What I Am

This blog was originally constructed to journalize a journey. Steve’s journey to Iraq. My journey…well, I believe both Steve and I, without really defining it, established in our hearts and minds that my journey would include at the very least, much the same journey I’ve been on since we went to war.

My journey added a new dimension to me the day I lost Aaron.

I hurt today.

I’ve wondered if I hurt today because it is an anniversary date in a way. On this day, in 1971, I drank castor oil and orange juice. I remember looking at those rings of oil; no matter how many times I stirred, they still were ringy puddles of oil, blotted and swollen on top of the orange juice.

It was hard to tip that glass up, but I did. Then I went and walked a mile, returned to my mother’s house, held my head over the toilet and puked my guts out. I was pregnant and I wasn’t quite seventeen years old. In 1971, if one married, one left school. Daycares were not provided at the school, and in fact, if one were married, that one must ask permission from the school board to even attend school at all. If one received permission from the sitting board to finish high school, then that one understood that attendance at school did not include membership in any club or activity.

Shane was born on November 7, 1971.

I don’t know if they had a policy for wedded pregnant mothers. I just quit and waited until my class graduated, (as were the rules) and took my GED. By this time, I’d already buried Shane on April 4, 1973. My class would graduate in May.

The school systems have both added and subtracted to their resumes since this time. But today’s post really has nothing to do with the state of our schools.

Fast forward to November 2, 1992: I said goodbye to Greg in Panama. As I departed for Howard Air Force Base, only three blocks away, Greg, who is now my husband, departed for a company formation; the precedent to a Change of Command ceremony that would be taking place for 536th Engineer Battalion (Combat Heavy). More than with excitement, I departed with a heavy heart. After nearly five years in the Army, three years in Panama, I was ETS-ing. I was leaving five years behind me. I was leaving my home. And I was thirty-seven years old.

But it’s not these things that hurt me today. I hurt because I fear I may have hurt others within the last few days. I hurt because I am afraid for our country. I worry and wonder about the current administration while I tremble at the thought of the current state of the Democratic party being in control of our troops and our foreign policies.

I was “born” a Democrat. My grandparents on both sides were Democrat. They farmed; they were very moral, very family-oriented people. They taught us: if a yellow dog Democrat runs for President, vote that yellow dog—don’t vote Republican.

I was also taught: no matter who the President is, we should pray for our leaders.

I am a registered Republican. I have been since 2000. I didn’t quit the Clinton administration over the whole sordid Lewinsky business; in fact, I cried when everyone wanted to impeach the President. It was an ugly time in our history.

As a third-grader, I prayed for Lyndon Johnson to get President. I will never forget the day JFK was assassinated. As a third-grader, I read about it in my Weekly Reader, out on the playground. I watched at home as tears ran down my mother’s face.

Today, nearly every member in my family is Republican. My husband was born Republican like I was born Democrat. I can tell you he will most certainly die a Republican.

My mother began to vote Republican as she watched the moral values she’d been raised with rupture in the hands of the liberals.

This all is a lengthy background to what I want to say.

I’m sorry.

If I’ve brought offense to one person, one family, anyone outside of the evil that I know exists in all politics, and most certainly exists within the Islamic Radical Terrorist’ Organizations, then I am deeply sorry.

I believe Steve is a registered Democrat. Though we’ve gone deep into political and historical discussions, we’ve not vented on one party or the other. I know we’re both “conservative” and I know beyond any shadow of doubt that we both love our country and we are deeply burdened for what we know our troops hear, from yes, a very liberal media.

Our blog is not a political blog. The “journey” now includes others we’ve met along the way: the troops and their families. It’s you we write for, and it’s you we journey for. I am serious. Very serious. I spent three years talking to a Marine. I’ve missed that.

While the troops are out fighting for their lives as well as our own, Steve and I will be here fighting as best we can for them.

Aaron was not even registered to vote. He cared not one iota for politics. He cared for his brothers. And he was deeply conservative.

I know that both parties have things to be proud of and things to be ashamed of. I am moved by President Bush even though I swore I would never vote for him when Carla Fay Tucker was executed.

I may veer off from time to time into politics. I’d enjoy it more if we could take cracks at both sides.

Maybe in a different time. There is nothing to laugh about today.

One thing that never changes in me: I love. I mourn. And I would never want to bring harm to any of the troops or their families with the words I write.

Thank you. And I try to be, Always Faithful.

Forgive me when I am not.