and then the funny and down-to-earth heroes began talking about the real issues that the military is facing currently, not just physical ailments but especially mental ones: PTSD, suicide rates, how to help or at least try to help. There is no easy answer was the conclusion. Understand that it's difficult to seek help for something mental, especially when there's still more mission. Keep your eyes open. Always be there and willing to help.

 

How incredibly humbling.

A Month at Club Med

April 13, 2010

All trees lean in the same direction, as if beaten so often that they now must cower at the wind's howling force.

Two days ago, I was walking home from work and marveling at the beauty: blue skies, birds singing, and trees swaying in the breeze. Yesterday I walked home from work around the same time, fighting the wind that was furiously blowing dirt, dust, and who knows what else into my face. Once I reached my pod (living area), I looked over my shoulder. The far-reaching blue sky that I had enjoyed only the day before was replaced by vision limited by hazy white-yellow skies. This is not a dust storm; this is life.

Later in the day, I was awakened by a crashing clap of thunder that shook my room. Shortly after, I heard the rain commence, rapping loudly on our thin metal roof. Since previous experiences have taught me that this noise can mean either rain or mud falling from the sky, I decided to investigate. Carefully opening my door, I sniffed first: wet earth, mud, and dust storm. I then peeked a little further to see alligator-tear raindrops developing patterns on my dusty wooden steps.

When I awoke for work, I walked outside to find no evidence that there had been any precipitation. Since I work nights, my walk to work is generally dark, but tonight was different. So much dust still hung in the air that the reflection, from what I don't know, made the sky glow a dark purple. The hanging dust, sans dust storm, is truly an amazing sight to behold.

April 17, 2010

Butterflies have invaded Iraq. I don't know how or from where they come, but I'm not complaining. I've never been an overly big fan of butterflies; they're beautiful but thinking of them usually stops there for me. On my walk home from work, there is a path the size of a one lane road between a building and some tall concrete. This seems to be the butterfly hangout. As I walk, my feet disturb them from their ground perches and they climb into the air, thus creating a fluttering flurry of beautiful wings surrounding me. It's all very Disney movie-ish, but I like it.

In more grim news, as I mentally marveled about the butterflies and finished my walk home (via the bathroom, so as to prevent the almost inevitable wake up in the middle of my sleep as a result of hydrating), I had quite a scare. This was not your typical "on-deployment" scare, but probably made me more nervous than the base receiving indirect fire. Something hissed at me. There is a raised wooden path on the way to the bathroom (to prevent walking in the mud during rainy season, I presume), which is, apparently, the perfect hiding place for critters. All I saw was something dark dart back under the planks, directly under my feet. Naturally imagining this to be a snake, I did my best (purposeful, of course) hop, skip, and jump to the nearest non-wooded area. Had I not twisted my ankle twice on this deployment already, I would have leapt from the concrete, over the planks, and to the ground. As it was, I simply moved as quickly as possible in that direction and away from the offending creature.

April 25, 2010

There are some things I will never understand.

What thought processes must a child have to make him or her decide that the only way to live is to not live at all? To take one's life as an adult or even a teenager, while still beyond my realm of comprehension, seems to make more sense to me. Stress, work, bills. But a child... what overbearing burdens and circumstances must that child have felt or dealt with to instill only feelings of hopelessness? Why aren't children running away from home when they're upset, only to return by nightfall anymore (not that this is as safe as it used to be)? Why are life and society changing toward this fashion? I know there aren't really answers out there, though I'm sure opinions are plentiful. I definitely have my own. My heart aches for the stolen innocence of our children.

On a much brighter note, we just finished our 24 hours of volunteer recognition on the 24th of April, the last day of National Volunteer Week. Huge props out to Kirsten who planned and organized the whole thing!!! I think it was a success, especially for a deployment AND our first function. Granted, we didn't have as many people as we would have liked, but you never will in a deployment setting. There was a LOT of food, some volleyball and other games, some karaoke... although I missed most of the "fun" stuff so I could get some sleep, it sounded awesome!

May 4, 2010

As I type, there is a young airman in the next room witnessing the (lengthy) birth of his first child, a son. He's been in and out, checking in with us, practically bursting with excitement, power walking to the restroom, grinning like a child, waiting. It renders me nigh speechless that, although in this brown land of seeming desolation and war, something as natural and yet magical as child birth can bring families together no matter how far apart. What an honor to be part, in a miniscule way, of something so heartwarming. There is good in the world; sometimes we need reminders.