April 11, 2006

Call to Duty : Desert Storm

He hugged her yet again. Soon, it would be time to go.

The call had come late... they had been activated and would be moving out. There was little time to discuss things again. Their previous discussions would have to be enough. He remembered holding her hands on the porch swing, softly discussing the possibilities of what could happen, what had been taken care of. There was no "where" or "how long". Some things just cannot be answered. Some things just don't always make sense. A soft caress of the hair, a kiss, a whispered "It will be alright", and a drying of many tears.

Even now he still felt trepidation, but did his best not to show it. He had to be brave for her. The heat made him uncomfortable. The echo of boots in cadence echoed around the gathered soldiers and morose family members. The fear was palpable. Weeping and low discussions clouded the mass like a shroud stealing the breath. The trucks were starting, their loud engines punching through the pall.

"Remember what you promised me?" She asked between tears, numbly straightening his collar, staring almost through him, seemingly memorizing his every feature upon the tablet of her mind. He repeated everything back to her, just to make her feel at ease, though he knew that she couldn't. The pain in her eyes hurt him the most, reaching into his soul and threatening to pull him under, but there was nothing he could do. Duty was duty. There was a job to do.

The hated time arrived, final goodbyes were said. Again, her eyes haunted him... the tears burning, etching a path down her face. He swallowed hard and fought the tide of emotions threatening to swallow him as she clutched him fiercely to her. "Remember that I love you, baby," she whispered, quickly wiping the last tear from her face with her camouflaged sleeves. "I love you to, Mommy." he tried to answer, but the burning in his throat made it sound like a croak. Jumping into the truck, she gave a stilted wave and then turned away... the dust of the receding caravan of vehicles hiding any further view of her.

He watched until the last trailing lights of the trucks vanished before turning away into his grandmother's waiting arms, weeping that she was gone. He had been brave for her to see. It would have to be enough. Now he could finally cry.

Posted by Ravennacht at 01:19 AM

June 22, 2005

When I grow up...

The first animated movie I ever saw was The Rescuers by Walt Disney. If that doesn't necessarily ring a bell, its the story of a young girl kidnapped by a crazy cajun lady with a pair of pet crocodiles. The girl's only hope is a pair of mice (Newhart and Gabor) and a wacky albatross.

It was that movie that made me want to be an animator when I grew up. A lofty goal, which I fell well short of, though I do find the thought amusing now. I used to spend hours drawing things with crayons, pencils, pens, chalk... whatever I could get my hands upon. But then, it was all quashed.

I don't necessarily remember what stole that remnant of self-certainty that I had as a child. The confidence that I was really really good at something. I have my suspicions. Its just not worth dredging anymore.

Now when I do anything artistic, it is very difficult for me to stay on task. Its become a chore. Nothing seems good enough. You can see my uncertainty in every stroke, jagged, abrupt... not smooth flowing. I can go months without completing a piece, and I am never happy with it. It just makes me sick.

What happened to the boy with the vision. How did he become this man?

Posted by Ravennacht at 11:20 PM

May 05, 2005

The Last Moments

The ventilator rose and fell, in ever slowing progression, the cardiac monitor alarm ringing in everyone’s ears until the nurse methodically and unemotionally reaches over to activate the switch. The nurse takes her vitals, not making eye contact with the family members in the room, oblivious to the echoing sobs and palpable sense of sorrow that permeates everything.

She seemingly half-sleeps upon the hospital bed, laboring for each breath, her life waning before our eyes. Her skin is cold, her eyelids half open, yet half closed. Her breathing is raspy and open-mouthed.

Drops of solution from the I.V. slide down the tube and into her arm. The sheets cover her from foot to midriff, tightly encasing her like a papoose. A hospital bracelet circles her aged wrist.

The family mills about in the tiny room, uncertain of what to do, or expect next. Those that can fathom the enormity of what is happening stay closest to her, while the others slowly filter from the room, unable to breath in the emotional abyss. Her daughters hold her hands, telling her that all her children are present. She seems to hear them, for her breathing becomes less labored. They continue to talk to her, patting her hand and stroking her hair, telling her that everyone is okay, that everything will be fine.

Her chest rises and falls less and less until it rises no more. There is no sound, no drama, no sign of any change, save the silence. The doctor enters, placing her stethoscope to the still form and listens. Nodding to the nurse, who now turns off the monitor completely, she turns to the family and tells them their mother is gone.

(and so did I bear the privilege of witnessing the final moments of this friend of the family.)

Posted by Ravennacht at 01:44 AM

May 01, 2005

Jaundiced Merboy off the Port Bow

Granted, this is not a personal memory, however, this is how I was told:

I am amongst the "special" children, the odds beating "birth-control" babies. My mother was a simple girl from the Lake with plans to attend nursing school. My father was a helicopter gunner for the Army, serving in Vietnam.

I was born in the 5th US Army General Hospital in Stuttgart-Bad Cannstatt, West Germany on April 3, 1971 at 4:44am. I have been informed that my delivery was conducted under water, so I came out swimming. (Can you imagine, pool delivery!)

Unfortunately, RH Factor reared its ugly head, causing me to be severely anemic and jaundiced. This led to an immediate need for an A+ blood transfusion. Yeee haaa, party for me.

Posted by Ravennacht at 09:54 PM

April 18, 2005

The Blizzard of 1978

Shivering beneath the covers of my twin bed, I couldn’t understand why it was so cold in the house. I heard my parents talking excitedly in the kitchen; there was obviously something horribly wrong. There was light peaking through my bedroom window, the pane of the glass glazed over with ice, the wind beating upon it like a drum, threatening to break it in. I was terrified, this wasn't a normal sound at all.

My brother, only three years old, burrowed deeper underneath the covers of his bed, peaking above the rim of grandma’s stitched quilt, his croaking voice chattering as he cried for mother. Mom entered the room, wearing her snowsuit and gloves. She quickly and calmly explained that the heater for the house had broken, and that a very bad storm was happening outside. The temperature was steadily getting colder, the wind was shrieking outside. I looked out the window and saw sheets of snow blown horizontally past the house, misting across what seemed to be mountains of the white stuff. I was afraid, my brother was afraid. It seemed like the end of the world. The snow didn’t seem to have an end in sight. Our parents were growing more and more excited in their desperation of what to do.

I heard the door slam, with the clomping stomping footsteps of my father shaking the layers of snow off his boots. He entered our bedroom and told our mother that both the vehicles were snowed in and would not start, the batteries were dead. With the heater broken, our only hope was to walk to the neighbor’s house, which was one-half mile away, through the blowing, biting snow. A daunting task in the midst of the country in this life-threatening situation.

We were bundled in several layers of pants and coats, and wrapped in heavy blankets. The wind shrieked like a banshee as the door opened and our parents carried us off into the storm. I remember hearing my brother whimper that he couldn’t walk through all the snow. Our parents decided to carry us, I on my father’s back, my brother on my mother’s. The biting cold tore through our coats, stinging the flesh. I remember my tears freezing to my face, my hands so numb. I couldn't catch a breath, the cold so bitter that it was like a blade in the lungs.

I don’t remember reaching the neighbor’s house, nor how long it even took to get ther. I remember waking up with my hands and feet stinging so badly as if thousands of pins were being pricked into my skin. The neighbor woman was rubbing my hands and feet while I cried. My mother and father were passed out, exhausted near the couch. My brother was crying. We had made it to safety.

We spent almost a week there, with no means of going to town. No vehicles could make it through the roads, not even the county plows. People were using snowmobiles to deliver groceries to those that were most in need. Ours were time spent in the neighbor's family room, before the fireplace playing dominoes and staring out the window sheeted with ice and snow.

Posted by Ravennacht at 11:51 AM