The first thing I noticed today when I got home from work and settled in to watch my daily regimen of Family Feud was the sweet peace of knowing there weren't any more political ads flooding every commercial break. Honestly, the political attack ads were one of the main reasons that I didn't vote yesterday. All of the candidates drove me away with their constant blubbering on tv, but fortunately I don't have to listen to their crap for another few years.
Now the only thing I have to deal with are the scores of people complaining about the election. I understand that people don't like the fact that their candidate didn't win, but is it really necessary to endlessly complain about it? It's not like complaining is going to change the result, so I just don't see the reason for doing it.
But people like to complain just for the sake of it I suppose, and if they weren't complaining about the election results they would surely find something else to complain about. I've never understood why people have to complain about everything, but some people just don't know how to be happy.
Well I think that's going to wrap this entry up. I don't really have much to say, but again I had to write something to continue my 30 day challenge. I'm sure I'll have more to talk about tomorrow, but we'll just have to wait and see when tomorrow comes.
07 November 2012
06 November 2012
(Don't) Rock the Vote
Seeing all the hoopla surrounding this year's election made me do something I never thought I would do since the day I turned 18: I didn't vote this year.
There, I said it. I did not vote for Mitt Romney. I did not vote for Barack Obama. I did not vote for anyone, and I'm kind of glad I didn't waste my time. I know this probably upsets a lot of people, but I realized today that it just wasn't worth my time to worry with voting.
I realized this as I arrived at the local elementary school where my precinct votes. It was cold, rainy, and the line was wrapped around the building. I made a decision right then and there that I was going to get back in my car and drive back to work because I wasn't going to wait in line for up to an hour in the cold and risk getting sick just to punch a name on a ballot when my singular vote doesn't count for anything since I live in a guaranteed Republican Electoral Vote state.
So yeah, I didn't vote. But, I won't complain about who won or lost either, because I realized that when I walked back to my car this morning I forfeited that right. I also won't chastise anyone else for voting for either candidate, as I feel that everyone has the right to vote (or in my case, don't vote) for whomever they please.
That's really all I have to say on the matter, because frankly neither candidate is worth wasting any more of my breath on. I just hope that whomever wins does right by America and looks out for the people over his political party, but the realist in me knows that's not going to happen.
But hey, a guy can dream can't he?
There, I said it. I did not vote for Mitt Romney. I did not vote for Barack Obama. I did not vote for anyone, and I'm kind of glad I didn't waste my time. I know this probably upsets a lot of people, but I realized today that it just wasn't worth my time to worry with voting.
I realized this as I arrived at the local elementary school where my precinct votes. It was cold, rainy, and the line was wrapped around the building. I made a decision right then and there that I was going to get back in my car and drive back to work because I wasn't going to wait in line for up to an hour in the cold and risk getting sick just to punch a name on a ballot when my singular vote doesn't count for anything since I live in a guaranteed Republican Electoral Vote state.
So yeah, I didn't vote. But, I won't complain about who won or lost either, because I realized that when I walked back to my car this morning I forfeited that right. I also won't chastise anyone else for voting for either candidate, as I feel that everyone has the right to vote (or in my case, don't vote) for whomever they please.
That's really all I have to say on the matter, because frankly neither candidate is worth wasting any more of my breath on. I just hope that whomever wins does right by America and looks out for the people over his political party, but the realist in me knows that's not going to happen.
But hey, a guy can dream can't he?
05 November 2012
Spaghetti Princess
Since my son doesn't have school tomorrow he was invited to a sleep over at his friend's house, and because my wife and I never pass up an opportunity to get one of our kids out of the house* we had no problem with him going. Normally when he goes to spend the night with a friend we let our daughter pick what we have for dinner so she doesn't feel unimportant, and it's a virtual lock that she will request spaghetti.
I swear she's Italian because she would eat spaghetti three times a day if we let her, but when she's the queen of the castle we don't argue with her choice of spaghetti for dinner even though it's a guarantee that we're going to eat it every single time.
One of the reasons I don't mind making spaghetti for her is because I have a quick and painless recipe for spaghetti sauce that I make and freeze for these special occasions, and for at least one night dinner is painless to make. Since I don't really have anything else to talk about today, and because I have to write something for this 30 day challenge, I decided I would share my spaghetti sauce recipe with you.
This is one of my daughter's favorite things to eat, and if you decide to try it I hope you have a good experience with it as well.
And that's all there is to it. It really is the easiest way to make spaghetti other than buying a jar of store-bought sauce, and trust me - once you try this you'll never want to do that again. Just be sure to double or triple the recipe so you can put some up for later. It keeps in the freezer for months and is a great way to save time during the busy week when you need a quick go-to meal or if you just feel like taking the easy way out to put dinner on the table.
* If you're a parent, you know exactly what I mean.
I swear she's Italian because she would eat spaghetti three times a day if we let her, but when she's the queen of the castle we don't argue with her choice of spaghetti for dinner even though it's a guarantee that we're going to eat it every single time.
One of the reasons I don't mind making spaghetti for her is because I have a quick and painless recipe for spaghetti sauce that I make and freeze for these special occasions, and for at least one night dinner is painless to make. Since I don't really have anything else to talk about today, and because I have to write something for this 30 day challenge, I decided I would share my spaghetti sauce recipe with you.
This is one of my daughter's favorite things to eat, and if you decide to try it I hope you have a good experience with it as well.
Quick Spaghetti Sauce
Ingredients:
1 green bell pepper, diced
1 medium yellow onion, diced
3 cloves garlic, minced
1 28 oz can crushed tomatoes
2 tbsp Italian seasoning
1 cup chicken broth
3 tbsp tomato paste*
*- The tomato paste can vary from 1 tspb to a full 6 oz can, depending on how thick you want the sauce. I use 3 tbsp because it is the preferred thickness for my personal taste, but your taste may vary.
Directions:
Sauté the bell pepper and onion on medium high heat for 5 minutes. Add the garlic and saute for one minute. Stir in tomatoes, chicken broth, and seasoning.
Lower heat to medium-low and stir in tomato paste 1 tbsp at a time until desired thickness is achieved (see note above). Cook sauce for 20 minutes, stirring occasionally. Serve with your favorite pasta.
And that's all there is to it. It really is the easiest way to make spaghetti other than buying a jar of store-bought sauce, and trust me - once you try this you'll never want to do that again. Just be sure to double or triple the recipe so you can put some up for later. It keeps in the freezer for months and is a great way to save time during the busy week when you need a quick go-to meal or if you just feel like taking the easy way out to put dinner on the table.
* If you're a parent, you know exactly what I mean.
04 November 2012
Costco over football? Yes, please...
Because I'm no longer emotionally invested in the state of the 2012 Carolina Panthers, I decided to skip my normal Sunday ritual of watching the game to spend time with my family and make a trip to Costco.
Yes, I just admitted that I went to Costco instead of watching football. I know that violates every guy code in the book, but I honestly don't care because 1) I am no longer interested in whether or not the Panthers win/lose every week, and 2) I actually like going to Costco.
One of the reasons I like going ot Costco is because you can find stuff there that you can't find anywhere else. I mean, where else are you going to find a 5 gallon bucket* of olive oil? That's right, nowhere. That's part of the reason I enjoy going to Costco; if nothing else it's an adventure to see what sorts of things you can find that don't exist anywhere else.
Another major reason I like going to Costco is because it's a membership only place. Now, I'm not saying that I'm some sort of elitist who thinks he shouldn't have to shop in the same place as the masses, but I will admit that I enjoy shopping in a place that doesn't have the typical riff-raff that you find at major box stores** across America.
So yeah, Costco is one of my favorite places to shop. The funny part is that today I didn't even buy anything. I just wanted to tag along with my parents and in-laws who were both going there to buy things. Plus, I really didn't want to watch football, so going to Costco gave me a way to pass time so I didn't have to suffer through yet another horrible Panthers experience. (In typical fashion, the one week I don't watch the game they decide to have their best game of the season and win. Figures.)
I can't say that I abstained from football completely this weekend though, because as I'm typing this I'm watching the Giants/Steelers game. Well, it's on the tv as background noise, because I'm also in the process of baking potatoes so I can make gnocchi for dinner tonight.
Speaking of gnocchi, I think I just heard the oven timer go off. Oh well, time to finish cooking so I can feed the family. They would probably like that.
* Okay, it wasn't that big of a container. However, it was at least 2 gallons.
** I won't name any names, but one such store's initials are Wal-Mart.
Yes, I just admitted that I went to Costco instead of watching football. I know that violates every guy code in the book, but I honestly don't care because 1) I am no longer interested in whether or not the Panthers win/lose every week, and 2) I actually like going to Costco.
One of the reasons I like going ot Costco is because you can find stuff there that you can't find anywhere else. I mean, where else are you going to find a 5 gallon bucket* of olive oil? That's right, nowhere. That's part of the reason I enjoy going to Costco; if nothing else it's an adventure to see what sorts of things you can find that don't exist anywhere else.
Another major reason I like going to Costco is because it's a membership only place. Now, I'm not saying that I'm some sort of elitist who thinks he shouldn't have to shop in the same place as the masses, but I will admit that I enjoy shopping in a place that doesn't have the typical riff-raff that you find at major box stores** across America.
So yeah, Costco is one of my favorite places to shop. The funny part is that today I didn't even buy anything. I just wanted to tag along with my parents and in-laws who were both going there to buy things. Plus, I really didn't want to watch football, so going to Costco gave me a way to pass time so I didn't have to suffer through yet another horrible Panthers experience. (In typical fashion, the one week I don't watch the game they decide to have their best game of the season and win. Figures.)
I can't say that I abstained from football completely this weekend though, because as I'm typing this I'm watching the Giants/Steelers game. Well, it's on the tv as background noise, because I'm also in the process of baking potatoes so I can make gnocchi for dinner tonight.
Speaking of gnocchi, I think I just heard the oven timer go off. Oh well, time to finish cooking so I can feed the family. They would probably like that.
* Okay, it wasn't that big of a container. However, it was at least 2 gallons.
** I won't name any names, but one such store's initials are Wal-Mart.
03 November 2012
Whew! Now I'm exhausted...
Today's post is going to be short, and honestly the only reason I'm even writing it is because I made a promise to write something every day this month and I don't want to break that promise on the 3rd day of the month. I've been known to slack off and quit things before, but even I'm not that bad.
The reason this post is going to be short is because I'm utterly exhausted. I've been moving furniture all day, and I barely have enough energy to sit here and type this post out after spending the last 9 hours moving couches and bedroom furniture.
It all started last night when I drove 3 hours to my parents' house to help my dad load a U-Haul truck so they could bring the furniture down to our house (we claimed a bedroom suit and living room suit that used to belong to my brother but was newer than what we had) . This morning we got up and loaded the truck, and then made the trek back to my house to unload the truck, load the old furniture from my house to donate to Goodwill, then unload the truck again at Goodwill and return the U-Haul.
After a grand total of 9 hours of driving, lifting, loading, and moving; I think I'm finally done, and now I'm worn out.
The good thing is that I don't have to move any more furniture for a long time because now the furniture in my house is new and will last at least 5 years, so thankfully I won't have to do this long hard day again in the near future.
That is, of course, as long as my wife doesn't decide she wants anything else changed in the house. Hey, a man can dream can't he?
The reason this post is going to be short is because I'm utterly exhausted. I've been moving furniture all day, and I barely have enough energy to sit here and type this post out after spending the last 9 hours moving couches and bedroom furniture.
It all started last night when I drove 3 hours to my parents' house to help my dad load a U-Haul truck so they could bring the furniture down to our house (we claimed a bedroom suit and living room suit that used to belong to my brother but was newer than what we had) . This morning we got up and loaded the truck, and then made the trek back to my house to unload the truck, load the old furniture from my house to donate to Goodwill, then unload the truck again at Goodwill and return the U-Haul.
After a grand total of 9 hours of driving, lifting, loading, and moving; I think I'm finally done, and now I'm worn out.
The good thing is that I don't have to move any more furniture for a long time because now the furniture in my house is new and will last at least 5 years, so thankfully I won't have to do this long hard day again in the near future.
That is, of course, as long as my wife doesn't decide she wants anything else changed in the house. Hey, a man can dream can't he?
02 November 2012
Dish Network is the devil
Yeah, the title of this post says it all. DISH Network is the devil (or, as Kathy Bates would say to Adam Sandler in The Waterboy, The Debil). Why are they the devil? Well, I'm glad you asked (and you know you did).
Last weekend my wife's debit card was compromised, so she had to get a new one issued from our bank. While she was waiting on her new card to arrive, she realized that we pay our DISH Network bill via auto-pay (we did this so we could get free HD service), and if she didn't call them to let them know that her card number changed we would have an issue with our payment not going through this month.
One would think that calling them ahead of time to let them know of this situation would be a good idea. One would be wrong to think this, because DISH Network doesn't work that way. They don't do things the common sense way. They have to make things as difficult as they can for their customers, because apparently they enjoy putting people through absolute hell just to get a simple task completed.
When my wife called customer service, she was told that in order to change the credit card on file she would have to pay the current charges on our account (our bill is automatically drafted out on the 18th of every month). When she asked why she would have to do something so foolish just to change information in our customer profile, she was told "that's just the way we do things". She asked to speak to a manager, and was transferred to someone who apparently was less qualified than the entry level phone operator she originally spoke to when she called.
The manager told her that if we wanted to change our credit card information on our account that we would have to pay the current balance. My wife told the manager that we weren't going to pay our full balance because it was foolish to pay it two weeks before it's due just to change the credit card number so future bills are actually paid (you would think they would want this to happen since you know - they wouldn't be able to collect their money otherwise).
My wife exchanged a few unpleasantries with the manager, who eventually told her that if we wanted to we could cancel our auto-pay option and re-enable it at a later date to avoid paying the balance to change our card number. The manager said that as long as we re-enabled the auto-pay option within 17 days we wouldn't be charged for the free HD that we have, and if we waited until the 18th (17 days from now) we could change the credit card number, pay the bill, and re-enable the auto-pay option for future billing cycles.
My wife asked the manager if we could just re-enable the auto-pay option tomorrow since it was within 17 days. The manager said no. My wife, perplexed, asked why this wasn't possible. The manager said that we would still have to pay the balance in full if we wanted to change the credit card number, but we could only do the disable auto-pay then re-enable it if we waited the 17 days and called back on the 18th to pay the bill and sign back up for auto-pay.
My wife and I were confused. We didn't understand why the manager told her that we could disable auto-pay, change the credit card number, and then re-enable auto-pay as long as we did it within 17 days, but then turned around and said we couldn't disable auto-pay today, change the card number, and then re-enable auto-pay tomorrow so the bill would be paid on the 18th.
When she pointed this out to the manger, she said "that's just the way we do things". My wife asked "So why did you just tell me two minutes ago that we could do that, and then tell me we couldn't do it?!" Apparently the manager said something that made my wife out to be a liar, because I heard her voice raise as she said "Well, you just told me that we could do that!"
After a few more minutes of back and forth with the manager, my wife agreed to disable the auto-pay feature and threatened them with cancelling our service if they screwed our account up and charged us for our HD programming after the manager told us they wouldn't, and she told the manager that we would call back on the 18th to re-enable the auto-pay feature and pay the balance on our account.
So basically, we wasted a half-hour of our day that we can never get back and got nothing out of it from DISH Network. Thanks, DISH!
Now, my question is this: Why in the hell is it necessary to go through all this rigamarole just to change the credit card number on our account? Is it really that hard to type in a new number in the credit card slot on our account? Do they treat all their customers this way, or are we the lucky ones?
As expected, we got an email from DISH Network about an hour later acknowledging that we disabled the auto-pay feature on our account, and...wait for it...if we didn't re-enable our autopay within 17 days we would be charged for any promotions that we received from signing up for auto-pay (i.e. - we would have to pay for our HD programming).
So, we wasted our time jumping through hoops on the phone with a customer service rep who told us that we wouldn't have to pay for our HD programming, and then received an email from DISH saying that if we didn't re-enable the auto-pay feature we would have to pay for our HD programming. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.
Needless to say, my wife isn't very happy about the way we were treated by DISH Network, and we've both decided that if they try to charge us for our HD programming from this month that we are simply going to take our business elsewhere because we feel that our continued loyalty for almost six years should be enough for them to treat us with a small modicum of respect, and if they can't do that then they don't deserve our money every month when there are other companies out there who will give us what we want (tv access) for comparable prices with much better customer service.
The moral of the story is this: if you're thinking about switching to satellite tv, don't switch to DISH Network because they're the devil, and the devil is bad.
At least that's what momma always says...
Last weekend my wife's debit card was compromised, so she had to get a new one issued from our bank. While she was waiting on her new card to arrive, she realized that we pay our DISH Network bill via auto-pay (we did this so we could get free HD service), and if she didn't call them to let them know that her card number changed we would have an issue with our payment not going through this month.
One would think that calling them ahead of time to let them know of this situation would be a good idea. One would be wrong to think this, because DISH Network doesn't work that way. They don't do things the common sense way. They have to make things as difficult as they can for their customers, because apparently they enjoy putting people through absolute hell just to get a simple task completed.
When my wife called customer service, she was told that in order to change the credit card on file she would have to pay the current charges on our account (our bill is automatically drafted out on the 18th of every month). When she asked why she would have to do something so foolish just to change information in our customer profile, she was told "that's just the way we do things". She asked to speak to a manager, and was transferred to someone who apparently was less qualified than the entry level phone operator she originally spoke to when she called.
The manager told her that if we wanted to change our credit card information on our account that we would have to pay the current balance. My wife told the manager that we weren't going to pay our full balance because it was foolish to pay it two weeks before it's due just to change the credit card number so future bills are actually paid (you would think they would want this to happen since you know - they wouldn't be able to collect their money otherwise).
My wife exchanged a few unpleasantries with the manager, who eventually told her that if we wanted to we could cancel our auto-pay option and re-enable it at a later date to avoid paying the balance to change our card number. The manager said that as long as we re-enabled the auto-pay option within 17 days we wouldn't be charged for the free HD that we have, and if we waited until the 18th (17 days from now) we could change the credit card number, pay the bill, and re-enable the auto-pay option for future billing cycles.
My wife asked the manager if we could just re-enable the auto-pay option tomorrow since it was within 17 days. The manager said no. My wife, perplexed, asked why this wasn't possible. The manager said that we would still have to pay the balance in full if we wanted to change the credit card number, but we could only do the disable auto-pay then re-enable it if we waited the 17 days and called back on the 18th to pay the bill and sign back up for auto-pay.
My wife and I were confused. We didn't understand why the manager told her that we could disable auto-pay, change the credit card number, and then re-enable auto-pay as long as we did it within 17 days, but then turned around and said we couldn't disable auto-pay today, change the card number, and then re-enable auto-pay tomorrow so the bill would be paid on the 18th.
When she pointed this out to the manger, she said "that's just the way we do things". My wife asked "So why did you just tell me two minutes ago that we could do that, and then tell me we couldn't do it?!" Apparently the manager said something that made my wife out to be a liar, because I heard her voice raise as she said "Well, you just told me that we could do that!"
After a few more minutes of back and forth with the manager, my wife agreed to disable the auto-pay feature and threatened them with cancelling our service if they screwed our account up and charged us for our HD programming after the manager told us they wouldn't, and she told the manager that we would call back on the 18th to re-enable the auto-pay feature and pay the balance on our account.
So basically, we wasted a half-hour of our day that we can never get back and got nothing out of it from DISH Network. Thanks, DISH!
Now, my question is this: Why in the hell is it necessary to go through all this rigamarole just to change the credit card number on our account? Is it really that hard to type in a new number in the credit card slot on our account? Do they treat all their customers this way, or are we the lucky ones?
As expected, we got an email from DISH Network about an hour later acknowledging that we disabled the auto-pay feature on our account, and...wait for it...if we didn't re-enable our autopay within 17 days we would be charged for any promotions that we received from signing up for auto-pay (i.e. - we would have to pay for our HD programming).
So, we wasted our time jumping through hoops on the phone with a customer service rep who told us that we wouldn't have to pay for our HD programming, and then received an email from DISH saying that if we didn't re-enable the auto-pay feature we would have to pay for our HD programming. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.
Needless to say, my wife isn't very happy about the way we were treated by DISH Network, and we've both decided that if they try to charge us for our HD programming from this month that we are simply going to take our business elsewhere because we feel that our continued loyalty for almost six years should be enough for them to treat us with a small modicum of respect, and if they can't do that then they don't deserve our money every month when there are other companies out there who will give us what we want (tv access) for comparable prices with much better customer service.
The moral of the story is this: if you're thinking about switching to satellite tv, don't switch to DISH Network because they're the devil, and the devil is bad.
At least that's what momma always says...
01 November 2012
Deja, Deja, Deja, Deja, Deja Vu
Have you seen the iPhone commercial with the stupid hipsters standing in line for hours just so they can buy a new phone, and then the one hipster who looks like he hasn't bathed or shaved in three weeks stands there counting his chubby little fingers while asking the question "Have you ever had deja, deja, deja, deja, deja vu*?
Yeah, I know you've seen it because they play it Every. Freaking. Commercial. Break.
My wife hates that commercial.
I hate it too, but that's beside the point. The point is: I feel like that chubby little hipster is talking about me. No, I don't have an iPhone (Android FTW), but it seems that I always tell myself "I'm going to start blogging again" and then I write a few posts and then put it on the shelf. Rinse and repeat. Over and over. Every single time I start, I stop again because I get scared that people are actually going to read this and they won't like me because what I write about is stupid and I don't want people to think I'm stupid.
Slow down. Deep breath...
Anyway, I'm going to give this a shot again. I might make it three posts, and this might be the jump start that I needed to get back into the habit of blogging all the time. This could be beginning of something fantastic, but it's probably going to end up like it always does - me doing this for a few weeks and then falling off the wagon again. After all, this cycle has played out many times before.
This time I think it's different though. This time I'm doing this because I want to, not because I feel like I have to. I know, you're probably sitting there thinking "he says that every single time", and you'd be right. I do say that every single time. But this time I mean it. (I know, I say that every time too, but this time I'm for real.)
This time around I have inspiration to write. A fellow blogger I greatly admire is doing a 30 days of writing challenge**, and it's inspired me to get off my lazy butt and write more. I feel a desperate need to communicate my thoughts with whomever may be reading this even though I don't know who I'm talking to unless I'm talking to myself, because I know who I am.
Or do I? Do I really know who I am? Maybe I do, and maybe I don't. Do you know who you are? Do any of us know? These are questions that I don't know the answer to, but maybe I can find the answers by writing in this space. Or maybe I won't, but at least I will be able to look back and say I tried.
In the end, that's all that really matters.
* The one that really gets on my nerves is the hipster who says "the headphone jack is going to be on the bottom", and then does the whole "my head is exploding" thing. I want to punch him in the face every time I see the commercial, but at the same time I don't because I'm afraid if I touch him I'll turn into a hipster.
** I am going to try and write a blog post every day for 30 days. If I can't keep this blog up after writing for 30 consecutive days, then it's a lost cause and I'll shut it down. I hope it doesn't come to that, but if it does - at least I'll know that I gave it my best shot.
Yeah, I know you've seen it because they play it Every. Freaking. Commercial. Break.
My wife hates that commercial.
I hate it too, but that's beside the point. The point is: I feel like that chubby little hipster is talking about me. No, I don't have an iPhone (Android FTW), but it seems that I always tell myself "I'm going to start blogging again" and then I write a few posts and then put it on the shelf. Rinse and repeat. Over and over. Every single time I start, I stop again because I get scared that people are actually going to read this and they won't like me because what I write about is stupid and I don't want people to think I'm stupid.
Slow down. Deep breath...
Anyway, I'm going to give this a shot again. I might make it three posts, and this might be the jump start that I needed to get back into the habit of blogging all the time. This could be beginning of something fantastic, but it's probably going to end up like it always does - me doing this for a few weeks and then falling off the wagon again. After all, this cycle has played out many times before.
This time I think it's different though. This time I'm doing this because I want to, not because I feel like I have to. I know, you're probably sitting there thinking "he says that every single time", and you'd be right. I do say that every single time. But this time I mean it. (I know, I say that every time too, but this time I'm for real.)
This time around I have inspiration to write. A fellow blogger I greatly admire is doing a 30 days of writing challenge**, and it's inspired me to get off my lazy butt and write more. I feel a desperate need to communicate my thoughts with whomever may be reading this even though I don't know who I'm talking to unless I'm talking to myself, because I know who I am.
Or do I? Do I really know who I am? Maybe I do, and maybe I don't. Do you know who you are? Do any of us know? These are questions that I don't know the answer to, but maybe I can find the answers by writing in this space. Or maybe I won't, but at least I will be able to look back and say I tried.
In the end, that's all that really matters.
* The one that really gets on my nerves is the hipster who says "the headphone jack is going to be on the bottom", and then does the whole "my head is exploding" thing. I want to punch him in the face every time I see the commercial, but at the same time I don't because I'm afraid if I touch him I'll turn into a hipster.
** I am going to try and write a blog post every day for 30 days. If I can't keep this blog up after writing for 30 consecutive days, then it's a lost cause and I'll shut it down. I hope it doesn't come to that, but if it does - at least I'll know that I gave it my best shot.
29 April 2012
War...and Peace, Part 5
If you've never planned a funeral before it pretty much goes like this: you cry your eyes out for about half an hour as you talk to the funeral director, you manage to pick out the day/time/location for the funeral, pick out a casket to bury your loved one in, and you somehow tell them enough information about the deceased so they can write an obituary (if you choose to have one). That's how it's supposed to happen.
For us, it was different from the norm because we were burying a veteran, so there was the added bonus of having a military funeral. Or so we thought.
We were informed by the funeral home that because my brother didn't die as a direct result from combat (i.e. - he wasn't shot or blown up overseas), that he was not eligible for a full military funeral. The problem with this is we wanted a full military funeral, and because he died from cancer that was proven to be a result of his service in the military, we felt that it was the least the government could do.
And so, it was time for the real battle to begin.
We made countless phone calls to every single person who had any say in how things are run in the state of South Carolina. We had friends of friends make calls to people who we thought might have connections to the inner-workings of the government. We had people posting to Facebook asking everyone they knew to call anyone they could to help us out, all to no avail. They weren't going to budge.
That's when we went on the news.
Someone in our community contacted the local news and told them the story, and they came to my parents' house to do a story on my brother and our fight to give him the funeral he deserved. They talked to my parents and my wife (I refused to go on tv because I couldn't bring myself to do it at the time) and aired the special the night before the funeral as a last ditch effort to convince the people in charge of the situation to make an exception for my brother.
After the news crew left, it was time for us to get ready for the wake, which is never an enjoyable task. It's even more difficult when it's one of your family members because that means you have to get there early to view the body to make sure everything is in order. That's the second hardest part of the process: the first time you see the body and know that it's not a person anymore.
Viewing the body was definitely an experience I will never forget for as long as I walk this earth. Seeing him lying there peacefully - knowing the personal hell he had been through for the previous 12 months of his life was finally over - was strangely relieving to me. I could feel his peace, and for the first time - if only for a brief moment - I was okay with what was happening.
We buried him in his military uniform. We felt it was the best thing to do for him, because we felt that's what he would have wanted. One benefit to doing this was allowing everyone to see all the medals and badges that he had earned during his service, and having people who knew what each badge symbolized tell us what they all meant. We learned a lot about him through this, and we discovered that he had done a lot more for our country than we thought he had.
For example, we learned that he won not one, but two Purple Hearts. That's a big deal. It's an even bigger deal that he never spoke a word about them. It's a sign of his true character. He was more concerned about others to the point where he wouldn't even brag about himself when he had something worth bragging about. Not very many people can say that. (I sure as hell know I can't.)
The wake was inspiring to me when I saw just how many people showed up to pay their respects to my brother for his sacrifice and for his service in the military. I felt like I shook a million hands and hugged a million people that night. One of the most awesome feelings I got from being at the wake was from meeting a lady who said she saw our story on the news and felt compelled to come pay her respects to the family. It was an unbelievable feeling knowing that there still are people out there who appreciate the sacrifices that members of our military make each and every day, and that's one of the few things that helped me get through the tragedy of losing him. I knew that his death was not in vain, and it did bring a feeling of peace to my soul.
We left the wake and returned to my parents' house, and sometime shortly after we arrived we learned that arrangements had been made for a full military funeral. We were thankful to everyone who had joined together to help us get what we felt he deserved, and we were glad that we were going to be able to remember his life the way that we thought he would have wanted us to. (When you're planning a funeral, you'll take any small bits of relief you can get.)
We were also informed that there was a group of veterans who wanted to escort the hearse to the burial site via motorcycle, and even though my mother was uncomfortable with the idea at first (she didn't want to add any more attention to the funeral than it already had), we finally convinced her that it would be a good idea to include them. (Looking back on it now, I'm glad we did.)
As unusual as it is to say this, the funeral was absolutely beautiful. We arrived at the church for the first half of the service, and when we got out of the car we noticed two long lines of American flags leading up to the entrance. Each flag was held by one of the motorcycle veterans, and each veteran was standing at attention as we walked into the church. It was surreal. It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen in my life, and it's a shame that it took such circumstances as a funeral for me to be able to see it, but unfortunately that's the way it goes sometimes.
The first half of the funeral was the typical protocol that most everyone follows. There was a prayer, a few songs, a message about the deceased, and another prayer. When we got to the grave site, however, it was a completely different story.
If you've never been to a military funeral you are missing out on one of the most beautiful exercises known to man. They follow a strict protocol that is intense, respectful, honorable, and moving all at the same time. I've never seen anything like it before, and I don't think I'll ever see anything like it again. It was a beautiful day for a funeral (as macabre as that sounds), and luckily we didn't run into any major problems with the weather (aside from the sweltering heat that only the South can provide). There's a unique air of calm surrounding a military graveside service, like nothing else I've ever experienced before. And, as strange as it sounds, I felt at peace.
The 21 gun salute was breathtaking. Hearing the shots fired into the dense summer air knowing they were meant to honor and respect the life that my brother had lived and the sacrifice he had given sent chills down my spine that I still feel every time I hear the sound of a gun shot, even thought it's been a little over 9 months since the funeral.
It didn't become real to me until they lowered the vault into the ground. Up until that moment, it felt as if I were living in a dream that would eventually end. But, when they lower that burial vault into that cold pit of dirt six feet below the surface, the reality of what's happening hits you like a freight train, and all the weight of regrets that you had for things you'd done (or failed to do) starts to sink in. That's the hardest part of the process - the realization that your loved one is gone forever, never to return again.
It's a reality that I've been battling ever since the funeral, and it's a reality that I'm just now able to talk about (hence the long amount of time for me to tell this story). But, thankfully I'm at the point now where I can finally talk about it to an extent, because that's the first sign of moving on. I know that it's a process and it takes time and that I'm not going to be over this for a long while, and knowing is half the battle. The other half is going to be adjusting to life without him, because from time to time I still find myself wanting to send him a text message, or checking to see if he's on Facebook just to chat.
I know I'll never get to chat with him again (at least not in the physical sense), and that's the part that eats at my soul every single day. I've lost my best friend, but I know that I can at least take comfort in the fact that he's finally at peace. He's certainly earned it.
War is definitely hell, but peace is everlasting. My brother went through war, and because of that war was able to find his peace. Someday, I hope that I can too.
For us, it was different from the norm because we were burying a veteran, so there was the added bonus of having a military funeral. Or so we thought.
We were informed by the funeral home that because my brother didn't die as a direct result from combat (i.e. - he wasn't shot or blown up overseas), that he was not eligible for a full military funeral. The problem with this is we wanted a full military funeral, and because he died from cancer that was proven to be a result of his service in the military, we felt that it was the least the government could do.
And so, it was time for the real battle to begin.
We made countless phone calls to every single person who had any say in how things are run in the state of South Carolina. We had friends of friends make calls to people who we thought might have connections to the inner-workings of the government. We had people posting to Facebook asking everyone they knew to call anyone they could to help us out, all to no avail. They weren't going to budge.
That's when we went on the news.
Someone in our community contacted the local news and told them the story, and they came to my parents' house to do a story on my brother and our fight to give him the funeral he deserved. They talked to my parents and my wife (I refused to go on tv because I couldn't bring myself to do it at the time) and aired the special the night before the funeral as a last ditch effort to convince the people in charge of the situation to make an exception for my brother.
After the news crew left, it was time for us to get ready for the wake, which is never an enjoyable task. It's even more difficult when it's one of your family members because that means you have to get there early to view the body to make sure everything is in order. That's the second hardest part of the process: the first time you see the body and know that it's not a person anymore.
Viewing the body was definitely an experience I will never forget for as long as I walk this earth. Seeing him lying there peacefully - knowing the personal hell he had been through for the previous 12 months of his life was finally over - was strangely relieving to me. I could feel his peace, and for the first time - if only for a brief moment - I was okay with what was happening.
We buried him in his military uniform. We felt it was the best thing to do for him, because we felt that's what he would have wanted. One benefit to doing this was allowing everyone to see all the medals and badges that he had earned during his service, and having people who knew what each badge symbolized tell us what they all meant. We learned a lot about him through this, and we discovered that he had done a lot more for our country than we thought he had.
For example, we learned that he won not one, but two Purple Hearts. That's a big deal. It's an even bigger deal that he never spoke a word about them. It's a sign of his true character. He was more concerned about others to the point where he wouldn't even brag about himself when he had something worth bragging about. Not very many people can say that. (I sure as hell know I can't.)
The wake was inspiring to me when I saw just how many people showed up to pay their respects to my brother for his sacrifice and for his service in the military. I felt like I shook a million hands and hugged a million people that night. One of the most awesome feelings I got from being at the wake was from meeting a lady who said she saw our story on the news and felt compelled to come pay her respects to the family. It was an unbelievable feeling knowing that there still are people out there who appreciate the sacrifices that members of our military make each and every day, and that's one of the few things that helped me get through the tragedy of losing him. I knew that his death was not in vain, and it did bring a feeling of peace to my soul.
We left the wake and returned to my parents' house, and sometime shortly after we arrived we learned that arrangements had been made for a full military funeral. We were thankful to everyone who had joined together to help us get what we felt he deserved, and we were glad that we were going to be able to remember his life the way that we thought he would have wanted us to. (When you're planning a funeral, you'll take any small bits of relief you can get.)
We were also informed that there was a group of veterans who wanted to escort the hearse to the burial site via motorcycle, and even though my mother was uncomfortable with the idea at first (she didn't want to add any more attention to the funeral than it already had), we finally convinced her that it would be a good idea to include them. (Looking back on it now, I'm glad we did.)
As unusual as it is to say this, the funeral was absolutely beautiful. We arrived at the church for the first half of the service, and when we got out of the car we noticed two long lines of American flags leading up to the entrance. Each flag was held by one of the motorcycle veterans, and each veteran was standing at attention as we walked into the church. It was surreal. It was the most amazing thing I've ever seen in my life, and it's a shame that it took such circumstances as a funeral for me to be able to see it, but unfortunately that's the way it goes sometimes.
The first half of the funeral was the typical protocol that most everyone follows. There was a prayer, a few songs, a message about the deceased, and another prayer. When we got to the grave site, however, it was a completely different story.
If you've never been to a military funeral you are missing out on one of the most beautiful exercises known to man. They follow a strict protocol that is intense, respectful, honorable, and moving all at the same time. I've never seen anything like it before, and I don't think I'll ever see anything like it again. It was a beautiful day for a funeral (as macabre as that sounds), and luckily we didn't run into any major problems with the weather (aside from the sweltering heat that only the South can provide). There's a unique air of calm surrounding a military graveside service, like nothing else I've ever experienced before. And, as strange as it sounds, I felt at peace.
The 21 gun salute was breathtaking. Hearing the shots fired into the dense summer air knowing they were meant to honor and respect the life that my brother had lived and the sacrifice he had given sent chills down my spine that I still feel every time I hear the sound of a gun shot, even thought it's been a little over 9 months since the funeral.
It didn't become real to me until they lowered the vault into the ground. Up until that moment, it felt as if I were living in a dream that would eventually end. But, when they lower that burial vault into that cold pit of dirt six feet below the surface, the reality of what's happening hits you like a freight train, and all the weight of regrets that you had for things you'd done (or failed to do) starts to sink in. That's the hardest part of the process - the realization that your loved one is gone forever, never to return again.
It's a reality that I've been battling ever since the funeral, and it's a reality that I'm just now able to talk about (hence the long amount of time for me to tell this story). But, thankfully I'm at the point now where I can finally talk about it to an extent, because that's the first sign of moving on. I know that it's a process and it takes time and that I'm not going to be over this for a long while, and knowing is half the battle. The other half is going to be adjusting to life without him, because from time to time I still find myself wanting to send him a text message, or checking to see if he's on Facebook just to chat.
I know I'll never get to chat with him again (at least not in the physical sense), and that's the part that eats at my soul every single day. I've lost my best friend, but I know that I can at least take comfort in the fact that he's finally at peace. He's certainly earned it.
War is definitely hell, but peace is everlasting. My brother went through war, and because of that war was able to find his peace. Someday, I hope that I can too.
28 April 2012
War...and Peace, Part 4
When cancer is involved, a person's health can nosedive in the blink of an eye. I witnessed this first hand as I watched my brother morph from the person who had an occasional bout with pain into someone who could barely get up off the couch without it being excruciating torture.
It was only a few days after he returned home after visiting me that I got a phone call from my mother saying that he was going to the hospital again. I knew it was going to happen. I could tell by the way he looked, sounded, and acted the week before that something wasn't right, even if he wouldn't admit it when I would ask him about it.
I don't pretend to know what anyone is thinking at any given time. I don't claim to be a mind reader, and I don't think that anyone really has the ability to read minds, even if someone tells you they are (and will prove it to you if you shoot them $3.99 per minute after dialing their 1-800 number). But, even though I couldn't read my brother's mind, I knew that he was troubled with his situation, and I knew that he was counting down his final days.
I could just tell in his general attitude that something was wrong, and no matter how many times I tried to get it out of him he wouldn't spill. I knew it was because he was scared of what he was facing, though I never heard him admit it. Either that or he didn't want to burden me. At any rate, I didn't push him too hard because the last thing I wanted to do was push him away in the time when I felt that he needed me the most (or the time that I needed him the most - I'm still trying to figure out which way it really was).
My fears were confirmed by the phone call from my mother. He was going to the hospital again, and I knew it wouldn't be much longer before we were planning a funeral. It's hard to come to terms with something like this, but we had no other choice. The fortunate thing for us was we had a chance to adjust to it, unlike many who have to do this sort of thing on the spur of the moment. We at least had some time, even if we didn't know how much.
My brother tried to make things easier on my family by attempting to live his final days at home, but he just couldn't do it. He wasn't able to be comfortable at home, because home didn't have the 24-hour nurse assistance that the hospital provided. So, he decided to go back to the hospital. Because he's the kind of person who puts others before himself, he decided that he wanted to go to the hospital that's only 10 minutes away from our parents' house, instead of the one that he'd been staying at (which is 35-40 minutes away) to make travel easier on our parents. (Once again, he was concerned with others even though he was the one near death.)
I drove a lot of miles back and forth on weekends for almost a month. I had to. I knew that if I didn't do it I would live to regret it for the rest of my life. I was faced with the decision: What's more important - spending time with my brother or putting mileage on my car? It wasn't a hard decision to make. So, I drove 3 hours one-way every Saturday morning, and drove the same 3 hours one-way every Sunday afternoon for three weekends in July/August.
The first two weekends were alright because he was able to sit in the bed and talk, even though he was in excruciating pain because of the tumors. We were able to reflect on our past and the fun times we had together as kids, and we were able to genuinely enjoy those moments because this time we weren't just talking to take up empty space - we were actually reliving those memories together.
Looking back, I'm glad we were able to share those times together while he was in the hospital, because it helped me cope with the fact that he didn't have much time left. I needed all the help I could get, and his ability to maintain a positive outlook was one of the few things that helped me get through the whole ordeal. He may not have realized what he was doing, but he was comforting me even though it was supposed to be my job to comfort him.
The final weekend I went to see him was the hardest. He had gotten so frail that he wasn't able to do anything anymore, and the pain was so bad for him that he was in a constant state of numbness from the morphine that was running through his veins. I knew the time was near. If you've never been around someone who's dying, I can assure you - you know when it's time, and even though none of us wanted to admit it, it was his time.
On Monday, August 8th, he requested that all his friends come visit him so he could begin saying his final goodbyes. He decided that he would have the doctors turn off the limit to his morphine so he could rest peacefully until his clock ran out, and he wanted to tell everyone goodbye before he was gone. I remember hugging him and telling him that I loved him, and I remember him saying "I love you too bro." to me as he hugged me. I felt like I was hugging a complete stranger because so much of him had wasted away because of the cancer, yet I couldn't make myself let go. I knew it would be the last time I hugged him, and I wanted it to last forever.
Unfortunately, it didn't last forever, and I had to leave so I could come back home to return to work on Tuesday. I didn't want to leave, but I had to. I shouldn't have left, and I knew I shouldn't have left as soon as I got home Monday night. One of my biggest regrets is not staying when I knew I should have, and even though I was doing what I thought was right, my heart was telling me the entire time that I should stay. I wish I would have listened.
I was eating my lunch on Tuesday at about 11:45 AM when I got the call. I didn't even have to answer the phone, because once I saw the number on the caller ID - I knew. My mother said two words to me, and those two words fell on me like a ton of bricks.
He's gone.
That's it. That's all she was able to say. I barely managed to mumble out "okay, we'll be up later this afternoon", and I somehow managed to call my wife and let her know what was going on. I don't know how, but I also made three other phone calls to spread the word, and I left work and went home to pack. As soon as I pulled the suitcase out, I sat on my bed and wept uncontrollably. I knew it was going to happen, and I'm still not sure how I held out as long as I did, but somehow, I was able to do it.
I was fine on the drive up, because I focused my attention on driving. Focusing on the drive was the easy part. The hard part was when we arrived and I saw my parents for the first time. The only word I can use to describe it is surreal. I thought I was dreaming, and I thought that at any moment I would wake up and the dream would be over.
Unfortunately I was wrong. I wasn't dreaming. My brother had really lost his battle with cancer, a mere 11 months after he was diagnosed with the disease. That wasn't even the hard part. The hard part was still to come, because we still had to have a funeral - a place where we would have to say our final goodbyes before he was laid to rest. That's the hardest part of all, because of the finality associated with it. There's no turning back from it, and I would be lying if I said it wasn't the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
To be continued...
It was only a few days after he returned home after visiting me that I got a phone call from my mother saying that he was going to the hospital again. I knew it was going to happen. I could tell by the way he looked, sounded, and acted the week before that something wasn't right, even if he wouldn't admit it when I would ask him about it.
I don't pretend to know what anyone is thinking at any given time. I don't claim to be a mind reader, and I don't think that anyone really has the ability to read minds, even if someone tells you they are (and will prove it to you if you shoot them $3.99 per minute after dialing their 1-800 number). But, even though I couldn't read my brother's mind, I knew that he was troubled with his situation, and I knew that he was counting down his final days.
I could just tell in his general attitude that something was wrong, and no matter how many times I tried to get it out of him he wouldn't spill. I knew it was because he was scared of what he was facing, though I never heard him admit it. Either that or he didn't want to burden me. At any rate, I didn't push him too hard because the last thing I wanted to do was push him away in the time when I felt that he needed me the most (or the time that I needed him the most - I'm still trying to figure out which way it really was).
My fears were confirmed by the phone call from my mother. He was going to the hospital again, and I knew it wouldn't be much longer before we were planning a funeral. It's hard to come to terms with something like this, but we had no other choice. The fortunate thing for us was we had a chance to adjust to it, unlike many who have to do this sort of thing on the spur of the moment. We at least had some time, even if we didn't know how much.
My brother tried to make things easier on my family by attempting to live his final days at home, but he just couldn't do it. He wasn't able to be comfortable at home, because home didn't have the 24-hour nurse assistance that the hospital provided. So, he decided to go back to the hospital. Because he's the kind of person who puts others before himself, he decided that he wanted to go to the hospital that's only 10 minutes away from our parents' house, instead of the one that he'd been staying at (which is 35-40 minutes away) to make travel easier on our parents. (Once again, he was concerned with others even though he was the one near death.)
I drove a lot of miles back and forth on weekends for almost a month. I had to. I knew that if I didn't do it I would live to regret it for the rest of my life. I was faced with the decision: What's more important - spending time with my brother or putting mileage on my car? It wasn't a hard decision to make. So, I drove 3 hours one-way every Saturday morning, and drove the same 3 hours one-way every Sunday afternoon for three weekends in July/August.
The first two weekends were alright because he was able to sit in the bed and talk, even though he was in excruciating pain because of the tumors. We were able to reflect on our past and the fun times we had together as kids, and we were able to genuinely enjoy those moments because this time we weren't just talking to take up empty space - we were actually reliving those memories together.
Looking back, I'm glad we were able to share those times together while he was in the hospital, because it helped me cope with the fact that he didn't have much time left. I needed all the help I could get, and his ability to maintain a positive outlook was one of the few things that helped me get through the whole ordeal. He may not have realized what he was doing, but he was comforting me even though it was supposed to be my job to comfort him.
The final weekend I went to see him was the hardest. He had gotten so frail that he wasn't able to do anything anymore, and the pain was so bad for him that he was in a constant state of numbness from the morphine that was running through his veins. I knew the time was near. If you've never been around someone who's dying, I can assure you - you know when it's time, and even though none of us wanted to admit it, it was his time.
On Monday, August 8th, he requested that all his friends come visit him so he could begin saying his final goodbyes. He decided that he would have the doctors turn off the limit to his morphine so he could rest peacefully until his clock ran out, and he wanted to tell everyone goodbye before he was gone. I remember hugging him and telling him that I loved him, and I remember him saying "I love you too bro." to me as he hugged me. I felt like I was hugging a complete stranger because so much of him had wasted away because of the cancer, yet I couldn't make myself let go. I knew it would be the last time I hugged him, and I wanted it to last forever.
Unfortunately, it didn't last forever, and I had to leave so I could come back home to return to work on Tuesday. I didn't want to leave, but I had to. I shouldn't have left, and I knew I shouldn't have left as soon as I got home Monday night. One of my biggest regrets is not staying when I knew I should have, and even though I was doing what I thought was right, my heart was telling me the entire time that I should stay. I wish I would have listened.
I was eating my lunch on Tuesday at about 11:45 AM when I got the call. I didn't even have to answer the phone, because once I saw the number on the caller ID - I knew. My mother said two words to me, and those two words fell on me like a ton of bricks.
He's gone.
That's it. That's all she was able to say. I barely managed to mumble out "okay, we'll be up later this afternoon", and I somehow managed to call my wife and let her know what was going on. I don't know how, but I also made three other phone calls to spread the word, and I left work and went home to pack. As soon as I pulled the suitcase out, I sat on my bed and wept uncontrollably. I knew it was going to happen, and I'm still not sure how I held out as long as I did, but somehow, I was able to do it.
I was fine on the drive up, because I focused my attention on driving. Focusing on the drive was the easy part. The hard part was when we arrived and I saw my parents for the first time. The only word I can use to describe it is surreal. I thought I was dreaming, and I thought that at any moment I would wake up and the dream would be over.
Unfortunately I was wrong. I wasn't dreaming. My brother had really lost his battle with cancer, a mere 11 months after he was diagnosed with the disease. That wasn't even the hard part. The hard part was still to come, because we still had to have a funeral - a place where we would have to say our final goodbyes before he was laid to rest. That's the hardest part of all, because of the finality associated with it. There's no turning back from it, and I would be lying if I said it wasn't the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
To be continued...
27 April 2012
War...and Peace, Part 3
It is incredibly painful to watch someone you care about suffer, especially when you know there's nothing you can do to stop the suffering. I've been there, and I'm sure many of you reading this have been there as well, so you know just as much as I do that it's not fun at all. It sucks, and there's really no nicer way to say it.
I won't go into a lot of detail about my brother's post-surgery or the majority of his hospital stays, because I don't have first-hand information from a lot of those incidents because I live 175 miles away from my parents and the hospital he was treated at is even further away than that. I went to visit on weekends, but I wasn't able to be there every day like I would have wanted to be, so a lot of the details are fuzzy to me because I'm relying on second-hand information. But, I will hit on the major points and the stuff that I know, which in this story should be good enough because while the minutiae of his ordeal would be great, the major plot points will suffice.
After my brother's surgery he went through the typical recovery process that everyone goes through where he was miserable for about a week after the fact, with the worst part being that he was confined to a hospital bed knowing he couldn't go anywhere or do anything that he loved to do. Add in the discomfort of having hoses and cords coming from every other direction - including a colostomy bag and catheter - and it makes the experience even more not-fun. But, my brother took it in stride. He always took everything in stride. No matter what effect it would have on him, he was the same calm person on the outside.
After suffering through the post-op discomfort for about a week, he was able to finally go home. But, that didn't last very long, and he was back in the hospital after a near-death experience when his catheter stopped functioning properly. One of the worst feelings in the world is that phone call late at night from home that contains the words "ambulance" and "emergency room". Add in "almost died" and "barely made it" to the equation, and it's a phone call that will certainly scare the hell out of any normal person.
He endured several scares similar to that one over the next few weeks, and also endured the bad news that the number of tumors in his liver had grown, as well as the amount of tumors in his lung. The big bombshell came shortly after that, when the doctors told him that the tumor they had removed not only returned, but came back larger than before. So, a new round of treatment was planned, even though he secretly thought it wouldn't do any good. (He never admitted this, but I could tell it was how he felt about the situation.)
He did everything he could to enjoy life. People tend to do that when they know there's a clock ticking and it's going to stop soon. He didn't know how much time he had (the doctors told him about a year), but he knew that he was going to enjoy the time as much as he could. He made a bucket list and started doing things that he'd never done but always wanted to. (I think all of us would love to have this luxury.)
He made one final trip to Hawaii to see his fiancée before his treatment was scheduled to begin, and that's when things began to turn for the worst. I'm not going to go into a lot of details about what happened in Hawaii because 1) I don't know all the details, and 2) it's really none of my business. All I'm going to say is this: he found out that she wasn't being honest with him while they were apart, and the engagement was cancelled before he returned home.
It was his deathblow. He lost everything that he had left to fight for, and when he came home he decided to not take the chemotherapy because he wanted to enjoy the rest of the time he could instead of being sick from the treatments and only buying himself an extra six months of life. His thinking was "I'd rather enjoy six months than be miserable for a year if I'm going to end up dead either way". I can't say that I blame him.
After the Hawaii fiasco he started crossing items off his bucket list. He got body piercings and tattoos (and even paid for me to get one with him), and he started enjoying every single moment of life he had left. He came to visit me more so he could spend more time with me, The Wife, and our kids. We stayed up until 2 AM most nights he was there, and even though it made getting up the next morning very difficult, it was some of the best time we spent together because it was so real, and to him - it was a chance to escape.
Each time he would come visit he would stay for several days to a week, and I noticed that he was getting progressively worse each time he came. I could tell his time was near, and I could tell that it wouldn't be too much longer until he wasn't able to come visit any more, and unfortunately, I was right.
The last time he was able to come visit was in July of last year. He came for my birthday, and he was able to stay for a week even though he was sick most of the time he was with us. He would stay up all night because he was so sick, and he would only get a few hours of sleep during the day if he was lucky. It didn't change the way he interacted with us though, as he would still talk and goof off as if nothing was even wrong with him. (To this day I'm still amazed that he was able to do this. I know I couldn't have done it.)
One of the things I'll always remember about his final week at my house was the late night conversation I had with him when he started telling me things that he had done while overseas. I won't go into detail here because it's not my place to do so, but I will say that he did a whole lot more than just sit at a desk and type on a computer all day, which is what he led most of us to believe. The one thing that will always stick in my brain as long as I have one is the image of him looking me square in the eye and saying "If I would have known it would come to this, I would have jumped on a grenade when I had the chance."
That's some powerful stuff. If you hear that, it will send chills down your spine, I don't care who you are. (It certainly did for me.) It's one of the last images I have of him, because shortly after he left our house and returned home, things took a turn for the worst.
To be continued...
I won't go into a lot of detail about my brother's post-surgery or the majority of his hospital stays, because I don't have first-hand information from a lot of those incidents because I live 175 miles away from my parents and the hospital he was treated at is even further away than that. I went to visit on weekends, but I wasn't able to be there every day like I would have wanted to be, so a lot of the details are fuzzy to me because I'm relying on second-hand information. But, I will hit on the major points and the stuff that I know, which in this story should be good enough because while the minutiae of his ordeal would be great, the major plot points will suffice.
After my brother's surgery he went through the typical recovery process that everyone goes through where he was miserable for about a week after the fact, with the worst part being that he was confined to a hospital bed knowing he couldn't go anywhere or do anything that he loved to do. Add in the discomfort of having hoses and cords coming from every other direction - including a colostomy bag and catheter - and it makes the experience even more not-fun. But, my brother took it in stride. He always took everything in stride. No matter what effect it would have on him, he was the same calm person on the outside.
After suffering through the post-op discomfort for about a week, he was able to finally go home. But, that didn't last very long, and he was back in the hospital after a near-death experience when his catheter stopped functioning properly. One of the worst feelings in the world is that phone call late at night from home that contains the words "ambulance" and "emergency room". Add in "almost died" and "barely made it" to the equation, and it's a phone call that will certainly scare the hell out of any normal person.
He endured several scares similar to that one over the next few weeks, and also endured the bad news that the number of tumors in his liver had grown, as well as the amount of tumors in his lung. The big bombshell came shortly after that, when the doctors told him that the tumor they had removed not only returned, but came back larger than before. So, a new round of treatment was planned, even though he secretly thought it wouldn't do any good. (He never admitted this, but I could tell it was how he felt about the situation.)
He did everything he could to enjoy life. People tend to do that when they know there's a clock ticking and it's going to stop soon. He didn't know how much time he had (the doctors told him about a year), but he knew that he was going to enjoy the time as much as he could. He made a bucket list and started doing things that he'd never done but always wanted to. (I think all of us would love to have this luxury.)
He made one final trip to Hawaii to see his fiancée before his treatment was scheduled to begin, and that's when things began to turn for the worst. I'm not going to go into a lot of details about what happened in Hawaii because 1) I don't know all the details, and 2) it's really none of my business. All I'm going to say is this: he found out that she wasn't being honest with him while they were apart, and the engagement was cancelled before he returned home.
It was his deathblow. He lost everything that he had left to fight for, and when he came home he decided to not take the chemotherapy because he wanted to enjoy the rest of the time he could instead of being sick from the treatments and only buying himself an extra six months of life. His thinking was "I'd rather enjoy six months than be miserable for a year if I'm going to end up dead either way". I can't say that I blame him.
After the Hawaii fiasco he started crossing items off his bucket list. He got body piercings and tattoos (and even paid for me to get one with him), and he started enjoying every single moment of life he had left. He came to visit me more so he could spend more time with me, The Wife, and our kids. We stayed up until 2 AM most nights he was there, and even though it made getting up the next morning very difficult, it was some of the best time we spent together because it was so real, and to him - it was a chance to escape.
Each time he would come visit he would stay for several days to a week, and I noticed that he was getting progressively worse each time he came. I could tell his time was near, and I could tell that it wouldn't be too much longer until he wasn't able to come visit any more, and unfortunately, I was right.
The last time he was able to come visit was in July of last year. He came for my birthday, and he was able to stay for a week even though he was sick most of the time he was with us. He would stay up all night because he was so sick, and he would only get a few hours of sleep during the day if he was lucky. It didn't change the way he interacted with us though, as he would still talk and goof off as if nothing was even wrong with him. (To this day I'm still amazed that he was able to do this. I know I couldn't have done it.)
One of the things I'll always remember about his final week at my house was the late night conversation I had with him when he started telling me things that he had done while overseas. I won't go into detail here because it's not my place to do so, but I will say that he did a whole lot more than just sit at a desk and type on a computer all day, which is what he led most of us to believe. The one thing that will always stick in my brain as long as I have one is the image of him looking me square in the eye and saying "If I would have known it would come to this, I would have jumped on a grenade when I had the chance."
That's some powerful stuff. If you hear that, it will send chills down your spine, I don't care who you are. (It certainly did for me.) It's one of the last images I have of him, because shortly after he left our house and returned home, things took a turn for the worst.
To be continued...
26 April 2012
War...and Peace, Part 2
One of the hardest things a person can ever say and/or hear are the three words I have cancer. It doesn't matter how tough you are (or claim to be), it's one of those phrases that brings sadness to everyone involved (and even to those who aren't involved). It's real. It's heart-wrenching. It's sobering. Those
three little words remind us of our own mortality, that our absolute
appointment with death is closer than we may have originally thought,
and it hurts like hell. It doesn't get any easier to digest after you've
heard them, either. I can bear witness to that.
The image of a phone conversation with my brother in September 2010 still resides in my brain as if it were 5 minutes ago. No matter how hard I try to forget, I am constantly reminded of that exact moment when he broke the news to me.
I was waiting in line to pick my son up from school and suddenly I saw my cell phone ringing. I should have known something was wrong when I saw his number on the caller-ID, because he's not the type to just call me up to discuss the weather. He's just like me when it comes to talking on the phone (i.e. - we hate it). It's funny how brothers can be alike in so many weird ways, yet be totally different in others. But anyway, I digress.
I remembered that he previously told me he had a doctor's appointment because he had been abnormally sick for several weeks after returning home from Afghanistan, but I never in a million years would have imagined that he would have cancer. That's just not something that goes through your head when you get a phone call from your brother. I was expecting him to tell me something about where his fiancee (at the time) would be stationed after she completes her training (she's in the Air Force), but I never thought I would hear him telling me that he had cancer. He wasn't supposed to say that.
Talk about a bombshell. After he told me, I was in a daze - like I was in the middle of a bad dream and couldn't wake up from it. To this day I'm still trying to face the facts and understand that he really did tell me that and it wasn't something that I made up.
The hardest part was not knowing what the future would hold. There was a lot of uncertainty in regards to treatment options, quality of life, likelihood of survival, etc., and it was a very trying time for me and my family because we couldn't just "know". I often wished that I could look into a crystal ball and see that everything was going to be alright, but I couldn't. Knowing that I couldn't made it hurt even more.
I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to help. Feeling helpless doesn't make matters any better, because I'm the type of person who likes to solve problems. Approaching the unsolvable is something I prefer to avoid, and something that I'm not accustomed to. I was a fish out of water for most of the time after his diagnosis, and that bothered me.
It bothered me that I couldn't solve the problem. It bothered me that I couldn't do anything to make his pain go away. It bothered me that I couldn't do anything to make my pain go away, and I couldn't make my parents' pain go away. I wrestled with the feeling of helplessness for a long time (hell, I'm still fighting that feeling today), even though my brain knew that there was nothing I could do - my heart wanted to do something so bad it couldn't stand it, and it couldn't handle the reality that there was nothing that could be done.
The doctors gave us a glimmer of hope by telling us that he could go through a few rounds of chemotherapy and then have surgery to remove the tumors that were in his body*, and after that there was a chance that following a round of radiation treatment he could make a full recovery. They cited his age (28 at the time) as a benefit in his fight because he was young enough and strong enough to fight off the ill effects of the chemotherapy, and he was still young enough to have something worth fighting for.
* - He had tumors in his rectum, liver, and one of his lungs.
He managed to stay relatively healthy (considering the circumstances) during his chemo treatments, and he was scheduled to go through surgery in December to remove the cancer from his body. When it came time for his surgery, he was in good spirits (again, considering the circumstances), and even though we were worried beyond belief, we tried to maintain a positive outlook for him. (This is much easier said than done.)
While the surgery only took about 6-8 hours*, it seemed like an eternity to me and the rest of the family as we sat in the waiting room, anxiously awaiting updates from the surgeon. Hospital waiting rooms are like that though. They make it seem like time is at a stand still. You sit, and you sit, and you sit some more. Then you get up and walk around to ease your butt from all the sitting (and because you're going stir crazy sitting in the same chair for so long), and then you return to your seat and sit again for hours on end. Then, you look up at the clock and realize you've only been sitting there for fifteen minutes, even though you feel like you've been trapped in that chair for hours on end.
* - I have forgotten exactly how long the surgery took, but 6-8 hours is a fair estimate.
Finally, after what appeared to be about five days worth of time, the surgeon came out to discuss how the surgery went. The news was good, but not as good as we hoped it would be. The surgery went well in terms of he went in and came out alive, but the surgery didn't go so well in terms of the surgeon accomplishing his goals in the surgery. They were only able to remove part of the tumor because of extenuating circumstances they encountered once they opened him up.*
* - I'm not going to go into graphic detail, but it took them several hours to clean his bowels because they were so impacted due to the location of his tumor.
Because of the problems they ran into once they opened him up for the operation, they weren't able to remove the tumors from his lung and liver. They decided that it was best to get the biggest tumor out of the way, and they were able to take all of it out. The down side to the surgery was they had to set him up with a colostomy bag because of the tumor's location, but they were hopeful that it would only be a temporary setback until they were able to do a second surgery to completely remove the cancerous tumors.
Unfortunately for my brother, it wasn't temporary. But that was only the beginning of his struggles.
To be continued...
The image of a phone conversation with my brother in September 2010 still resides in my brain as if it were 5 minutes ago. No matter how hard I try to forget, I am constantly reminded of that exact moment when he broke the news to me.
I was waiting in line to pick my son up from school and suddenly I saw my cell phone ringing. I should have known something was wrong when I saw his number on the caller-ID, because he's not the type to just call me up to discuss the weather. He's just like me when it comes to talking on the phone (i.e. - we hate it). It's funny how brothers can be alike in so many weird ways, yet be totally different in others. But anyway, I digress.
I remembered that he previously told me he had a doctor's appointment because he had been abnormally sick for several weeks after returning home from Afghanistan, but I never in a million years would have imagined that he would have cancer. That's just not something that goes through your head when you get a phone call from your brother. I was expecting him to tell me something about where his fiancee (at the time) would be stationed after she completes her training (she's in the Air Force), but I never thought I would hear him telling me that he had cancer. He wasn't supposed to say that.
Talk about a bombshell. After he told me, I was in a daze - like I was in the middle of a bad dream and couldn't wake up from it. To this day I'm still trying to face the facts and understand that he really did tell me that and it wasn't something that I made up.
The hardest part was not knowing what the future would hold. There was a lot of uncertainty in regards to treatment options, quality of life, likelihood of survival, etc., and it was a very trying time for me and my family because we couldn't just "know". I often wished that I could look into a crystal ball and see that everything was going to be alright, but I couldn't. Knowing that I couldn't made it hurt even more.
I didn't know what to do. I didn't know how to help. Feeling helpless doesn't make matters any better, because I'm the type of person who likes to solve problems. Approaching the unsolvable is something I prefer to avoid, and something that I'm not accustomed to. I was a fish out of water for most of the time after his diagnosis, and that bothered me.
It bothered me that I couldn't solve the problem. It bothered me that I couldn't do anything to make his pain go away. It bothered me that I couldn't do anything to make my pain go away, and I couldn't make my parents' pain go away. I wrestled with the feeling of helplessness for a long time (hell, I'm still fighting that feeling today), even though my brain knew that there was nothing I could do - my heart wanted to do something so bad it couldn't stand it, and it couldn't handle the reality that there was nothing that could be done.
The doctors gave us a glimmer of hope by telling us that he could go through a few rounds of chemotherapy and then have surgery to remove the tumors that were in his body*, and after that there was a chance that following a round of radiation treatment he could make a full recovery. They cited his age (28 at the time) as a benefit in his fight because he was young enough and strong enough to fight off the ill effects of the chemotherapy, and he was still young enough to have something worth fighting for.
* - He had tumors in his rectum, liver, and one of his lungs.
He managed to stay relatively healthy (considering the circumstances) during his chemo treatments, and he was scheduled to go through surgery in December to remove the cancer from his body. When it came time for his surgery, he was in good spirits (again, considering the circumstances), and even though we were worried beyond belief, we tried to maintain a positive outlook for him. (This is much easier said than done.)
While the surgery only took about 6-8 hours*, it seemed like an eternity to me and the rest of the family as we sat in the waiting room, anxiously awaiting updates from the surgeon. Hospital waiting rooms are like that though. They make it seem like time is at a stand still. You sit, and you sit, and you sit some more. Then you get up and walk around to ease your butt from all the sitting (and because you're going stir crazy sitting in the same chair for so long), and then you return to your seat and sit again for hours on end. Then, you look up at the clock and realize you've only been sitting there for fifteen minutes, even though you feel like you've been trapped in that chair for hours on end.
* - I have forgotten exactly how long the surgery took, but 6-8 hours is a fair estimate.
Finally, after what appeared to be about five days worth of time, the surgeon came out to discuss how the surgery went. The news was good, but not as good as we hoped it would be. The surgery went well in terms of he went in and came out alive, but the surgery didn't go so well in terms of the surgeon accomplishing his goals in the surgery. They were only able to remove part of the tumor because of extenuating circumstances they encountered once they opened him up.*
* - I'm not going to go into graphic detail, but it took them several hours to clean his bowels because they were so impacted due to the location of his tumor.
Because of the problems they ran into once they opened him up for the operation, they weren't able to remove the tumors from his lung and liver. They decided that it was best to get the biggest tumor out of the way, and they were able to take all of it out. The down side to the surgery was they had to set him up with a colostomy bag because of the tumor's location, but they were hopeful that it would only be a temporary setback until they were able to do a second surgery to completely remove the cancerous tumors.
Unfortunately for my brother, it wasn't temporary. But that was only the beginning of his struggles.
To be continued...
25 April 2012
War...and Peace, Part 1
William Sherman was absolutely right when he said that war is hell. I know this first hand. No, I've never served in the U.S. Armed Forces, and I've never been on a battlefield except for various field trips I've taken over the course of my years studying the history of our great nation, but I can honestly say from personal experience that war is definitely hell.
I'm sure you're wondering how I can be so definitive about something I readily admit not experiencing first-hand, but I'm not talking about the kind of war you probably think I'm talking about. I'm not talking about the war with bullets flying to and fro as airplanes drop bombs over massive acres of land in order to take out as many enemies as they possibly can at once, all because the people being bombed believe in a different set of ideals than those doing the bombing. No, I'm not talking about that kind of war. Sherman was, however, and from stories I've been told by numerous sources who can say they've been in a war zone, I understand that Sherman was right.
War is hell.
But anyway, I digress.
The type of war I'm talking about is an emotional one. It's a war that I've personally gone through over the past one and a half years of my life, and I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt from my experience that war is absolutely hell. If you've ever encountered the pain and suffering that I've been through since last September, then you know exactly what I'm talking about. Otherwise, you're just going to have to take my word for it and believe me when I tell you that I know what I'm talking about, and the crap that I've been through over the past year and a half truly is an emotional war, and therefore - per General Sherman - it is hell.
In case you're not aware of this emotional malaise that I am referring to; in September 2010, my brother (my only brother, mind you) was diagnosed with cancer. At the time, I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know how sick he really was, or how far the cancer had spread, or if the cancer was even treatable. I didn't know how much time he would have left on this earth.
(That's the scary part - the unknown. It's hard enough to deal with trials when you have the information at hand, but it's a whole new level of difficult when you don't have a clue what's going to happen next.)
Looking back, I wish I would have known that he would only have as much time as he did, because when you know what time the clock is going to hit zero you tend to be more prepared than you are if you have no clue what's going to happen next. Of course, knowing the outcome is considered cheating, because none of us are allowed the privilege of knowing what's in store for us at any given time. But, it sure would be nice to have the capability to look at a specific point in the space-time continuum and know exactly when and where the end will take place, because having that competitive advantage against death would make things a lot easier for everyone involved, and honestly we could use every advantage over death that we can get.
But enough about me. This part of the story is supposed to be about my brother. After all, he's the reason I'm writing these words at this very moment. Although if I were to be truly honest with you, I'm doing this for myself as well, if for nothing more than to help me cope with the events that have unfolded since his diagnosis.
Notice I used the word cope. I used that word because it's really all I'm able to do at this point. I'm finally to the point where I can make it a few weeks without having a breakdown, and I've finally accomplished the feat of sleeping throughout the night more than one night in a row, but I'm still in the "coping" stage. To be completely honest I'll probably never get past that stage, because I don't think I'll ever fully accept that he's gone.
They say that time heals all wounds, and that might be true. But, I do know that if it is true, it's going to take a lot of time. We're talking the "coal turning into a diamond" realm of time here. And, that's okay. It's perfectly normal as far as I'm concerned, even though I'm not exactly what you would call an expert on "normal".
(Okay, I'm making this about myself again, so I'm going to move on and tell my brother's story. Well, part of it anyway. If I tried to tell his whole story I would have to write a novel.)
My brother was a member of the US Army who did three tours of duty in Iraq and one tour of duty in Afghanistan. He was a member of the Special Forces group out of Fort Campbell, KY for the first three tours of duty, but then he was re-assigned to Fort McCoy, WI when he was sent to Afghanistan. Of course, if life were fair (which we all know it's not), he would have never went to Afghanistan in the first place. He had served his initial contract which included the first three tours of duty, and when it was time for his contract to expire he chose not to re-enlist because he wanted to stay home and finish getting his Bachelor's Degree.
The Army had different plans for him. They called him back three years later, and told him he was being sent to Afghanistan. One of the benefits in joining the Army (at least for them) is that they can call a soldier back into duty at any time up to four years after their contract expires. (However, they can only give a returning soldier one set of orders, and they can't keep the soldier for more than one calendar year.) Since my brother was within his four year "probation period" (for lack of a better term), he was eligible to be called back to service, and he was instructed to report for duty for his last year of service which included a tour in Afghanistan for 6 months.
His mission was to provide intel support to a group from Alabama (there's a joke in there somewhere, I'm sure), but that's all I know about what he was called back to do. He wasn't allowed to talk about it, because it was highly classified information (at least that's what he always said). All I know is he went to Afghanistan with 14 or 15 other guys from Alabama, and he served about 9 months time. He never went into a lot of detail about any of his assignments, and I knew that it was because he wasn't allowed to talk about them so I never really pressed him for information. I do know, however, that his job wasn't to just sit at a computer desk all day like he led most of our family to believe. (Looking back on it, I know he did this because he didn't want anyone to worry about him every day. But - even though he didn't want us to - we still did.)
Even though he didn't talk about his job that much, I do know that his one claim to fame is that he was a part of the group that tracked and found Saddam Hussein. He claims that not only did he get to question Hussein face to face, but he also had the pleasure of defecating in Hussein's personal toilet. When we asked him why he did it, he simply answered "because no one else from here can say they have ever done that".
It's an answer that I expected him to give, because he's always had a dry sense of humor. That's one of the many things that was so great about him. He had the uncanny ability to have a room bursting in laughter while he maintained a straight face that could win a game of Texas Hold 'Em with a Ten High hand. That's just how he was. It was incredibly hard to know if and when he was telling the truth or just blowing smoke because he always kept a straight face, but this is one of those times where I believe he was telling the truth.
I can see him sitting there on Hussein's toilet right now, smirking because he knows that he's going to have a story to share for the rest of his life.
Unfortunately for everyone, the rest of his life was a very short period of time. Much shorter than any of us wanted it to be, and - if you ask me - much shorter than he deserved.
To be continued...
I'm sure you're wondering how I can be so definitive about something I readily admit not experiencing first-hand, but I'm not talking about the kind of war you probably think I'm talking about. I'm not talking about the war with bullets flying to and fro as airplanes drop bombs over massive acres of land in order to take out as many enemies as they possibly can at once, all because the people being bombed believe in a different set of ideals than those doing the bombing. No, I'm not talking about that kind of war. Sherman was, however, and from stories I've been told by numerous sources who can say they've been in a war zone, I understand that Sherman was right.
War is hell.
But anyway, I digress.
The type of war I'm talking about is an emotional one. It's a war that I've personally gone through over the past one and a half years of my life, and I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt from my experience that war is absolutely hell. If you've ever encountered the pain and suffering that I've been through since last September, then you know exactly what I'm talking about. Otherwise, you're just going to have to take my word for it and believe me when I tell you that I know what I'm talking about, and the crap that I've been through over the past year and a half truly is an emotional war, and therefore - per General Sherman - it is hell.
In case you're not aware of this emotional malaise that I am referring to; in September 2010, my brother (my only brother, mind you) was diagnosed with cancer. At the time, I didn't know what to expect. I didn't know how sick he really was, or how far the cancer had spread, or if the cancer was even treatable. I didn't know how much time he would have left on this earth.
(That's the scary part - the unknown. It's hard enough to deal with trials when you have the information at hand, but it's a whole new level of difficult when you don't have a clue what's going to happen next.)
Looking back, I wish I would have known that he would only have as much time as he did, because when you know what time the clock is going to hit zero you tend to be more prepared than you are if you have no clue what's going to happen next. Of course, knowing the outcome is considered cheating, because none of us are allowed the privilege of knowing what's in store for us at any given time. But, it sure would be nice to have the capability to look at a specific point in the space-time continuum and know exactly when and where the end will take place, because having that competitive advantage against death would make things a lot easier for everyone involved, and honestly we could use every advantage over death that we can get.
But enough about me. This part of the story is supposed to be about my brother. After all, he's the reason I'm writing these words at this very moment. Although if I were to be truly honest with you, I'm doing this for myself as well, if for nothing more than to help me cope with the events that have unfolded since his diagnosis.
Notice I used the word cope. I used that word because it's really all I'm able to do at this point. I'm finally to the point where I can make it a few weeks without having a breakdown, and I've finally accomplished the feat of sleeping throughout the night more than one night in a row, but I'm still in the "coping" stage. To be completely honest I'll probably never get past that stage, because I don't think I'll ever fully accept that he's gone.
They say that time heals all wounds, and that might be true. But, I do know that if it is true, it's going to take a lot of time. We're talking the "coal turning into a diamond" realm of time here. And, that's okay. It's perfectly normal as far as I'm concerned, even though I'm not exactly what you would call an expert on "normal".
(Okay, I'm making this about myself again, so I'm going to move on and tell my brother's story. Well, part of it anyway. If I tried to tell his whole story I would have to write a novel.)
My brother was a member of the US Army who did three tours of duty in Iraq and one tour of duty in Afghanistan. He was a member of the Special Forces group out of Fort Campbell, KY for the first three tours of duty, but then he was re-assigned to Fort McCoy, WI when he was sent to Afghanistan. Of course, if life were fair (which we all know it's not), he would have never went to Afghanistan in the first place. He had served his initial contract which included the first three tours of duty, and when it was time for his contract to expire he chose not to re-enlist because he wanted to stay home and finish getting his Bachelor's Degree.
The Army had different plans for him. They called him back three years later, and told him he was being sent to Afghanistan. One of the benefits in joining the Army (at least for them) is that they can call a soldier back into duty at any time up to four years after their contract expires. (However, they can only give a returning soldier one set of orders, and they can't keep the soldier for more than one calendar year.) Since my brother was within his four year "probation period" (for lack of a better term), he was eligible to be called back to service, and he was instructed to report for duty for his last year of service which included a tour in Afghanistan for 6 months.
His mission was to provide intel support to a group from Alabama (there's a joke in there somewhere, I'm sure), but that's all I know about what he was called back to do. He wasn't allowed to talk about it, because it was highly classified information (at least that's what he always said). All I know is he went to Afghanistan with 14 or 15 other guys from Alabama, and he served about 9 months time. He never went into a lot of detail about any of his assignments, and I knew that it was because he wasn't allowed to talk about them so I never really pressed him for information. I do know, however, that his job wasn't to just sit at a computer desk all day like he led most of our family to believe. (Looking back on it, I know he did this because he didn't want anyone to worry about him every day. But - even though he didn't want us to - we still did.)
Even though he didn't talk about his job that much, I do know that his one claim to fame is that he was a part of the group that tracked and found Saddam Hussein. He claims that not only did he get to question Hussein face to face, but he also had the pleasure of defecating in Hussein's personal toilet. When we asked him why he did it, he simply answered "because no one else from here can say they have ever done that".
It's an answer that I expected him to give, because he's always had a dry sense of humor. That's one of the many things that was so great about him. He had the uncanny ability to have a room bursting in laughter while he maintained a straight face that could win a game of Texas Hold 'Em with a Ten High hand. That's just how he was. It was incredibly hard to know if and when he was telling the truth or just blowing smoke because he always kept a straight face, but this is one of those times where I believe he was telling the truth.
I can see him sitting there on Hussein's toilet right now, smirking because he knows that he's going to have a story to share for the rest of his life.
Unfortunately for everyone, the rest of his life was a very short period of time. Much shorter than any of us wanted it to be, and - if you ask me - much shorter than he deserved.
To be continued...
12 March 2012
A tribute in ink
People pay tribute to those they care about in a myriad of ways. Some people write songs, others write poems or novels, and some - like me - get tattoos. When my brother passed away last August from cancer (that he got due to his military service in Afghanistan - thank you very much Mister President), I knew that I wanted to get a tattoo in honor of his life and service so I would always have him with me.
Well, it took me seven months to determine exactly what kind of tattoo I wanted to get (and to be able to handle it emotionally), and this past weekend I finally got the tattoo done. As you can see in the picture below, it is a set of praying hands holding a set of dog tags with my brother's initials and lifespan stamped onto the tags, with a scroll containing the phrase "Some Gave All" underneath the hands.
I'm extremely happy with the way it turned out. (And why shouldn't I be? It's quality work and it's exactly what I wanted. Actually, it's more than what I wanted, because I never thought it would turn out as great as it did.)
I'm not going to try to be Mr. Tough Guy and say that it didn't hurt, because it did. It hurt like hell, especially when the artist started doing the shading. It's been two days and it's still sore in some spots, but that's the price you have to pay if you want to get a tattoo, and I honestly have no right to complain (and I'm not complaining, mind you) because my brother suffered a hell of a lot more than I did for the last year of his life, so the least I could do was not bitch and moan over something as simple as a tattoo. (That's what I kept telling myself as I was getting the work done, and it did help me take my mind off of the pain from the needle.)
At first I was going to get the tattoo on my chest, but after talking with the artist and The Wife I decided that it would be best to put it on my back left shoulder. In the end I'm glad I made this change, because I think it is in the perfect place. It's a reminder that my brother always has my back, even though he's no longer here on earth.
I may not be able to call him up and talk to him every day like I could before he passed away, but I can always look in a mirror and smile knowing he's always right there behind me, watching over me as I make my journey through this life.
Well, it took me seven months to determine exactly what kind of tattoo I wanted to get (and to be able to handle it emotionally), and this past weekend I finally got the tattoo done. As you can see in the picture below, it is a set of praying hands holding a set of dog tags with my brother's initials and lifespan stamped onto the tags, with a scroll containing the phrase "Some Gave All" underneath the hands.
I'm extremely happy with the way it turned out. (And why shouldn't I be? It's quality work and it's exactly what I wanted. Actually, it's more than what I wanted, because I never thought it would turn out as great as it did.)
I'm not going to try to be Mr. Tough Guy and say that it didn't hurt, because it did. It hurt like hell, especially when the artist started doing the shading. It's been two days and it's still sore in some spots, but that's the price you have to pay if you want to get a tattoo, and I honestly have no right to complain (and I'm not complaining, mind you) because my brother suffered a hell of a lot more than I did for the last year of his life, so the least I could do was not bitch and moan over something as simple as a tattoo. (That's what I kept telling myself as I was getting the work done, and it did help me take my mind off of the pain from the needle.)
At first I was going to get the tattoo on my chest, but after talking with the artist and The Wife I decided that it would be best to put it on my back left shoulder. In the end I'm glad I made this change, because I think it is in the perfect place. It's a reminder that my brother always has my back, even though he's no longer here on earth.
I may not be able to call him up and talk to him every day like I could before he passed away, but I can always look in a mirror and smile knowing he's always right there behind me, watching over me as I make my journey through this life.
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