An Anniversary of the Continuation of Life

A year ago today my DH and I drove our youngest son, Patrick, to the recruiter's office for his journey to PI. His ship date was 12/08/2013. Initially, he was to leave 02/2014. However, a spot opened up and the recruiter asked Patrick if he wanted to go ~ he said yes. So, instead of getting the 3 months I expected.. I had 4 days to wrap my head around the idea of him leaving (he received the call the Wednesday before the Sunday he was to go).

All of a sudden plans I was making for the holidays seemed so insignificant; worrying about where to go for Christmas, the amount of driving that we would have to do, what give to get my mom so that she could later exchange didn't seem as important. My son, the youngest of my three sons, was going to boot camp.

I thought I was ready; I thought I knew what I needed to know. I thought it would be similar to when I took Jeff and Phillip to college. I was so wrong! That's why I am so grateful to Marine Family Network for getting me through it. Without them giving me the information I would need, I would have been a blubbering mess by the end of the 13 weeks.

Since Patrick would be away during the Christmas holiday, I erringly thought surely I would be allowed to send something special for Christmas. Nope. Just a card ~ in a white envelope ~ was all I could send. I was devastated. I had images of sending cookies for Patrick and his platoon; perhaps wrapped in red cellophane paper? Perhaps in a decorative holiday tin? Very quickly that image crumbled away. But I did find something I could send him...I sent prayers; lots and lots of prayers. In fact, whenever I would think of him, I made it a practice to ask the Good Lord to look after my son, his platoon and the drill instructors.

The holidays are difficult for the loved ones of boot camp recruits. I totally understand how they feel. In fact, last year we didn't even purchase a Christmas tree. I had left arm bicep/shoulder surgery and was stuck in a sling for four weeks. Whatever decorations I was able to set up prior to my surgery would be it. But more importantly, I just didn't 'feel' a tree would be necessary. Why go through hanging all those hand made ornaments and other ornaments that would bring on a flood of memories then tears?

Since Patrick's graduation at boot camp, I have figured out life goes on. We eat, sleep, go to work, we live. Life doesn't come to a halt during those 13 weeks of boot camp. Life goes on. Just as it continues on after graduation when the new Marines go to their training and schools. Patrick is now down in North Carolina at his 'job'. His journey has just begun. Just as his brother's have discovered, their journey will occasionally intersect with mine. There will be a visit here or there. But their journey's will be very different than my own.  

This year, the tree will go up, the lights, the ornaments, will be placed. Further down, I will find the gap in the ornament trail from the Christmas of 2013. But the memories of that time will be forever in my heart. It was a time when my emotions were filled with up and downs, twists and turns, worries, frustrations, happiness and moments of utter joy. But then again, that's exactly what life is all about. 

A year ago today my life went down a path I was totally unprepared to venture. But as life has proven, from the support of family, friends and some strangers here or there, I learned how to navigate. This uncommon anniversary is not shared by many, but it is certainly an anniversary that many have perhaps without their knowledge have participated; just as happens in the journey of life. 

Memorial Cry

It's been much too long since I've posted a new entry to my blog. In the last three months, Patrick has graduated boot camp, graduated MCT (Marine Corps Training) and is currently awaiting to start his next training, MOS. Once he has completed this training, he will be sent to his first duty station. These last three months have presented many emotional memories for me that have manifested in all types of crying.

Boot camp graduation will forever be embedded in my mind. I took over 1,000 pictures! Although the weather in Beaufort, SC was rainy and chilly, Mark and I were filled with warmth and pride to see our son stand tall and be named a US Marine. The day before graduation, new Marines spend a few precious hours with their family/friends in an event called 'Family Day'. Hugging him after so many weeks of desperately missing him was one of the best feelings I have ever experienced. I can only compare it to how I felt when I first held Patrick at his birth, Mama tears and all!

Because of the weather, we could not walk about outside but we did get to see where he slept, showered and performed his daily ablutions. The OCD in me was delighted to see the bathroom sinks all lined up in a straight row, with the soaps all in the exact same spot on the top of each sink. I could literally kneel down, close one eye and look down the row of sinks to see every single soap dispenser lined up all the way down the row. Truly a sight to behold! It goes without saying I took many pictures here. It definitely choked me up a wee bit. 

The huge warehouse like room where my son slept was impressive. Each bunk had two foot lockers on the end, brown bath towels hung on both sides of the bunk. Against the wall were open closets where their uniforms hung perfectly pressed and shoes shown bright. Of course the highlight of the dorm tour for me was to see each and every bed made tight and exact. Unfortunately, I forgot to bring a coin to try and bounce off the bed.

After a few stops on base, our family (there was 11 of us), ended up in the post Exchange. This department type store had the usual found items, also had Marine Corps clothing for family and friends to buy and proudly wear. It also has official uniform items for the Marine's to purchase. It was there that we found a patio furniture display and sat visiting with Patrick. I was truly amazed of his whole demeanor. Where in the past at family gatherings, Patrick would sit in the perimeter, occasionally contributing a sentence or two to a conversation. On Family Day, I witnessed my son leading conversations and hold the his own recounting some stories of his boot camp experience. Yes, he looked tired and thinner. But he looks fulfilled and content. He now holds himself ramrod straight; no more slouching. In fact, whenever I am with him I find myself adjusting my own posture. Where prior to leaving for boot camp, he was the classic teenager who would carelessly spout words without taking the time to filter his thoughts, he now speaks with purpose. If he did revert and speak with an attitude with rough tones, he will quickly correct himself.

Graduation was a glorious event; filled with tradition, pageantry and American pride. All of the new Marines looked incredibly handsome in their uniforms. It is truly a once in a lifetime memory. Fortunately, I was prepared and brought a handkerchief with me! 

Memorial events continued to take place as it was during all this that our oldest son, Jeff, announced his PhD candidacy was accepted from George Mason University. This means that he has passed all of his class requirements and qualification exams; his dissertation has been reviewed by his committee who has replied back to him with their comments/questions. Jeff is to respond to their questions, publish his dissertation and then graduate. He plans to have this done by 2015. Jeff also became engaged to the lovely Brittny, (or as my mother calls her: Beanie). We are so happy for him. He has worked so hard and with Brittny sharing his life, his future journeys look happy and promising.

Our second son, Phillip, also had wonderful news with the success of his employers first Gala Event in New York City. Phillip is the graphic designer for a non-for-profit company in NYC. He is extremely talented! If anyone was ever meant to live and work in NYC, it is our son Phillip. The city with its effervescent lights, bustling activity and sense of style fits him perfectly. Phillip is happy at what he does, where he lives and with who he is; could a parent ask for anything more? Over the years, Jeff and Phillip have brought tears of joy to my eyes many times.

Patrick's 10 day leave at home flew by. Before we knew it, he was saying his good-bye. He left for MCT on St. Patrick's Day, 03/17. St. Patrick's Day is the anniversary date of when Mark and I first met, (the reason why we named our son Patrick). Over the years, Mark and I have gone to dinner and exchanged gifts. We now exchange cards. But more than that, St. Patrick's Day is a day that affords the opportunity for us to recall the early days when we where first together. I think this past St. Patrick's day will replace those early day memories.

This past St. Patrick's Day we drove our Marine to the airport. The memory of seeing Patrick check his luggage and then go through the security gate at Philadelphia International, (PHI) airport will be forever burned in my mind. I saw how others in the airport recognized Patrick was in the service and their eyes held respect and awe. Several people came up to him and thanked him for serving. He was taken to the front of the lines for every queue; no waiting; which was great for him. But also took away from those last moments DH and I were able to spend with him. Too quickly Patrick was heading off to catch his plane.

This farewell hit me hard; even harder that saying good-by when he left for boot camp. When Patrick left for boot camp I had the knowledge of when I would see him again. Saying good-bye at the airport, I was overcome with such uncertainty. I had no idea when I would see Patrick again. I found myself doing something I have very seldom done in public - I cried the 'ugly cry'. The 'ugly cry is when your nose runs, your eyes get red and puffy, you sob, trying desperately to catch your breath. That is the cry I exhibited at PHI airport on St. Patrick's Day.  

Much to our joy, very soon after completing MCT school, a mere five weeks later, Patrick was back at home. His MOS had been delayed and he was able to perform 3½ weeks of RA, (Recruiting Assisting) at the local Marine Corps recruiting office. There are no words to explain my feelings seeing my son go to work in his dress blues or observing him return home after speaking at a local new recruit gathering with his Marine Corps medals reflecting the lamp light from his uniform.

While serving as an RA, Patrick was selected to represent the Marine Corps at the War on Terrorism Memorial dedication in Doylestown, PA. Although it was a rain drenched afternoon, Patrick stood at parade rest the entire time, not flinching one iota ever though the rain drenched him down to his socks! t Patrick's superiors were very pleased with his 3½ weeks as an RA.

Patrick recently returned to his MOS post and still awaits the beginning of his last phase of initial MC schooling. It was difficult saying good-bye to him at the train station. I am happy to say the 'ugly cry' did not occur. But tears were shed. You would think after saying good-by time after time it would get easier. No, not at all easier.

This past Memorial Day was a different experience for Mark and myself. We visited the memorial in Doylestown, PA, and found the experience more meaningful than other memorial viewings. Our son is now a member of those that sacrifice themselves to serve our country; dedicated men and women who keep us safe and free. We owe it to them, to keep their efforts fresh in the minds of others. 

Admittedly, I am the cliché Marine Mom. I have the Marine Mom license plate, most days I wear my Marine Corps earrings and lovely Marine Corps necklace my wonderful DH gave me for Mother's Day. On the weekends, I usually have on one of a multitude Marine Corps tee shirts, as does Mark. We are honored and proud Patrick chose to serve.

I hope I have several thousand more memories standing by in the wings waiting to occur. They await the snap of my camera for pictures to be added into the photo albums; memories waiting to be deposited within my heart. I just need to make sure I have enough tissues on hand for when they arrive!

On Average

This winter has been especially snowy for the Philadelphia area. In fact, in 2013 the Philadelphia area averaged 3.90" of snow. In January, 2014 the Philadelphia area had 25.90". That is 22" more inches. And the month of February looks to be an even greater average of snow. Right now I sit in my office while a Nor' Easter blows outdoors. So far, we have about a foot of snow from this storm. The weather forecasters state there will be a 'lull' in the storm, a deep breath if you will by old Man Winter, and will exhale after 5:00 PM, by giving us 4" or more of snow.

Last week we had an ice storm (with a snow mixture) that caused a power outage for about 48 hours in our home. When the power came back on, our heater decided it was just too cold to start up again and called it quits. In 2013 the average temperature in January 2013 in the Philadelphia area was 29.4º. The average temperature in January 2014 was 19.9º. I cannot express how awful it is to brush your teeth at your bathroom sink and see your breath. I have discussions in my head in the middle of the night if it really is necessary for me to get up to use the restroom. 'Surely, you can hang on four hours more before you have to risk frost bite or your bottom'!  

The heating guys were suppose to install our new system today; (it's a two day job). Unfortunately, because of the weather, they cancelled on us. Right now we are on their schedule for early next week.  The heating company we are using was proud to tell us earlier this week that they had never cancelled an install because of the weather. I guess our job ruined their average on service calls.

My son, Patrick, is now in Phase III of boot camp. He has made it through the worst, Phase I. The average of recruits who do not make it in Phase I is quite high. Inability to physically meet the Marine Corps requirements, severe injury, inability to follow orders are just a few of the reasons why recruits do not make it through Phase I.

The average age of a recruit is 19 years old; Patrick's age. The average wait time for a Poolee to ship out to boot camp is 8 months. (A young man who signs a contract for the delayed entry program and trains weekly with the local recruiting station preparing to enter boot camp is a Poolee). When Patrick signed his contract his initial wait time was to be 10 months. However, a slot opened up in December and he told his recruiter, "Yes Staff Sergeant, I'll go now"; and he did. This brought him to the 8 month average wait time for boot camp. The average of number of Poolee's that succeed and graduate from boot camp is a whopping 87%!

The average amount of letters a parent will receive from their recruits in Phase I is 6 letters; we received 6 letters. the average amount of letters parents receive in Phase II is 2 letters; we received 2 letters (both on the same day). The average amount of letters parents receive in Phase III is zero letters; we have not received a letter - so far.

There are several mantras recruit parents adapt during boot camp.  On average, the most popular mantra is 'I am Gumby'. Gumby is a rubber figurine with a metal skeleton allowing for posing in many flexible positions.  The Semper Gumby figurine states to all, 'I am Gumby - I am flexible!'

On average, I think of Patrick about 6 times every hour. I cry 100% of the time that I watch a patriotic commercial or hear the United States National Anthem. I was a mess after Renee Fleming beautifully started singing in her operatic voice, "Oh, say can you see..." for the 2014 Super Bowl.

These weeks bring to mind my last few weeks of pregnancy with Patrick. I would sit in his nursery thinking on when he would arrive or wonder what day he would be born. I was emotional as all get out. If my DH, Mark even looked at me funny, I would tear up. But during my pregnancy, I didn't have to wait on the postman or even the stork to bring me news of Patrick. I had my obstetrician for that. On average, during my last weeks of pregnancy I saw my OB once a week.  She made certain of giving me good news each time I saw her.

There is one average I will concede: I will be the average mother at boot camp graduation. The mother that bursts out into tears of joy when she first sees her son; who will give him the biggest hug in the history of hugs and who will thank the Good Lord for keeping her son safe and helping him achieve his dream.  That's an average I cannot wait to experience.

For now, I'll continue shadowing my postman, hoping that Patrick will break his streak of keeping to the average statistics of boot camp and will send me a letter! 

Shooting Eye Dagger Looks

This past week I returned to work after being out for nine weeks recovering from surgery on my left bicep and my left shoulder rotator cuff. During my surgery and recovery, my DH Mark, has been caring, tender and quite simply - wonderful.  

  

Going back to work though had one hiccup - I had not yet begun to drive again. Driving a car is like riding a bicycle, you don't forget how. However, being that I had not driven since 9 weeks prior and I wasn't sure how much my left arm was able to perform, I was a little bit apprehensive. Mark and I decided that I would spend the three days before returning to work re-acclimating myself to being behind the wheel.

It was during those three days that I felt like a 16-year old kid with their parent next to them instructing the kid how to maneuver the car and reminders to adhere to the posted speed limits. Mark was sitting next to me, gripping the dashboard and pressing on the imaginary brake on the passenger side of the car. I was giving him that look - you know the one - where your shooting daggers from your eyes and it's only by the Grace of God that you're wearing sunglasses otherwise there would be bloodshed!

When we arrived back home after the first day of my re-acclimation of behind the wheel, Mark tells me, "You should leave your combative Washington DC driving skills at home during your first week driving to and from work".  He once again was being shot with the look.

I went back to work on Tuesday; the day we had a snow storm and ended up with 12" plus of snow. 

It usually takes me 50 to 70 minutes to get home; it took me 2½ hours on Tuesday. The last half of my drive home my bladder began gently reminding me - then screaming at me - that it needed to be relieved. I arrived at home with a stiff neck, a sore arm and a stretched-to-the-limit bladder. The last thing I wanted to hear when I got home was 'How was the drive?' Luckily, Mark did not ask me any questions. Instead he told me he had been home since 11:00 in the morning and his ride home wasn't bad - 'not bad at all'. I had my look locked and loaded by the time he uttered the last syllable!

My recruit, Patrick, is about ½ way through Phase II. It seemed like Phase I dragged on and on; Phase II is flying by. Right now he is in the midst of Grass Week and Firing Week. During these two weeks, the recruits learn about the four stances of firing: standing, kneeling, sitting and prone; shooting at distances of 200 yards, 300 yards and 500 yards. The training is intense, requiring focus, patience and diligence. The seasoned Drill Instructors carefully instruct the recruits on the schematics of the rifle, sight scope measuring and the use of proper position stances with fortitude and serenity. During Grass/Firing Week, the Drill Instructors are giving the recruits constant reassurance, correcting stance positions and scope settings for the recruits to best hit their targets. I am sure not one recruit will shoot the eye dagger look throughout the whole Grass/Firing training period.  

I guess there is something to be said about focus, patience and diligence. I must have left mine at home with my combative Washington DC driving skills! 

Holding My Breath

There are moments where we find ourselves holding our breaths. Be it for the outcome of a test, swimming under water or whether or not we will be able to squeeze into a size too small pair of jeans.

Tuesday I found myself holding my breath at various points during the day. Tuesday my recruit underwent his test in the gas chamber.

I watched a video of what the gas chamber entails. The recruits go into a room wearing gas masks. Once in the chamber, the recruits circle around a sort of pit. They are instructed to remove their masks and place them on their belts. The drill instructors set off the tear gas and the recruits have a set number of seconds to remove their masks from their belts and place the gas mask on their heads correctly. Then, after the DI's give the word, the recruits come bursting out of the chamber with their arms raised; some coughing, some with eyes tearing, some gagging and snotting all over the place. The video showed all the recruits immediately ripping off their gas masks and they have a look on their faces of 'I never want to do that again!'

I really don't think I should have watched the video prior to the day Patrick faced the gas chamber. I imagined all sorts of 'possibilities': Patrick's fingers all turning into thumbs; Patrick freaking out when the gas begins to seep into the chamber, running out before given permission to do so - with his hands in his pockets; snot running not just out of his nose, but his mouth, ears, and every other orifice possible!

Since my worry was at skyscraper heights, I must have cleaned our bathrooms five times. At the end of the day, there was no telephone call, no one informing us that Patrick had issues or problems with the gas chamber.  As they tell recruit parents, 'No news is good news'. 

Some would say 'All that worry is for nothing' or 'Nothing is achieved from worry but gray hair'. My take on worry is that my hair will gray no matter how much worry is involved and there is never a 'too much' when it comes to cleaning the bathroom.

To me, nothing is a relative term.

As I have mentioned previously, I am currently recovering from surgery on my left bicep and left rotator cuff. The biggest issue was the bicep tendon; it was pretty much knackered. The surgeon had to disconnect the tendon, fix the 'knackerdness' and then reattach the tendon with titanium screws.

I am at a point in recovery that my physical therapy has increased from passive to resistance and weight bearing exercises. Also, now when I go to therapy, the therapist manipulates my arms into pretzel positions (that's what it feels like to me), to stretch the tendon/shoulder and to encourage further range of motion.

I have a tendency to hold my breath prior to manipulations. Countless of times during these manipulations the therapist will remind me to 'breath Teresita, breath'. It isn't as if holding my breath is conscious. I believe my mind is protecting my body from pain.

Perhaps, my mind knows if I pass out from holding my breath, my body won't feel the pain when the therapist places my left arm behind my back while continuously pressing up and down on my shoulder. Or, perhaps my mind knows that I can't get up and go clean a bathroom, so there's nothing else I can do but hold my breath.

Maybe breathing like nothing, is a relative term. 

Suck it up

Every year my DH, (Mark) and I buy a 'gift' for the house. One year it was upstairs window blinds, another year it was a dishwasher. That was the Christmas I spent a lot of my time at the kitchen sink since our old dishwasher had broken down.

Mark and I decided it was time to replace our vacuum cleaner.  The only performance we had from our old vacuum cleaner was the blowing about of dust and dog hair, as well as permeating a pungent smell. It seemed we were replacing our vacuum cleaner every two to three years. In the past, we had gone 'cheap' with our vacuum cleaner purchases. However, as they say, you get what you pay for.

During our holiday visit at my sister's, in addition to the good meal, opening of gifts and catching up with family, my sister gave Mark and I a demonstration of her Dyson vacuum cleaner. She so believes in her Dyson, she bought two - one for her upstairs and one for her downstairs. As she said, her magic vacuum may cost a bit more, but it had been a good investment. She told us her Dyson worked like a dream sucking up the dirt in her home.

Mark and I agreed that this year's house gift would be a Dyson vacuum cleaner. I was quite pathetic at the store fondly gazing at the box containing my brand new Dyson, gleefully rubbing my hands together. Although, due to my shoulder recently being liberated from its sling prison I had to keep my hands close to my body since I still cannot extend my arm other than while at physical therapy.

Once arriving at home, with Mark's help, I set out to christen the Dyson with vacuuming the downstairs. Embarrassingly, I had to shake out the bag less canister three times while vacuuming the family room. In fairness, the family room is where we mostly live, as do our two dogs - enough said! The next day, Mark and I vacuumed the upstairs, including the actual stairs. Again, I found myself emptying the bag less canister an impossible number of times. Wonderfully, my Dyson sucked up all the dirt and our carpets and floors look great.

Life goes on.

To date we have receive four letters from our recruit, Patrick. He writes that he is well; he likes the chilimac the best at chow. This from the boy that didn't like to eat chili for dinner!

I pour over each letter, studying each sentence, wondering if there's a second meaning between the lines. Mark is there to remind me that a man's mind doesn't work 'that way'. Mark tells me that when a man says, 'I'm fine. My drill instructor is a good guy'. - that's exactly what he means.  Where I try to give Mark a glimpse into a woman's mind. 'I'm fine' to a woman could have so many meanings:

                I'm fine =  Leave me alone; I'm mad at you!

                I'm fine =  I need to talk about how I feel.

                I'm fine =  I'm on the verge of tears.

                I'm fine =  My hair looks good today and you'd better

                                notice and compliment me - damn it!

I write Patrick every other day. I cannot tell him how much I miss him. I cannot tell him how our holidays were lacking without his enthusiasm. I cannot tell him how I cleaned his room so fabulously that it can pass even the strictest of DI inspections. However, I'd happily give it up for his own personal mess to have him sleeping again in his own bed. I cannot tell him how I've closed his bedroom door because it's too empty without him. I cannot tell him at times I just sit in his room, worrying that he isn't getting enough to eat or he isn't getting enough sleep.

I cannot tell Patrick those things for I know being a Marine is what he's wanted forever; being a Marine will make him happy. Patrick must remain on focus, thinking of the task at hand to be the few, the proud. Boot camp requires not just physical exertion, but it also calls for mental and emotional strength a recruit needs to make it through. So, I keep my letters to Patrick encouraging, supportive and upbeat.

In summary, I need to be just like my brand new Dyson vacuum cleaner - I need to suck it up.                        

Yes!

I received Patrick's first 'written by him letter' yesterday! Although, unfortunately the day he wrote his letter, (Sunday), he had not received any letters from family and friends!

I wonder why it is that we add tones to letters/texts/correspondence? In one sentence I read it with a tinge of sadness; in the next, determination. All in all, it was just plain wonderful to receive his letter. Albeit, one small page...a half sheet of paper..where Patrick dedicated two sentences to making sure his brother Jeff made sure to post his mailing address on Facebook, hmmm.

Patrick's writing wasn't that atrocious this time around. I didn't have to reread a word to make out what he was trying to say. I can tell he's growing up; so much so his penmanship is improving as well. No one can say the Marine Corps doesn't bring up the best in a person. So proud of that boy of mine!

I do feel better knowing that by the time I received his one letter he had most likely received two out of my four letters I have sent him. (There's only so much a mom can clean with her arm in a sling).
Yes, time is a plenty these days.

Maybe I should bump up my letter writing to everyday versus every other day?