Life and Death and Everything Inbetween

The thoughts usually start brewing in my head at around this time at night after not hearing from Aaron by the time I thought I would have. My mind starts to go into overdrive, and I start creating the scene as I would imagine it would happen. I can’t help it either – I don’t know what I’m thinking about until I’m done thinking about it.

There are times, like right now, that I realize he could be gone and I wouldn’t even know it. Since the Army doesn’t have my correct address (as far as I know), I would get a phone call from one of Aaron’s fellow soldiers. It’s not protocol, but times like those are more important than protocol would ever be. So I would get a phone call, I would crumble to the floor, and I wouldn’t know what to do next. My mom would get on the next flight down here, and if there wasn’t one for a while she would jump in her car and drive like a maniac. I know she would. But then what? Over the past 8 plus months, this scenario has gone through my head many, many times, and the endings are always different. In one ending, I shut down and keep going through life as a robot, doing and saying what other people expect me to say, just trying to hold it all together. In another ending, I go to Austin, TX, to where Aaron’s ex-wife and son live, and I sit in their living room with Diego in my arms for hours. In yet another ending, I quit my job, bail on my lease, and make my mom come to a deserted island with me for a few months. But in every single scenario, however different the endings might be, one thing is always the same. I feel lost. And destroyed. And utterly helpless.

A lot of people cringe when I tell them I think about the possibility of Aaron not coming home. A lot of people look at me like I’m the ultimate pessimist and worse, like I’m a bad wife. But, the way I see it, the ultimate sacrifice is something that needs to be thought about and respected. Is it sad and terrifying to think about? Absolutely. But in a way, I feel like if I don’t think about it or don’t give it the respect it deserves, I’m only fooling myself.

Death is only a natural part of life when it occurs naturally. But when it comes before someone’s time is supposed to be up, it’s just not fair. So many young men and women have been taken from their loved ones because of this war we are in. I absolutely refuse to say that they died for nothing, though, and when I hear anyone say that I want to slap them across the face. The ones who have died for nothing are the ones that die in drug deals gone wrong, in gang related violence, in alcohol related car accidents. Those are the people that die for nothing. The ones that have died in combat or as a result of combat have died for EVERYTHING. They have died fighting for our freedom, our independence, and our quality of life. They have died with their honor intact.

I wonder if anyone other than a military spouse can know what this feeling is like. It’s like a pit at the bottom of my stomach that won’t go away until my husband is actually physically in my arms again. It’ll be there until I can smell his cologne, feel his breath when he whispers into my ear, and run my fingers across his scars, knowing he will never have to go back to that awful place. But for now, I am left waiting for that phone call that will put my fears to rest and that will let me sleep peacefully for at least one night.

I went to Baghdad!

A couple months ago, I had a dream. I’ve been meaning to write it down, since it’s mighty strange, and I really don’t want to forget it. Here it is:

I was lying in bed one day at my apartment in Riverside, and I decided it was time I give Aaron a visit in Iraq. I hadn’t seen him in so long, so I hopped into an open topped Humvee that was outside of my apartment, and started the drive to Baghdad. It was only about 45 minutes away (I guess that’s a subconscious testament to how I feel about Riverside), but I realized a couple things on the way. First, I realized I didn’t have any protection on – no Kevlar, no vest, no weapon, no roof, nothing. Secondly, as I drove by a mass of soldiers, some lined up in formation and others running along the side of the road doing PT, it crossed my mind that what I was doing might not be legal, especially since I wasn’t authorized to drive the Humvee I was in. Regardless of all that, I made it to Baghdad and found myself at the town bazaar. I parked the Humvee, looked in the back of it, and realized there was an M4 in the trunk. I debated whether or not I should take it with me for protection, but decided against it. Besides, it would be safe there, right?

I made my way down to the town bazaar, and immediately saw Gallagher, Demo, and Smith standing in a group having a conversation. I subtly walked up to them, and nonchalantly joined into their conversation. They turned, surprised to hear a girl’s voice, and said “Sarah??? What the f—k are you doing here???” I spent a minute saying hi, and asked them if they had seen my husband. They pointed me in the right direction, and I went off to find him. I wandered through the dusty streets, weaving in and out of the booths selling colorful fabrics, shiny trinkets, and strange-looking food, and then I saw him. It was like he had never left – there was a long, tight hug and a deep kiss, but other than that we fell into normal conversation like we had never been separated. We walked, not holding hands, because any public display of affection is against the rules of the Army. All of a sudden, as happens only in dreams, my mom was walking next to us, fluidly joining into the conversation. We continued to walk and talk, talk and walk, and when I looked down I realized I was wearing ACU’s. Aaron was nervous because he didn’t want me to get in trouble for impersonating a soldier, so we all walked over to an American resort, where there wouldn’t be any higher-ups to yell at me. As we approached the resort, I saw three people lounging on beach chairs in the front in the middle of a dusty expanse of land. We got closer, and I realized who it was. It was Mimi (my mom’s mom), Amy (my godmother), and Linda (Amy’s sister, and also my brother’s godmother). I was pretty shocked to see them on vacation in Baghdad of all places, but we sat and talked for a while before Aaron, my mom and I made our way back to the Humvee I drove there in. We got to where it was parked, I checked on the M4, and could tell there was something different about it. I picked it up, and there was a spear stuck down the barrel. Aaron then told me that whenever the Iraqis saw an American weapon lying around, they would jam a spear down the barrel so that it was annoying for the soldier to use it again. It made perfect sense in the dream, I swear.

My mom disappeared as fast as she had appeared, and Aaron and I knew our time together was coming to an end. There was another tight hug and deep kiss, and I hopped back into the Humvee and off I went. And then I woke up. Hmmmm… I wonder what it all means…

The World Goes 'Round and 'Round and 'Round...

My 25th birthday is on Friday. That’s right, it’s on 08/08/08. It’s got to be the coolest birthday ever. But aside from the coolness factor, I’ve been thinking a lot about the significance of it. 25 years old. A quarter of a century. Like I have said before, I have never been the one to dread a birthday or cry about how I’m getting so old. It’s quite the contrary, actually. I have always looked forward to my future, and love my birthday every year. It signifies the passage of time, yes, but it also inspires me to make the best of my future years as well.

That’s definitely the case this year, but I have been thinking about the past a little bit more than I usually do. I have been thinking about how life can change so drastically in a short period of time, but inevitably it comes full circle. When I was 7, my sister was born. In an instant, my world had been turned on its head, but that’s really when my life seemed to start. Sure, I had 7 years before Abbie came into the world, but once I got to hold her in the hospital and look into those blue eyes, those 7 years seemed to disappear. I know I was young, but I think I understood that the little baby I was holding was going to bring so much happiness into my life and into the lives of the people around her that I didn’t really care if I wasn’t going to be the youngest in the family anymore. About 6 years later, when I was 13, I met my best friend, Bonnie. I didn’t know it at the time, but the first day we met at a soccer practice was going to be the day that I look back on with the most gratitude and love anyone could ever have for another person (who isn’t her husband…). Bonnie and I spent the following ten years going through everything two best friends can go through – divorcing parents, high school drama, crying over pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, older brother issues, summer birthday trips to Seattle, Oregon, and San Francisco, 4 (or 4 ½ in my case) college years spent in different parts of the state, lazy days by the pool at Sveadal, and riding down the bike path in Pacific Grove on surries. Everything felt like it was rolling along smoothly, then June of last year hit. Bonnie was engaged to be married in September, I had moved to Hawaii to “find myself,” and had just met the man that would later become my husband. In a flurry of 14 months, I got engaged, Bonnie got married, I got married, Aaron was deployed, Bonnie got pregnant, and I moved to the boonies to go to school. More has happened in the last year than has happened in the last 10 years combined…

The main reason I have been thinking so much about the years past is not because my birthday is coming up, but because a much more important day of birth is right around the corner – that of Bonnie and Travis’ new baby girl, Liberty. She will be coming into this crazy world sometime around August 15th, and a month after that, my own baby sister will be off to college. Life keeps going even if you don’t want it to, but it is in that continuous spinning on its axes that you get the most wonderful times and people you will ever experience. Change can be hard, but in the end it’s inevitable, so you might as well welcome it with open arms. I can’t wait until this weekend when I will be home with my family, but there will be one huge thing missing – there has been and will continue to be a hole in my heart that only one person in this entire world can fill – my husband. I would love nothing more than for him to be with me to share my special day, but really I just want him here to share any day with, because every day with him is special. Well, I need to go practice guitar, or else my teacher might kill me on Wednesday. Have a good night!

Oh, good ol' Bank of America...

I saw a commercial a couple months ago and it made me half laugh and half cringe. It’s supposed to be about Bank of America’s risk-free CDs they offer, but to me it was about something very different. I wrote down the script as I watched the commercial. Here it is:

“With most 9 month CDs, you won’t see your money for 9 months. What if you couldn’t see the sky for 9 months? Or hug your best friend or have a Cherry-Berry-Double-Swirl for 9 months? This is America! You can have breakfast at 3 in the afternoon, wear white after labor day, have Halloween in July. And with Bank of America’s risk-free CD, you can get your money out before 9 months without an early withdrawal fee. Wouldn’t you like to have that kind of freedom? Now you can, with Bank of America.”

I feel like I haven’t seen the sky in 7 ½ months. I haven’t hugged my best friend in 7 ½ months. And I haven’t been able to get a Cherry-Berry-Double-Swirl with the man that I want to share it with for 7 ½ months. And you know why I haven’t done those things? Because this is America. Sure, you can have breakfast at 3 in the afternoon (or at 2 in the morning, as Aaron and I have done on several occasions… Thank God for Denny’s!), or have Halloween in July, but how much do those things count for if you don’t have the one person around to do them with? My sky, my best friend, my Cherry-Berry-Double-Swirl, is putting his life on the line so that everyone else can see their skies, hug their best friends, and eat all the ice cream they want, and still take their money out of a CD before 9 months. If that’s not the ultimate sacrifice, what is?

Blue in the face

I just bought a Bluetooth thingamabobber. And yes, that is its technical name. “It’s the law now,” I reasoned, so I made my way to the Verizon store. After essentially being wined and dined and encouraged to buy the one that was $30 more (But it was silver! And designed by David Beckham! Psshhh.), I settled for the cheaper one, because I really didn’t think I would use it much. So I bought the thingamabobber, brought it home, charged it up, called my sister, and left her a message. I didn’t know if I was using it the right way, so later, when Aaron called me, I talked to him on it for a little while. And damn it, I liked it. “Why?? Why do I like it so much?” I asked myself. I now had what I thought was a rational fear of turning into that woman who carried a grande soy mocha frappachino with two pumps of hazelnut and light whip (don’t tell me if that’s not a real drink, I just made it up. I stick with the simple non-fat Chai…) in one hand, a Gucci purse in the other, with perfectly straight blonde hair falling over a light pink cable knit cardigan, the outfit complete with slim-fitting khaki pants and cute white heels, all the while talking way, way too loud on her Bluetooth thingamabobber about how she was so upset that she couldn’t get a walk-in appointment at the nail salon. And I really didn’t want people to look at me like I look at the slightly disheveled man walking down the street, seemingly talking to himself with arm gestures and everything, but in reality has the little device hooked to his ear but hidden in his greasy hair.

Any way I looked at it, I really didn’t want to like it. But I did. And it got me thinking a little bit about technology and about the good old days, as I’ll call them, back when I could get on an airplane with my trusty turbulence-resistant Discman and a good book and be completely entertained on a cross country flight. Two weeks ago, when I went to Chicago for the weekend, I was disgusted by how many different little pieces of technology I packed with me. Here was my list: my laptop, the power cord for the laptop, DVDs to play on my laptop, my digital camera, the battery charger for the camera, the cable that connects my camera to my computer, my Ipod, the Ipod charger, my Blackberry, and the charger for my Blackberry. Now if that’s not sad enough, part of me feels like I really need each and every one of those things. Without one of them I'm afraid I would be bored. What has the world come to? And now I have the Bluetooth thingamabobber and its charger to add to that list. It’s pathetic, I know.

Tomorrow I’m off to Northern California for the weekend to go to my best friend Bonnie’s baby shower. I think I might try to challenge myself. I’m not going to bring my laptop, and we’ll see how it goes. But I’m bringing my Bluetooth.

Baby Girl Chucky

I was accosted by a baby today. Full on assault. And the thing is, I couldn’t really get back at her because, well, she’s a baby. All I could do was give her a nice little smile and look the other way. I guess a little background is needed in order for me to not sound like a completely soul-less ass. My dad and stepmom (along with other step-relatives) are in Antioch, IL for the 4th of July, and at the last minute I decided to head out that way to spend the weekend with them. As was to be expected, it has proven to be an incredibly busy travel weekend, but I think I got the worst of the worst. After scrambling to pack a weekend’s worth of clothes for unpredictable and unknown weather after work today, I rushed out of my apartment and started driving toward the airport. I got there with time to spare, time that was then eaten up with trying to find a long term parking lot that wasn’t either full or $17 a day. I finally found an empty spot in the $12 lot, got my stuff out, and started walking toward what I thought was my terminal in the 103 degree, breezeless heat. So, there I was, walking at a brisk pace, sweat running down my back, pulling my suitcase behind me. I finally got to the terminal, went inside, and low-and-behold, I was at the wrong one. The right one was about a quarter mile of sweating down the road. Wonderful.

I wasn’t going to let it get me down though. I made it to the right terminal, checked in, went through security (at which point I had to take so much off that I may as well should have gone through naked), and boarded my first flight to Phoenix all within the span of about 7 minutes. The first flight went off without a hitch – although I did have the dreaded middle seat. Oh, and when the woman sitting in the aisle stood up when we got to the gate, she smelled like baby poo. But that’s beside the point. I stepped off the plane and found myself in a place that was more oppressively hot and more desert-like than Riverside. Ugh. Not a fan. The 108 degree blast of air was quickly rectified (and then some) by an overactive air conditioner that gave me the chills. Walking into that airport was like walking into a real-life version of Frogger, the game that my brother and I were so infatuated with playing whenever our Chinese babysitters in San Francisco took us for a night. Darting between people rushing every which way while trying to hold a fruit cup, pretzel, and a phone in one hand and luggage in the other is not quite as fun as jumping from lily pad to lily pad while sitting on a nice plush couch with a controller in your hands. Speaking of that fruit cup and pretzel, I found people in Phoenix (or at least the people at the Phoenix airport) to have a complete disregard for other people’s personal space. My boundaries were invaded relentlessly while I was there, the most blatantly while I was waiting in line for said fruit cup and pretzel. I got into line, and WHOOSH!!!, all of a sudden a woman was standing thisclose to me. Her face was literally 6 inches away from mine. It was the kind of close that you would only want your husband or best friend or mother to experience. She was so close that her pores could have spoken to me, and I would have seen each one moving. Anyway, enough with the pores.

I finally made it on to my second flight, the one flying into Chicago. My seat: 21B. Another middle seat. No big deal, I thought, it’s only a 3 ½ hour flight. It won’t be that bad. I shouldn’t have been so optimistic. I trudged down the aisle, stopping at row 21. I looked at my seat, but I couldn’t see much of it. Now, before I go any further, I need to say something. I am not a mean person. Nor am I racist or religion-ist or size-ist, or any other -ist for that matter. BUT. And there is a but. I do believe that when it comes to airplanes and the already miniscule amount of legroom, armroom, and headroom they give you, if you are overweight, you should have to buy an extra ticket. Yes, there was a very, VERY large man sitting in the aisle seat. I told him that I was sitting in the middle seat, so he started to get up, and that’s when I saw them: a mother and her 1 ½ year old baby sitting in the window seat. So. In a row that, with three people sitting in it, has you running for the exit as soon as the plane touches down, there were essentially five people. The woman, her baby, me, and a man twice my size. Thanks to the large man on one side and the baby on the other, the armrests couldn’t even be lowered. As I squeezed into my seat, I think I said out loud (but under my breath, hopefully), “Oh, heaven help me…”

At first, the baby girl was cute. She was smiley and had several teeth growing in, and would laugh when I looked at her. But apparently she didn’t like something about me after about 5 minutes, because that’s when I saw the devil in her. I have never seen the hairy eyeball like I did tonight. Her face morphed from a happy smile to a disturbed, exorcism-worthy snarl. Honestly, it was quite frightening. And I’m not being sarcastic or witty now. It was the kind of look that made my spine tingle. From that time on, I tried not to look at her. It was kind of hard not to though. When she wasn’t sleeping, she was staring at me. I put my headphones on, started playing Jack Johnson, and pretended to be asleep for a while. But I could still feel her stare. Every so often, I would be jolted out of my calm Jack Johnson stupor by a little hand with a big slap. Yes, that’s right, the little devil baby was slapping me. My leg was usually the target, but a couple times she got my shoulder and once she got my face. I know what you’re thinking – she’s a baby, and babies are kind of spastic when they move, so maybe I was a mistake. Nope. Not a mistake. I would look over at her and she would be giving me the death stare. At one point, the mom even told me that she beats up all of the other little babies her age in her play groups. Jeepers creepers. Needless to say, once the plane touched down, I was off like a prom dress. As soon as I could get by the man in the aisle, that is.

It is now almost 3am local Chicago time, and I have another few hours before my stepsisters’ flight comes in. Once they get here, we’ll pick up our rental car and drive about an hour out to Antioch, where the rest of the family is waiting for us. Until then, I’m at the Chicago O’Hare International Airport USO (United Service Organizations) lounge, which is actually really nice. It’s for military personnel and their families to pass time at the airport… There’s a movie room with a big flat screen TV and comfy chairs, an eating area with plenty of snacks and drinks, a few computers with internet, and even a dark room with cots that you can pass out in for however long you need to. Sometimes it really does pay to be in or associated with the military. Well, I need to find an outlet so I can charge my laptop. I hope everyone has a fun and safe 4th of July!

There aren't as many druggies and/or crazies there as you think...

So I just received the latest Women's Health magazine in the mail today. I always enjoy Women's Health, because it satisfies the bit of girliness in me ("65 Skin, Hair, & Makeup Problems Solved!" - what would I do without that article??) and also the health conscious athlete ("We've Got You Covered - Don't miss a single muscle with part five of our 20-minute workout series"), and it even does a little something for my husband ("56 Reasons to Have Sex"). But I mostly like it because it has random little facts here and there, like how deoderant really doesn't cause cancer, or that 42% of women said that if they had their cell phones, they would go places after dark that they normally wouldn't (don't worry, honey, I'm not one of those 42%...). But what caught my attention the most in this issue was a little quarter-page article called "States of Mind." It described a survey spearheaded by the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration that was administered to 136,110 Americans ages 12 and older to track state-by-state substance use and mental health patterns. Here are a few of their findings:

Serious psychological distress (ages 18 and up):
Lowest: Hawaii (8.8%)
Highest: Utah (14.4%)

Major depressive episode (ages 18 and up):
Lowest: Hawaii (5%)
Highest: Nevada (9.4%)

Pain reliever abuse:
Lowest: Hawaii (3.9%)
Highest: Oklahoma (6.7%)

Notice any trends? I wonder how the results came out that way... Oh wait, I think I know. It might have to do with the 500+ beaches to relax on and soak in the Vitamin D and good vibes, or maybe it's the lush mountain greenery just begging you to inhale the pure oxygen it is gifting you. Or could it be the laid back "Hawaii time" atmosphere, that sometimes gets annoying when you have a meeting and your counterpart shows up a half hour late in an aloha shirt and swim trunks, straight out of a surfing session, but that hardly ever gets stressful? It's a combination of all of these things and more, and I can't wait to move back there to cleanse my body, mind, and spirit.

On a completely different note, I am watching Nashville Star on TV right now. Billy Ray Cyrus must be the world's WORST host of all time. All I have to say is WOW. Absolutely horrible. Ok, that's all. I'm going to bed. Goodnight!