Steve. What a heart. Sacrifice is the eccentric beauty of war. I see that now.

For this, for the voices, laughter, sympathy, for the time spent of those who come to visit us here, our hearts are open to your voices, your bravery, your stories and work ethic, your right to be recognized, and above all, your resilience in this War on Terror: those who go to the front and those who support them at home and abroad. Your words have paid us well in smiles and tears.

Don’t worry, we like crying.

But we didn’t cry at the airport today. It was great. With all my heart, I believe Steve will return, his mission complete, and like many of us, he’ll be changed forever. We live in a time of great change. We couldn’t contribute to this exploit with anything less than the serenity, the urgency, with which we both feel.

United States Armed Forces: don’t give up on us out here! So many are here for you and it’s one of our missions—to get that word to you out there. I wish for new words to tell you how important you are to us. And when we share the sad moments with you, it is because we want you to know how we share in your sacrifice. And that is the key. That we share in the sacrifice. We need you and need you to know that.

***
PFC CHRISTOPHER ALDESPERGER, USMC, age 20 of Albuquerque, NM has been nominated for the Congressional Medal of Honor. PFC Aldesperger is pictured here in the center.

Greg and I had the honor of meeting this outstanding Marine’s dad in Albuquerque at the New Mexico Veteran’s Memorial last year. Such a kind and gentle man. There is an article in the LA Times archives: “His Corps Value Was Bravery” which was published October 3, 2006. Tony Perry wrote the six-page article and when you can, check it out. It’s quite a remarkable story. Perry is an excellent writer (he was in Iraq when Aaron was KIA). Please keep Mr. Aldesperger in your prayers. He’s had a tough time according to the article. He’s very proud of his son and supports the troops and their mission.

They don’t call us survivors for nothing.

Some more on Aaron & Hen...

Aaron named his dog after the cognac that 2-PAC drank. Yes, Aaron was a big 2-PAC fan in his younger and baggier days. We always danced to Dear Mamma when he was home. Aaron called us ghetto. I had told him countless times that we weren’t ghetto, but he was determined that we were. I think Aaron, as a sixteen year old, was deeply disappointed that I wasn’t black. And he was also convinced that 2-PAC was still alive (much like Elvis). I told Kayla (my niece) a few months ago that Aaron was probably surprised when he got to heaven and met 2-PAC.

Hennessy. Which may or may not be spelled that way. I’m sure Aaron put no thought into it as he spelled out Hennessy’s name the first time at the vet’s office. Much like he effortlessly spelled my sister into “Anti.” I’m "Auntie" to Lisa's daughter, Kayla De'on (yes, she gets what she pleases from me!), Aaron called Lisa Auntie as well, but he always spelled it A-N-T-I…thus causing my sister’s name to appear militant. We’ve always been a little horrified of this spelling, but we've put ourselves through a great deal to embrace and preserve all that we still cherish.

It's time to heed "Anti's words of wisdom and get to bed. Hen is snoring, thus lulling me into a dream state, induced a wee bit by sleep deprivation. But I have a bed to go and stretch out in, thanks to all of you who are sleeping out in the dirt.

***If you want to meet Hennessy, (he really is fabulous!) this is a day from 2005.


Spring

Spring is near. For sometime now, I’ve walked Aaron’s dog around noon or after, but for the last two days, Hennessy and I’ve gone before lunch, when it’s cooler. Today, I may have waited too long. He’s upchucked twice since we got home. Once in my bedroom, and now, once in here. Just now.

If I’d known you were going to outlive your owner, you wouldn’t be here. I don’t say this out loud, just in case he might understand. I wouldn't ever hurt his feelings.

Hennessy is an autumn color. The color of copper. He’s not one of those black and white winter-looking pit bulls, and at first, I didn’t believe he was full-pit, until I saw a photograph on a calendar. The proud animal sat on all fours, in the sun, eyes turned away, heavy jaw, up,confident, remote. The image of Hennessy. He’s an American Pit Terrier. Beautiful, except for a few battle scars. Much like his previous owner, this bruiser’s never backed down from any physical confrontation.

We spell the w-a-l-k word in front of him now, because he’s learned that word and if we just say it aloud, he starts jumping, going all crazy, never giving me a minute’s peace until the deed is done, and so, it crosses my mind, if we keep spelling walk, well, I think maybe, just maybe, he could learn to spell. Now mind you, this dog doesn’t do one other thing you tell him to do, but it does seem as if he’s teachable or reachable in some way.

Aaron taught him how to sit and how to manipulate. Hennessy has forgotten the former, but has progressed well in the latter. He likes three things: walking, sleeping with people, and eating. And pretty much in that order, unless he’s sleeping with someone special, then he just looks up at us while we’re standing there with leash and harness in hand, saying the walk word, over and over. He yawns, he stretches, he sticks his head back under the covers. In short order, he drools all over the most recent pillow he claims as his own, for his comfort, in his people bed.

He manipulates his way into their bed, provided this arrangement is negotiable in someway. Not everyone likes to spend the night with an eighty-five pound pit under the covers. There remain a few of us who’d rather not sleep next to a coat with the texture of dried winter pine needles. Exactly like that, only shorter. Such a stickery thing when rubbed the wrong way. It’s a coat that lies around outside in the smelly dirt, then here, under my feet. Snoring. Snoring and six years old.

I refuse to sleep with him. I’ve tried. It didn’t work. I already have my husband, then there’s the other dog that would end up with bruised and hurt puppy feelings, then my cat, Sarah, who sleeps where she chooses, and usually it’s my bed. Although lately, her preference has leaned more toward Aaron’s bed.

Sarah and Aaron despised each other. She’d hiss at him, haunch her back, spit. He’d return her gestures and mouth at her in the most phonetic way possible, always loud enough for me to hear, “I hate you, cat.” Only he’d say the sentence in all caps. So now, here she is, stretching out on his bed, lounging a lot, bathing a little, and creating a healthy nest of cat fur. Life is sometimes full of its own little ironies.

According to doggy years and vet reminders, Hennessy is advancing in age. He’s even tagged a senior now, and soon enough, I’ll be forced to provide dental care and other expensive old age benefits. Dental cleanings of his nature require anesthesia. Putting him under, so to speak. Then he’ll be sick and throwing up for the day. While I know some animals manage to escape this nauseous state, I’m certain Hennessy is bound to become ill. Everything upsets him: changes in diet, the weather, his allergies. The list grows. It’ll be a surgery-type charge, and yes, they charge by the pound. On his last visit, the vet told my husband Hennessy borders upon obesity.

Hennessy was eight weeks young when Aaron picked him out. Aaron and his best friend, Jerrod, were both so excited when they picked him up. Aaron assured the breeder of the good life this pick would have. Aaron was a junior in high school then and worked for the vet. Hennessy reaped the benefits from his master’s employment. He fed upon the most scientific of diets and bathed in luxurious shampoos (before his de-lousing); he was brushed and blow-dried as he feasted upon doggie treats (with their own hidden dental care plan), all this, while he indulged in the attention of several barking dogs who waited for some attention of their own from master.

The pit adored his sojourns there with Aaron, and now, he’s still happy to visit the clinic. He presses straight toward the aisle he and Aaron once walked together so proudly. So male and territorial.

And I usually read the dog’s mind at this point.

He belonged to both Aaron and Jerrod because they were always together. Dog is man’s best friend of the best friend. And Jerrod revels in sleeping with Hennessy too, just like Aaron did. It’s a hard act to follow, and yet, I find myself as best friend by proxy.

But yes, spring is about here, there is some burden, gone. It’s like a first glorious release in pressure. Perhaps the most noticed change in altitude. The cold still comes, and the wind blows it away, and after it howls and tangles up everything, then some warmth, some brief exposure to life is merely touched, only glimpsed at, yet vivid. It’s like a promise being kept, and very close.

February is nearly over. Hennessy rests at my feet. He looks as if he thinks I will never walk him again. He forgets we just walked.