Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart

Thursday, March 31, 2016

Your Dying Spouse 137 - Decide To Be Happy {FMF}

Time for Five Minute Friday, the weekly keyword-driven timed writing challenge hosted by Kate Motaung.

The word this week is...DECIDE.

Happiness is a choice.

Today, aside from rather extreme fatigue and pain (and blood on the wall...don't ask) I've been dealing with a relapse of the flu, and a throat that is sore enough to make speech, other than a mouse-like squeak, impossible. Even broke a thermometer...fever went high enough to crack it. I can't describe what that was like.

The dogs like the loss-of-voice. I can't tell them what to do. Like Captain von Trapp, I am developing individual whistles for them, to which they pay not the slightest attention.

But I'm happy. I choose to be, and I work at it.

First, I fill my mind with good thoughts, reading books that I find inspiring and hopeful. I don't need to build character by suffering through agonizing travails. I get that in real life. I want the words I read to make me look up.

Second, I take the time to appreciate the good things...like the dogs, even as they bomb-burst out the door and take some rounding-up.

Third, if Barbara's watching something on TV that I don't like (such as the news, or a lot of what's on PBS), I'm happy walking away. And she's OK with that.

And finally, I keep in mind that others have it a lot worse. There are those whose pain is a source of pleasure for their torturers, and I have seen this.

It's funny...when I was younger and healthy, I wondered how it would feel to face death by natural causes. I was worried about this; death by bullet or blast seemed so much more pleasant.

And now I know how I would feel.

That it's really up to me.

And for musical inspiration, here's "Walking On Sunshine"

And I can die happy, because that's what I decide to do.

If you can, please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

Jonah - A Story Of Viet Nam {#BlogBattle}

Time for #BlogBattle, the weekly keyword-driven flash fiction contest hosted by Rachael Ritchey.

The word this week is LEVIATHAN.

This story is the third part of a specific vignette...the first part was A Life In A Year, and the second was White Feather.

Jonah

Smiley was under a cloud, and he knew it. A reputation of cowardice is a hard thing to shake

It didn't help that our sojourn at Oceanview was interrupted before it began, with an urgent callout to Con Thien, and our regular playmates the Walking Dead. Mr. Charles had been making like moles in the Z, and they wanted a bit of muscle around when they blew the tunnels, and Mr. Charles might object.

You can't say it was a silent ride up...tanks aren't even remotely quiet...but the IC chatter was at a minimum.

Smiley was riding chest-up in the loader's hatch, watching our flank, and The Dude tried to draw him into conversation.

"OK, we've got that Rome plow cut coming up on the left...see it>'

"Seen."

"Had a rocket team try to hide there, a couple of months ago...they didn't seem to realize that trying branches to their backs wasn't very good cammo for cleared ground."

"Oh." Smiley looked quickly at me, and he wasn't smiling. Then he looked away. "Well, I'll look for that." He put his hand on the grease gun laid on the turret deck for his use. His hand was shaking.

I looked back over my shoulder. Lollipop was following, its outline fuzzy in our dust. Strange, I thought, how many people in The World would believe that Viet Nam could be...

BOOM!

Lollipop vanished in an ugly black-orange gout of smoke, then careened off the side of the road into a Rome plow cut. New Guy TC was hanging half out of his cupola, and as I watched unseen hands in the turret pulled him back.

"Lollipop's hit a mine," I said into the IC, and felt Ship Of Fools grind to a stop. "Dude, reverse, let's get us closer, Smiley, eyes up on our flanks, Biff, front."

The Dude couldn't see where he was going, of course, since tanks don't have mirrors (or tape decks, for that matter), so I coached him, making sure we stayed in our own tread-marks. I was glad the road was dirt.

"Okay, Dude, halt. I think their radio's down, I'm gonna go see what we've got. Security, guys. We're kind of exposed." I really didn't like where we were. The NVA were pros, and it wouldn't be in character for them not to have some way of exploiting a mine strike.

This road was supposed to have been kept clear. This wasn't good.

New Guy TC had the same thought. He was growing up. He had Timex up on the sky mount fifty, and he had the XM-177 they'd been gifted, and which I envied. His gunner and loader were looking at the damage.

It was bad, but not hopeless. The front road wheel on the starboard side was gone, and the sprocket was mangled. He couldn't run, but we could short-track him and tow Lollipop ourselves.

Except we were really exposed.

I ran back to Ship Of Fools and, leaning into the turret, told Biff to give Con Thien a call and ask them to send us some security.

"They're not up on their push, TC." Biff's voice had an edge. "Can't raise Oceanview, either."

The Dude spoke up, "Biff, try Rockpile, see if they can relay to..."

WHANGGGG!

There was a massive impact, and a shower of sparks soared over us. An RPG has hit the gun mantlet a glancing blow, and ricocheted straight up, a firework from hell.

"I see him!" Smiley's voice seemed to come from far away, and he fumbled with the grease gun. He was trying to point and unlatch the safety at the same time, and failing. "There, there...!"

"Oh, crap!" Smiley had gotten the ejection port cover open, and his finger was already on the trigger when the safety came off. He nearly took off my head, and I fell from the deck. I heard the grease gun offer a few more rounds, and then Timex, on Lollipop, joined in.

Timex must have been pretty accurate, because I was looking where the bullets hit, and a spray of blood came up, followed by what looked like a...

"Hey, that was a head!" Smiley yelled. "Did I do that?" He was ashen under his dark skin.

I was feeling dizzy and sick, and as I got to my feet an arm encircled my shoulders. The Dude had me. "TC, here, sit...you're bleeding."

I put my hand to my face, and felt wetness. "Jutht my nosth," I said. "Ith ok."

The Dude looked up at Smiley, who was watching us, and motioned for our new crewman to keep up security. Then he said, "Radio's gone. I think maybe the gun computer's gone, too...we may need to get everyone on board and deny Lollipop, get us out of Dodge."

I grimaced and winced. New Guy TC was going to hate me if we abandoned and blew up his tank. "Yeah. Tell Biff, and put a HEAT up the pipe. Then go over and get the guyth. Let'th get out of here." I wiped some gore from my upper lip.

The Dude disappeared into the turret, then popped out and ran to the other tank. I looked up at Smiley. "You did OK," I said.

He was shaking. "I didn't want to let you down. I...I mean, I almost..."

"Forget it. Happen to anyone. The thing is, you shot back." I tried to smile, but it must have looked pretty awful, through all the blood. "OK?"

Smiley nodded jerkily. "OK."

"Now go get the canister out of the tube, load up a HEAT, and let's make sure Mr. Charles doesn't get himself a tank, how about it? Toss me...no, just hand me the gun, I've got the watch."

Smiley carefully handed down the grease gun, pausing to snap shut the ejection port. He gave me a sickly grin and dropped down the loader's hatch, and the turret began to swing around. If the computer was really gone Biff was going to have to sight through the tube.

The Dude came back, frowning. "TC, we've got a problem."

"Well, he's probably not thrilled we're gonna kill his tank."

"It's not that. He thinks we've got a Jonah. All of them do. And they're going to talk."

Your Dying Spouse 136 - Saying Goodbye.

We're linked to Messy Marriage's Wedded Wednesday - please visit Beth for some great marriage resources!

The question becomes clearer...how does one say goodbye, when the process of leaving has been so long?

It's not easy, by any means. The months, and now years have taken a toll, and most of the grief - on both sides - has been exhausted.

Or so we think.

The truth is that the anticipation of separation only feels like the separation has taken place. yet all the pieces are still on the board, moving slowly from square to square, it's true...but still moving.

One day, they won't be. One day the game will really be going on short one chessman, and only then will the loss become apparent in its full flavour.

But still...one wants to just get it over with.

Give me the grief now, so I can deal with it, and move on.

But it doesn't work that way. Time does heal wounds, or at least it attenuates the pain, but it can't be paid in advance.

So how does one say goodbye before the fact?

By embracing the presence that's still here, that's how. By living each moment as well as it can be lived, not thinking of the loss, but because each moment is worth it in its own right.

The only real way to say goodbye is to say hello, while you still can.

It works for the caregiver, and for the dying. I am trying to appreciate and fully understand the life I still have, and to keep before myself the truth that it's not about what I achieve or accomplish, but about how fully present I can still be.

Please pardon the brevity of this post. On top of everything else, I've had a relapse of this particularly nasty flu. I mean, you'd think that I'd be immune, everything else considered...

But noooo.....

Sunday, March 27, 2016

Your Dying Spouse 135 - Sympathy and Empathy

As a caregiver, sometimes you have to draw a sharp distinction between sympathy and empathy.

Sympathy says, "I'm sorry you're hurting, I'm sorry you're uncomfortable...and I'm sorry you're scared. I'm genuinely sorry, and I wish that there was some way I could make it all better."

Empathy says the same thing, but adds..."I know how you feel."

Sympathy is always welcome. Even I, who am probably the far right outlier of the 'hard man' (and I'm not proud of this) welcome, when I'm lying on the floor in a pool of blood, a sincere, "Gee, dude, that's really tough."

But empathy...well, you've got to be careful. You may know how I feel. or you may not. And making the wrong choice can really piss off the person for whom you're caring.

Please understand...my wife has never done this, nor have any of the wonderful people who've left comments.

But others have. And yes, they've royally irritated me.

The difference is generally one of kind. People who've been seasick know nausea that's worse than I have had, but they also know that they will survive.

Well, sometimes. I've heard that some who are seasick would prefer death.

But I'm not going to get better. There is pain worse than this, there is discomfort that far outstrips not being able to reach a bathroom before one's bladder - or worse - lets go.

But the defining thing about terminal illness is the finality of it. It's going to get worse.

And unless you've been there, you don't really know how it feels. I appreciate the effort to understand. Really, I do. But unless you've been here, you don't know how much this sucks.

Best to say, "I'm sorry it hurts," and leave it at that.

And a cold beer would be nice. (If I could still stomach one!)

Thursday, March 24, 2016

Your Dying Spouse 134 - Why I Yet Live {FMF}

Time for Five Minute Friday, the weekly timed keyword-driven writing challenge hosted by Kate Motaung

This week's word is ALIVE.

Works for me, and what I have been thinking about, because why am I still alive?

It's a puzzlement to doctors and family. Professional opinion is I should have been dead last year, and every time I go in, my doctor's always faintly surprised to see me.

So why am I still here?

It's not easy, and not terribly fun. I've got to will my body forward, and talk myself into doing darn near anything. Like writing; every keystroke hurts.

I figure that God simply isn't done with me yet. He has His plans, and they involve my utility to His purpose, and emphatically do not address comfort or enjoyment.

It doesn't mean, to me, that He doesn't care. Quite the contrary; I think he, unlike Bill Clinton, truly 'feels my pain', and wishes it didn't have to be.

But if wishes were horses...well, God made the rules, and if he starts breaking them to give me a break, then we'd have absolute chaos, and a Creation that ended up denying His purpose...which is to make of us fit companions for Him in Heaven, for eternity.

So I'm here on His orders, and while He'll help me, it's up to me to keep going, spurred by the conscience and will He gave me, and reinforces.

That's why I am still alive.

(The really weird thing is that this is the post I would have written ahead of time, but I wasn't well enough. I truly didn't know if I would have had the energy to get one done, but seeing the prompt, I thought, well, that's a sign if there ever was one.)

Tuesday, March 22, 2016

White Feather - A Story Of Viet Nam {#BlogBattle}

Time for this week's #BlogBattle, the keyword-driven flash fiction contest hosted by Rachael Ritchey.

The word this week is FEATHER.

White Feather

We were provisioning, getting ready to go back to Oceanview, and get Smiley snapped in as our new loader, when the Six walked up.

"Talk to you a minute?" he asked. But from our swallowed-a-cleaning-rod-from-the-wrong-end platoon leader, it wasn't really a request.

"Sure, LT, what's up?" I gave the main gun round I was about to hand up to Smiley to The Dude, and followed the Six a few paces. Out of earshot of the crew.

"How do you feel about your new loader?" he asked, without preamble.

"Sm...uh, Dalton? I like him. The guys like him. I think he'll fit in real well." I wondered where this was leading, because the Six was not overly concerned with interpersonal relations. I soon found out.

"Well, great, but word is, he's a coward." The Six looked me in the eye when he said that, and I blinked.

"Ohhh...kay," I said. "He can't really do a retrograde advance out of a tank. We'd kind of notice."

The Six didn't smile. "Word is, he freezes.

The why did you agree to chop him to our crew...are we that shorthanded? I thought.

"We're too short of personnel. Sorry." The Six didn't sound sorry.

"Well, we'll deal with it," I said. There didn't seem to be anything to add.

The Six nodded, and then stopped as he was turning away. "Look, I really hated having to tell you this. Really."

"It's OK. Better I should know." I guess.

The Six went on, "Guy I went to OCS with, he saw it. Khe Sanh. Dalton just froze. Dropped his rifle and went to ground, hands over his head. My friend kicked him bloody, and when Dalton tried to pick up his rifle, he got hit. Weren't for that, he would've been up on charges."

"Ugh," I said, kind of wishing I didn't know this.

"Yeah. Well, the Corps thought they'd just quietly get rid of him, but he found his way back here. God knows why...or how."

"Well, thanks. Better that I know," I said again.

The Six turned away again...and then again turned back. "Look, I'll take my crew this rotation. You just give Dalton a place to hold until your gunner gets released by the docs. You guys can stand down."

You could have knocked me over with a bamboo cane. the Six never made an offer like that. "Uh, sir..."

"Really. I mean it. Something happens, I don't want this on my conscience."

Now I knew why he was a Real Live Officer. "Let me talk to the guys, ok, sir? I don't want them to think it's something about them...well." Smiley would surely know, but that couldn't be helped.

The Six nodded. "Sure. Just let me know, soon as you can?"

"Ten minutes, sir. Thanks."

I walked slowly back to Ship Of Fools, conscious of three pairs of eyes on me. "LT's offered to take our rotation," I said.

Biff was standing in the loader's hatch. The guys had been handing him up the main gun rounds. He spoke first. "No, TC."

The Dude shook his head as well. "Nice of him, but no."

Smiley looked at me, and he wasn't smiling. "If it's all the same to you..."

I tried to make a joke out of it. "Don't you guys want a couple more days R&R here, on the shores of the beautiful South China Sea? Bet they build a Hilton here some day, and you'll be able to say, I was here when..."

"TC," said The Dude, "no disrespect, but stow it."

I felt my mouth flop open, and then thought to close it. We were informal, but not that informal.

Smiley said, "I told them, TC. That's what it's about, isn't it? Me?"

"Yeah."

"We're giving him a chance," said Biff. "Everyone needs a second chance."

The Dude walked over to me. "What else are we supposed to do?" He looked over to the Six's tank. There was activity around it. "You want to tell him, or should I?"

"I'll go," I said.

The Dude nodded. "Tell him thanks, really. But we have to do this."

When I reached the Six's tank, he dropped down from the turret, where he'd been handing C's down inside, to meet me. "Well?"

"We're going. The guys want to go."

"They know?"

"Yeah. They know. Dalton told them."

"OK. I'll keep my guys spun up if you need a mid-rotation relief."

"Thanks, sir." I turned.

The Six called me back. "Son," he said, "I hope you're half as proud of your crew as I am, right now."

If you can, please do leave a comment. I am trying to answer all, and I am failing, but please know this - I read and treasure each one.

Below are my recent releases on Kindle -please excuse their presence in the body of the blog. I haven't the energy to get them up as 'buttons' in the sidebar. You can click on the covers to go to the Amazon links (they're 99 cents each). And if you'd like a free PDF, please email me at tempusfugit02 (at) gmail (dot) com, and I'll gladly send them

Your Dying Spouse 133 - Fatigue

We're linked to Messy Marriage's Wedded Wednesday.

Compassion fatigue?

That's a common buzz-phrase these days, and it's used by people who get oh-so-tired of the tragedies that are aired on the news and social media.

"I just can't stand seeing another story about refugees. I have compassion fatigue."

Actually, no, You're just tired of looking.

Compassion fatigue is pretty specific to first responders and trauma-care personnel who are in a situation in which they are overwhelmed by numbers and scope of casualties, and have to retreat within themselves to survive. They are the ones who are there, and they know what blood, in large spilled quantities, smells like.

And it can apply to caregivers, as well.

There may or may not be blood, and the overwhelming part of the situation is concentrated around one patient...but seeing a relentless decline, seeing more and more pain and debility, seeing how hopeless it gets...that can put you into a position in which you have to be numb to endure it. Cold and distant, and you'll hate yourself for it.

Because the other alternative may be a kind of breakdown, a place in which your emotions are so raw that you go on crying jags, triggered by absurd things.

Or you become easily angered, and feel - often - like throwing at dish across the room...or at the person you're caring for.

Don't flinch. You may some day feel like doing just that.

And it's OK.

This road may not be easy; it may be the hardest and most soul-scarring experience you'll ever have, caring for a dying husband or wife.

It's important how you get through it, but even more important that you get through it.

Some days will be ugly, and you'll feel ugly.

Just keep breathing. You're OK. The bad feelings are OK.

You have the right to be tired.

Just don't throw the plate at the person.