Welcome Home!!

A few weeks ago, I posted a blog essay I named Standing Tall, about a young United States Marine I have never met.  A thin connection to my childhood neighbor and his family was and is the link.  For reasons I cannot explain, I remain moved by his story.

Some digression, perhaps intermingled with thoughts from that earlier post.

I still struggle to grasp the volunteer nature of the service these men and women provide to me, my family, you the reader, your family, and our country and society as a whole.  Previous wars and conflicts sometimes involved compulsory draft service.  Yet, we know even in draft situations there were many that volunteered, some even lying about their age to do so (like in World War 2), putting themselves in harm's way so some fat slob like me can type on a laptop in peace and security.  The draft ended years ago, yet, our country still meets recruitment goals and then some...with an active war zone in place.  

In fairness, give credit here to those non military men and women like police and fire fighters compromising their personal safety in public service to us daily.  It is not just our Military.  Very close to my local geography, 2 police officers were recently killed in the line of duty in a very short period of time.  Even a police dog gave the ultimate sacrifice during this period!! 

War zone or protecting a neighborhood, the ultimate sacrifice IS the ultimate sacrifice.

That can never be taken back.

And they volunteer for this?

The wounds and maimings of such service often cannot be taken back either.  At places like Walter Reed, the best healers and researchers continue exploring and implementing ways to heal and provide prosthesis to our many wounded warriors.  The United States Marine I wrote about a few weeks ago is wrapped in the care of such a place.  More so, this Marine is wrapped in the love of his young wife, family, and who knows how many layers of prayer?  (From the postings, it is A LOT of prayer. Me included).

By now if the reader wonders regarding these musings, through the miracle (curse?) of Facebook, I can report this Marine is Home.  From the Facebook post inspiring this blog:

"We have come so far in such a short month. All the doctors are in shock at how fast...is healing and how independent he already is. They call the date of your injury your "Alive Day" around here, and at first I thought that was ridiculous. But one month ago today...fought to stay alive, he fought to come home to me, and he got a second chance at life."

Obviously for reasons of privacy names are removed.  Yet, the story could be generic repetitive of the many volunteer soldiers that avoided the ultimate sacrifice....getting an "ALIVE DAY" to come home, in pieces, like the inspiration for this essay, but, alive and home.

Continue to thank Those that serve us, pray for them, help when you can, by the means you can.  

We civilians can never repay this debt.  But, try!

Numbering of Days

Our local paper randomly publishes articles from a blog by Rabbi Marc Wilson from Greenville, SC.  This weekend's publish from the Rabbi was actually from a blog he posted back in February.  I linked to it on my Facebook page earlier but few hits from the stalkers out there.  People are moved by different things I suppose.

http://marcmusing.blogspot.com/2012/02/teach-us-to-number-our-days.html?spref=fb

Assuming the link works, if you read this, you can read Rabbi Marc Wilson's post as background.  The Rabbi was moved observing Alzheimer's patients while visiting hospice for his mother in law.  Unfortunately, he worries that he may also face an Alzheimer future, given occurrences already in his immediate family.

From the Rabbi Wilson's post:

"Call me narcissistic, but having passed midlife, I do not so much think instinctively of the grief I might suffer at the illness of others. Instead, I have found myself increasingly contemplating how my own possible appointment with Alzheimer's might look. After all, my father and two grandfathers were senile by age 70, just a scant eight years away."

Alzheimer's is not even on my radar screen right now (knock on wood).  Yet, the Rabbi's blog still speaks to me in as the lead digit of my age changes to 5 less than 300 days from this post.  

What is the deal?  I remember graduating high school and college, now, I gaze in astonishment at the most wondrous things ever given me, my daughters, one already out of college and one graduating high school this year.  It just does not seem that it was over 30 years ago Princess and I walked out of WGHS stadium as graduates, but, time marches on and here we are.  Too many memories to list.  Some good, some not so good, some proud moments, and yes some wishing there were such things as a "do over."  Nothing unique here, I am no different than anyone else in this regard.  Being human I suppose.

Yet, here I am staring at this upcoming digit change, remembering parents, in-laws, friends, acquaintances transitioning to five oh over the years.  My Dad died at the ripe young age of 59, the anniversary of his death just a few weeks ago.  He died on a leap year so every 4 years or so the anniversary of his death is more noticeable to me.  My great friend's Dad also died suddenly sub-60 also.  Now, I stare five oh in the face and wonder what the next 9 years will bring me.  Or, will there be another 9 years?  Things look much different when one crests this life summit and looks at the other half of our finite existence.

Quoting again from Rabbi Wilson:

"I know what you will tell me: Cherish my days and use them wisely, you would admonish me. Show love and share wisdom before it is too late. Try not to contemplate eventualities over which you have no control. Look positively toward the future. And, of course, you would be right."

I have to agree wholeheartedly with the Rabbi at this point.

I was taught that a good essay should have great intro, valid and succinct arguments, and a great closing.  An intro I have here, but, no arguments, only commentary and questions.  There is no closing, this post purposely left open ended because I know not what tomorrow brings.  Nobody does, except Him.

Hopefully, more than 9 years of sand remain in God's hourglass for Lemmy. Trying to make the best of whatever does remain in the hourglass...taking the advice of Rabbi Wilson.