Happy Birthday to me.

So I turned 26 on April 17.  I’d have to say my best two birthdays were the past two.  I think that says something about my life.  As with New Years, having a birthday makes me reflect on the year that has passed. 

Last year through a discussion with my sister Gretchen, I had an epiphany.  We were talking about people our age being married and having families, and she said, “You know what I wouldn’t want kids right now because I’m having too much fun in life, I wouldn’t be able to go biking for the weekend, or just go on a road trip when I wanted.”  I was shocked to realize I wouldn’t say my life was “fun.”  Most weekends consisted of Law and Order SVU marathons and laundry.  So I decided 25 was going to be different!  I mean what was I waiting for, I had nothing holding me back and if I didn’t love my life who would want to be with or around someone who doesn’t?  Men are not supposed to be some magic anecdote to make life suck less.  I should be able to make my own life awesome!  (Cuz I'm every woman, it's all in me...oooooOOOOoooo, oh Whitney Houston,  you were every woman until you became cracked out)  I wanted my life to be different, more exciting, I wanted to take more chances, and at the same time more wise decisions.  So I made a list. 

1. Learn to swim
2. Rock climb
3. Go ziplining
4. Pay off my credit card
5. Read the bible
6. Get in better shape
7. Run a 5K

The swimming thing didn’t go so well.  I had a couple lessons with my friend Sara, but the whole moving to the desert thing hampered that (not to mention I can only doggie paddle, my bottom half sinks and I have to hold my nose to go under water).  I started going to the gym and fell in love with Zumba due to a really fun and enthusiastic instructor!  (Thanks Michelle!)  I ran a 5K with my family, which I talked about a couple posts ago.  I also made the wise decision that instead of purchasing a plasma tv with my tax refund, I would buy a bike.  I rode around Huntington and made the occasional ride to work, helping me shape up not only the environment but my wallet and tush too! :)

Emboldened by my list, for my 25^th birthday I planned a trip for me and some of my friends to go ziplining at the New River Gorge.  Then Sara and her hubby Heath invited all of us to go to a White Water weekend party and stay at a cabin.  (I love me some hippies!) 

Then I rock climbed for the first time on real rock!  (I had only ever climbed at the wall at the gym before).  It was such a fun weekend!  I’m so grateful for Sara, Heath, Nick and Brian for encouraging me/making me climb.

Gretchen and I looking like major dorks on our bikes

Our zipline tour!

Wahoo!  Chilling on the side of a rock

Running the Pat Tillman 4.2 miler 

Brad

I was feeling great and really loving life.  Professionally, I was doing great as well!  I had an awesome boss who respected my ideas and fantastic coworkers that made every Taco Bell Friday and day in between super fun!  (Thank you Brad for letting me torture you for our amusement! Beth, Ella, Amanda, Adam, Patty, Sabrina, Rebecca, I miss you guys so much!)  I also attended a conference and felt emboldened by the discussion.   I came back to work ready to implement some new ideas.  I was feeling refreshed and like I had it all together.  I could have NEVER imagined my next birthday would be spent in Afghanistan! 

Well, we all know what comes next and if you don’t you can find my list of reasoning in the post, Skemp’s Grand Adventure. I chose to come work for the USO in Afghanistan.  I don’t think I would have had the confidence to accomplish it, if I hadn’t taken the “bulls by the horn” and improved my life on my own to begin with.  I know you have to sometimes give to yourself in order to be able to give to others.

silly string removal process

So after an awesome 25^th birthday, I’m happy to say 26 was amazing as well!  My coworkers and a couple volunteers took me to TGIFridays for dinner.  After someone told the staff it was my birthday (cough Joan, Erin, Duane cough)  they made me stand on a pedestal in the middle of the restaurant and I was told by 5 Pakistani men to “DANCE LIKE SHAKIRA!” with a bottle of non-alcoholic champagne in my hand while they chanted a Happy Birthday song.  The packed restaurant of military personnel stared on.  It was hilarious!  Sarah York’s mom sent me a homemade cake that was delectable!  My sister Angela sent me a Birthday crown to wear.  My parents sent two packages ahead of time (I had to ravenously rip open one of them the day I got it, but the other I waited until my actual birthday).  Then on my actual birthday I walked into work and my boss silly stringed me!  He also bought me an ice cream cake that was delicious!  My coworker Cindy started some soldiers into singing Happy Birthday in the middle of the center at night.  I looked around and just felt really happy. 

Then my eye started to hurt.   It was like someone taking a dull knife and trying to dig out my eyeball while every light that hit my eye felt like an ice pick right to the ol' cornea.  After contemplating that I had no accessories that could possibly go with a pirate patch, my Major friend insisted upon taking me to the hospital here on base and  I found out I had 3 corneal abrasions in my left eye, and some neovascularization which could eventually lead to blindness.  Woot, happy birthday to me, the day I turn 26 I start falling apart.  It’s alright though, my eye is much better now and it was all my fault to begin with.  Apparently when the Army suggests for you not to wear your contacts out here, they weren't being arbitrary, they had a point.

So 26 has a lot to live up to if it wants to be as awesome as 25, but I’m pretty sure it’s up to the challenge!

Sacrifice

I started reading Where Men Win Glory today by Jon Krakauer.  It is the story of Pat Tillman.  I had heard something about Pat Tillman back when he died, but considering I was in my freshman year of college, I had much more important things to do (like eat Taco Bell in ungodly amounts and procrastinate by talking on AIM with my friends back home until ungodly hours) and grossly ignored it.  Recently I ran Pat's Run, a 4.2 mile race in Pat Tillman’s honor.  This got me interested in his story, so my friend Ryan lent me the book to read.

Pat Tillman Race/Marathon Training Side Note/Update: I was super worried since I hadn't run on anything but a treadmill for 7 months, but Aaron signed me up for the run and then told me he did later, so I had no choice.  But I did well, 36.05 not too shabby for just starting out.  Most importantly it gave me confidence to run more!  It was really cool to run a race past military vehicles driving, and they debriefed us at the beginning that if there was a rocket attack to jump in the nearest ditch.  Well that’s something you normally don’t hear at a race debriefing.  It was also awesome because some units ran, so they were chanting and other soldiers wore their combat boots, or flak jackets!

I haven’t written a blog post in a long time, and every time I say I should, I feel uninspired.  I also haven’t picked up a book in a long time.  Now I’m three chapters into this book, and immediately thought of so many things I wanted to say.  Lighbulb moment!  Reading good books with others' words fuel my own words!

Anyway, when thinking about Pat Tillman’s life the first word that comes to mind is sacrifice.  He sacrificed so many things.  He passed up a $3.6 million deal with the NFL to enlist in the Army.  He ultimately sacrificed his life.  I found this quote the other day and in the Easter season I find it extremely fitting:

Only two defining forces have ever offered to die for you, Jesus Christ and the American Soldier. One died for your soul, the other for your freedom. - Anonymous

Out here I see sacrifices everyday.  Some of them big like troops lying their lives on the line for their friends, some medium sized like an airman having to watch the birth of his child on Skype , and some small like a soldier offering to let someone cut him in line.  I am surrounded so much by their lives, I seem to forget about the sacrifices people have made in my own. 

I was talking to my coworker yesterday about how excited I am getting for my vacation home.  It will be the first time I will visit home in 8 months.  He said, “It will be even harder on them when you leave this time.”  It hadn’t even occurred to me, but I’m sure it’s true.  My family is so amazing that they never mention if they are worried about me, but I’m sure it does take a toll when they see the latest news bulletin about 480 Taliban prisoners escaping in the city I currently live.  My parents have sacrificed so much for me to have a comfortable life, and here I am volunteering to go to a warzone. 

My parents and I at my college graduation

In the 7 months I have been out here my parents have remodeled a bathroom, put siding on the house, a new deck has been installed, and they have painted virtually every room.  I feel like a tool admitting this, but you see until 7 months ago I was still cashing the checks from the bank of Mom and Dad.  They still paid for my car and insurance and the occasional thing I needed along the way.  I can remember my parents talking about wanting to get siding literally years ago, I even recall talk of remodeling the bathroom when I was in third grade!  But, they didn’t.  They made sure we had all we could ever want or need before they thought of themselves.  It’s a selflessness that I know I couldn’t maintain right now.  It makes me think of all my friends that are mothers and fathers with a sense of awe.  They sacrifice.

We had a Wounded Warrior (soldier harmed in the line of duty waiting to get therapy and be sent back out in the field, or go home) who volunteered in the center recently.  He is the same age as me, 26.  He has a wife and three children.  We discussed our lives and how foreign the other one’s life seems.  He talked about the different ideas he had in high school like nursing school, or opening his own chain restaurant, but now he needs to do what is best for his family.  I tried to picture if my life was his, but I couldn’t.  It seemed like this parallel universe that I would have to fall down a magic hole or walk into a mythical wardrobe to enter.  At the ripe old age of 26 I don’t feel like I am mature enough or selfless enough to have children, let alone at 18.  He sacrificed.

When I was in Africa with Natalie she talked about having feelings of guilt.  Guilt that she had so much.  She is living in a mud hut with no running water or electricity and she is feeling guilty?!?!  She sacrifices.

I have heard a quote at some point in my life (probably from a sappy romantic comedy) that it's not a sacrifice; it's love.  That Meg Ryan or Sandra Bullock, or whoever it was, was right.  Because when it's love, for your children, spouse, job, country, or ideals, it doesn't seem like a sacrifice to you, it's your life and you wouldn't want it any other way.

A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

Goals, dreams, resolutions, aspirations, hopes, desires, wants, wishes, there are so many words for what we want to accomplish, yet so many times we fall short. 

I admit I have fallen victim to the ‘great idea but lack the follow through,’ syndrome.  I think my friends didn’t truly believe I was going to Afghanistan until my ballet flats hit the ground.  Then they knew I followed through, and it was real.  When I lived as a nanny in Raleigh right after college, I had a new idea every day which included, but was not limited to: stewardess, Americorps, living on a Native American reservation out west, Peace Corps, masters in education, and nanny in France.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want to do with my life lately.  I am more than half way through my time here (if I don’t extend) and what am I going to do next?  It’s a question that I get asked almost every day.  My answer is still I have no idea! 

There is an AMAZING book titled,  A Million Miles in a Thousand Years.   I try to read a lot, and it is literally the best book I have read in years!  In it the author, Donald Miller, discusses creating a story for your life.  He talks about his friend whose daughter had a bad boyfriend and was into drugs and Miller responded, “Well sounds like she’s not living a good story.”  The father then realized he needed to provide his daughter with an alternate story.  He came up with the idea to have their family build an orphanage in a poor country.  He researched it and was enthusiastic about it and quickly his daughter was too.  That story became her story and she quickly forgot her old story all on her own.

“People love to have lived a great story, but few people like the work it takes to make it happen.  But joy costs pain.”  - Donald Miller in A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

We all have stories to tell and I know my time in Afghanistan is a fun and exciting one.  I just sometimes worry about what comes next in my story.  I was explaining this to one of my soldier friends, Aaron.  I said, What if I go back to the states and I’m boring?  His quick response was, “Who said you’re not boring here?”  Hilarious…and point made.

“I wondered about the story we were writing and wanted even more to write a better story for myself, something that leaves a beautiful feeling even as the credits roll.” - Donald Miller in A Million Miles in a Thousand Years 

After my time in Africa, I decided I want to visit all 7 continents by the time I’m 30.  I’m already more than half way there!  I have North America, Europe, Asia and Africa, just Australia and South America to bust out…oh and then there’s that pesky Antarctica.  That will be difficult.  I loved experiencing the completely different culture and interacting with the people, it was intoxicating!  My mom’s cousin, Bobbi, has visited all 7 continents.  I visited her before I went on my cruise in December with my family and I could not get enough of her stories! 

I also just began Day 2 of my training for a marathon.  Since I have moved to Afghanistan, I work out more than I have in the past 25 years combined.  With not much else for distraction, it’s a nice outlet for stress.  I want to run the Soldier Marathon in November in Fort Benning, Georgia.  Daren’s brother, Miles, would like to get a team together to run in memory of him.  I don’t even know what continent I’ll be on in November, but I want to run this race.  It gives me something proactive to do, some action to take, to honor him. 

The only time I have run a race was a 5K last year with the entire side of my mom’s family.  We were the SWATT Team: Sprinters, Walkers And Trash Talkers.  Although I was none of those, I was more the jog enthusiastically until about ¾ of the way through then feel like you’re going to heave but keep on smiling as you go at a pace that could just pass for jogging but barely more than speed walking (it’s all in the quick deceiving movements of the arms people) and pass the finish line.  And yes, I want to run a marathon, not a 5K, not a half, but a full marathon.  My sister Gretchen also known as my other half, my role model, my everything, ran the Marine Corps Marathon last year.  As was always the motivating factor when I was younger, if she can do it, I can do it!    (She still jokes that the whole reason I came to Afghanistan was just to “out do” her living in Costa Rica).  I even asked her to run with me, and she said she’s in!  So half way across the world we’re going to be training together!

Me and Gretchen before the big race

“The character has to jump into the story, into the discomfort and the fear, otherwise the story will never happen.”  - Donald Miller in A Million Miles in a Thousand Years

Do I need to assign you a battle buddy?! - The Joys of Mil Air

To fly military air there is no ticket purchasing for a particular date or time, instead I must sign up 10 days ahead of when I actually want to leave the country and hope there is space on a flight.  I cross my fingers and hope for the best as my name starts out at 76 on the list.  As flights leave spaces get taken, and my name keeps moving toward the top.  My coworkers said you usually want your number to be in the teens to get on a flight.  The day before I want to make a flight I am at 36.  Not a good sign.

The day of my hopeful flight I borrow my coworker Scott’s huge hiking backpack, place it on my back (almost tip over), and then go to the PAX (passenger terminal).  I am a nervous wreck.  What if I don’t understand one of the abbreviations?  What if there isn’t room for me on the flight, and I get bumped to the next day?  What if I sit in the wrong seat, or follow the wrong procedure? 

The huge backpack, dwarfed only by the huge pig

I sit on the backpack while in line outside and a lady takes our CACs (military ID cards).  As I wait I eat a chicken sandwich.  I had been warned that it can take about 4 hours to physically get on the flight, and you can’t leave the building so fueling beforehand is imperative.  The woman comes back out and calls for a particular unit that was going on leave, and they file past us.  Then we get the call to get in the security line.  Ummm, guess this means I got on the flight?

I then enter a hard structure that literally the ceiling and parts of doorways and walls are crumbling, not exactly JFK or London Heathrow.  I hear though that KAF is the busiest single runway in the world.  At security there is no need to separate your liquids or take your laptop out of its bag.  Just throw your guns, knives, body armor and helmet on the belt, walk on through, ignore the metal detector going off, and pick up all your weapons on the other side.  My sister got her nail scissors confiscated at an airport, and the guy in front of me just picked up his 9mm gun.  This flight is going to be a little different.

I walk upstairs and hang out in one of the waiting areas.  There are a few tvs and some port-o-johns outside, no Starbucks, airport shops, or free wifi.  I wait around then they start calling out last fours (the last four of your social security number) and return our CACs.  I spot a soldier who frequents our center, and immediately I decompress.  It is as if his mere presence will ensure my safe travel to Kuwait.  Next thing I know they do an all call (basically scream get in line and on the plane).  We all suit up with our IBA (individualized body armor aka flak jacket aka bullet proof vest) and helmet, and stand in line.  I am sporting some jeans, a tshirt, camo ballet flats, a massive flak jacket with a colorful African purse strewn across it, and I’m holding my helmet.  I can just see the stares of the military on my flight thinking, what in the hell is she doing here?

While we are standing on the flight line the sound of airplanes roaring past is absolutely deafening.  We literally have to stop walking at one point to let an airplane taxi by us.  I could have run out and licked it.  The back of our plane is opened up like a toddler sticking its tongue out.  We walk single file up the ramp, and I sit in a jump seat.  In the plane the jump seats are on the side.  They have sort of a seatbelt-like bottom, and the back is simply a pad attached to the side of the plane.  These are surprisingly more comfortable than the traditional airplane seats that are shoved incredibly close together on palettes in the middle of the aircraft.  In the jump seats you get as much leg room as you could possibly want.  Behind the traditional airplane seats are pallets with all our luggage Saran wrapped on top of them.  On my way back there were Conex boxes (the big containers trains pull) in the middle of the plane instead of airplane seats.  An airman walks by and passes out ear plugs and mumbles some safety features as I intently gaze at all the exposed wiring above my head.  Then, we’re off!  There are no windows inside, so you can’t judge the progress but we accelerate extremely fast and break into the air.  I try to push out of my head the reasoning for the incredibly sudden ascent.  I just hold on so I don’t smash into the soldier to my right.  On most commercial flights I can’t sleep, but with the loud humming of the engine and seeing all the soldiers relax and drift to sleep, I fall asleep as well.  Four hours later I’m in Kuwait.

After following instruction for civilians and having two soldiers help me back into my over-sized backpack, I was on my way to the USO at Kuwait.  I stayed for a day and then hopped onto my commercial flight to Africa.

Now being a veteran mil air-er, I thought I had it down pat for my way back.  I got a whopping 3 hours of sleep after my flight from Africa, and then I grabbed some coffee and walked to the PAX on base in Kuwait.  Once I got there I realized I had completely forgotten my IBA.  You can’t fly without it, not to mention I can’t lose it in Kuwait.  What if I need it back in Afghanistan? (Let’s all hope not!)  I check in at the front desk and tell the guy I forgot my IBA back at the USO.  He tells me that after you check in for your showtime you are on lock-down and aren’t allowed to leave.  Well crap, my showtime is in 10 minutes.  He tells me I can throw my bag on these wooden shelves and go get my IBA.  Apparently the military does not have the ‘don’t leave your luggage unattended’ rule.  I rush back to the USO, and we try to get into the Conex box where my IBA is stored.  The lock is jammed.  I tell Randy, fellow USO-er in Kuwait, to just ask a soldier in the center to bring it to me at the PAX when she gets the lock figured out.  I then take off back to the PAX.  I make it just in time and find out I’m on the flight.  Phew.  It’s all good.

A couple minutes later Randy shows up with my IBA, and we chat it up.  Then I sit down on some chairs next to about 50 or 60 soldiers and start to enjoy my now lukewarm coffee when a Sergeant Major yells out, “SARAH KEMP, SARAH KEMP!”  I meekly raise my hand.  Everyone is now staring.  He comes over to me, “Do you have a bag to palletize?”  “Yes sir.”  “Well show me to it.”  We grab my bag and while walking he says, “Did you not hear me when I called for everyone on Moose 83 to come palletize their bags?”  (Every flight has a call sign, ours was Moose 83).  I reply, no sir.  He says, “Yep, I figured you were too busy chatting with your little friend, but I thought I’d let you make your own mistake.”

We walk out and I throw my bag on the pallet while a contractor asks if I am Sarah Kemp.  I say yes.  He then verbally assaults me/explains to me that I need to listen to all instruction.  I'm brusquely informed that our next call time is noon, but it might be before that so I need to pay attention.  Then as we’re walking back the Sergeant Major (SGM) says, “We need to know where you are at all times, so even if you need to take a piss you need to let someone know you’re going to the latrine.”  Wow, got it.  I haven’t had to report my bathroom breaks since getting a hall pass in high school. 

We’re back in the terminal hanging around and I realize, I’m nervous.  I have to pee.  Maybe I can hold it…or maybe not, it is a 4 hour flight.  I walk over to the SGM and tap him on the shoulder.  He angrily turns around, then sees it me and smiles and says, “yessssss?”  I ask him may I please use the restroom?  And his quick and loud response is, “SARAH KEMP DO I NEED TO ASSIGN YOU A BATTLE BUDDY?!?!”  “NO SIR!”  I reply.  He tells me where the bathroom is, and I scurry off.  While outside in route to the bathroom two soldiers who apparently had witnessed the earlier incidents yell after me, “Did you tell someone you were taking a piss?”  and start busting out in laughter.  Yep, that’s me; I provide entertainment for the troops wherever I go. 

I return to the terminal, tell the SGM I’m back, and patiently wait.  An airman gets up and announces something like BEAR63, flight to Bagram, is now leaving.  I shrug it off knowing that it is not my intended destination nor my call sign when I hear SGM yell, “SARAH KEMP, THAT IS NOT YOUR FLIGHT.”  I break out in laughter along with about 20 soldiers who are within earshot, and I yell loudly back, “YES SIR, UNDERSTOOD SIR.” 

Eventually they call out my flight’s call sign, and we file on the plane.  I look down my row and see the SGM.  I give a huge thumbs up and scream, “I’m on the plane, sir!”  He just shakes his head and laughs.  It was an uneventful flight back, until we landed.  They don’t let us off the flight, so we sit on the airplane for approximately 45 minutes.  Then they open the back of the plane, and we can see the rain pouring down.  I don’t have a hood on.  We are told to exit the plane.  We walk through the rain to a school bus that is parked in the middle of the flight line.  The bus is already packed with soldiers who are going to get on our plane to fly back to Kuwait.  Everyone has their IBA on, and most soldiers have backpacks.  The bus is stuffed, to put it lightly.  This is where being a girl comes in handy, I get offered a seat, and collapse.  It is now 2000 and my last meal was a coffee and half a muffin at 1000.  This makes for a not very pleasant Sarah.  I distract myself by asking the soldier next to me about the reasons of his numerous tattoos (most explanations of course involved copious amounts of alcohol and friends with tattoo guns, or women’s names who he never wanted to speak of again, yet they are forever engraved on his neck).

We sit on the bus for no joke, 2 hours.  Finally they let the soldiers who are getting on our flight off.  They file out then we make way for the PAX.  Once at the PAX we get off the bus and sort through the pallets in the rain looking for our luggage.  Inside we give our CACs to the airmen to make sure we belong there, and finally are released.

I make eye contact with the SGM in the holding area and he says, “Do you have a ride SARAH KEMP?”  Oh how nice, I’m touched by his concern.  I answer, “Yes sir, but thank you.” 

“Thank you for what?  I wasn’t offering you a ride.  I was just asking if you had one.” 

Oh the joys of mil air.

Tomorrow's Plan

I know this woman who thrives on today’s action and tomorrow’s plan.  Every action from small things like what’s for dinner to big events like parties and vacations must be planned.  Days are spent participating in these activities all the while worrying about what’s next.

When do you stop planning for happy and just live it?

Her conversations are full of well when this happens then we can that.  How many of these responsibilities are just excuses disguised as when/then clauses?  How many 3 year plans will it take to love the life you’re currently living?

“I’m afraid I’m booked solid through the end of the month,” says the executive, voluptuously nestling the phone at his cheek as he thumbs the leaves of his appointment calendar, and his mouth and eyes at that moment betray a sense of deep security.  The crisp, plentiful, day-sized pages before him prove that nothing unforeseen, no calamity of chance or fate can overtake him between now and the end of the month.  Ruin and pestilence have been held at bay, and death itself will have to wait, he is booked solid.

-Richard Yates, Revolutionary Road

Here I Am

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.  It’s a line from a Tale of Two Cities written way back in 1859, but I still feel like it accurately portrays my life right now.  (Trite, overplayed, right?  That’s what you’re thinking right now?  Well the only other opening I had was going to be something about the Circle of Life, so be glad I spared you the Mufasa references).

I was working a few nights ago and a friend of mine who is also a soldier from Daren’s company came in pretty shaken up, another soldier in their company had died.  I felt so bad for him, and I just hugged him.  As weird as it sounds, I felt useful again.  I was the strong one who got to be the shoulder to cry on.  I got to be there for him just like he and so many others had been there for me.  He said the ramp ceremony would be that evening and I immediately answered, I’ll go. 

Only two weeks after Daren’s death, but I wanted to be there for his men.  I just knew it was the right thing to do.  So, Cindy (my coworker), me, and two of the soldiers went to the ramp.  I stood there in the same place that I had stood just two weeks prior, taking it all in, seeing soldiers with that same patch, seeing the general again, it was all such a familiar sight.  But this time it was different, I didn’t feel that sense of dread.  I knew who would be in that box.  There was no unknown this time.  As I stood there recalling every sight and sound from the night of Daren’s ramp, I realized it could never be that bad again.  A ramp will never break me again like it did that night.  Once you have experienced the worst hurt, you can survive anything.  As I stood there honoring another fallen soldier I said a prayer for his wife, child, family and friends.  This time instead of just feeling bad for them for a few moments and then moving on with my life, I could feel for them in a completely deeper way.  I could understand where their pain was coming from and I dreaded for them what they would have to go through.  I’ve been there now.

The very next evening at work I got to watch an Airman go through the nervous, excited, grueling, 24 hour ordeal of his wife giving birth to their first baby.  My coworkers had set up Skype for him in our office and he naively thought his wife would get induced and he’d watch the baby just pop out a couple hours later.  I tried to warn him days before that it would take a long ass time (he asked me to define long ass, I said oh no shorter than 12 hours), but he didn’t believe me.  (We see who won that bet).  It was amazing to witness his tears and shouts and just the human emotion of seeing something he created come into this world.  Then he waved us over to the computer and introduced us to his beautiful healthy baby girl and her glowing mother.

In 24 hours I had seen death and life.  Nothing can prepare you for that.

When I talked to my friend in Daren’s company I told him how I hated this one particular pic of Daren because he wasn’t smiling and looked so serious, but obviously it had been recent because he had his 1^st LT bar.  His response was, oh yeah that’s his death picture, we all just got ours recently retaken.  What?!?!  Death pictures?  I mean one second I’m talking to an airman about the birth of his baby and the next I’m talking to a soldier about death pictures.  They definitely did not put this in the job description… but even if they did, how would you prepare?

As I thought about that lil baby girl, I thought maybe God thought the world just needed more room.  It dawned on me, maybe Daren wasn’t TAKEN, but he was CHOSEN.  That small seemingly inconsequential verb change made all the difference in my understanding.   He chose him because he knew the answer, if he was needed, Daren would go.  We all knew if God had asked him to sacrifice his life, he would’ve said yes.  He did.  In a nation where only 1.5% of our population is serving in the military and two wars were raging, Daren chose infantry, the front lines.  I used to hate the insanely overplayed church song, Here I Am.  Now I find it appropriate and comforting.  

Whom shall I send?  Here I am Lord, is it I Lord?  I have heard you calling in the night.  I will go Lord, if you lead me.  I will hold your people in my heart. –song by Dan Schutte

I just have to keep going and trust in God that there is a plan for my life and the lives of everyone I meet.  It’s really hard sometimes, but there is beauty in the world and we just have to keep searching for it.

Photo of me my boss took a couple days ago after closing down the center for the night.

 Lyrics to another favorite church song of mine that I can't get out of my head:

I am the Word that leads all to freedom

I am the peace the world cannot give

I will call your name, embracing all your pain

Stand up, now, walk, and live

Do not be afraid, I am with you

I have called you each by name

Come and follow Me

I will bring you home

I love you and you are mine

-You Are Mine by David Haas

This is why we do it; this is worth the pain. Love is this.

I’ve always heard that grief has stages. Something about denial, anger, acceptance and some other ones thrown in there.  Well, in my personal opinion that’s a load of crap crafted by someone who likes to sort their sock drawer by color, height and approximate elasticity.  Grief doesn’t package itself in pretty boxes that you unwrap one at a time.  It’s like a needy, irritable child.  Some days it is easily abated.  It will just lie still in the back recesses of my mind making itself busy stirring up warm memories.  Then there are days like today where it pulls at my pant leg and demands my attention while screaming at my subconscious.

On the “good days” like this Sunday, I feel a sense of calm, peace and joy, that I got to know Daren for as long as I did and created as many happy memories as I have.  I can recollect those memories with a warm feeling in my heart and a smile on my face.  Then there’s days like today where every soldier that walks through our center doors with Daren’s unit patch on makes me want for the next one to be him.  I think of all the experiences he will miss out on by dieing so young and I get LIVID pissed. 

A friend of mine out here told me that God gets it.  It’s okay to yell at him and be mad at him one second and thank him for all your blessings the next.  God has wrath, look at what he did to the world in ol’ Noah’s day.  God had feelings, just read the scripture where after Lazarus died he felt so bad for his family it says, “He wept.”  Not he teared up, or he cried, he wept.  So basically God can give me a lil leeway on the whole hot mess situation with how I feel about Him these days.

The other day I came home from work tired and spent and my roommates were getting up to go to work.  I had my cell phone flashlight on to see in the dark room I share with 4 other ladies when my one roommate popped out of her area.  I just started flashing the light like a strobe at a rave and broke out some ‘hot’ dance moves.  Her response was, “You’re an idiot” while laughing the whole time.  I loved seeing her laugh.  It made my night.  It all started to make sense, I get why Daren was the way he was, damn it feels good to make other people happy.  In that way, in my goofy, sometimes “schtupid” lighthearted fun way, that’s how I’ll honor him. 

I am utterly amazed at the sheer number of people who have read my post about Daren.  I am filled with a sense of humbling awe at the responses people have written me.  I sincerely thank every single person who has taken a moment to read my post.  I did what felt right.  I wrote what I wanted the world to know.  It has helped me tremendously to see the good in the bad.  My friend Beth said in an e-mail, “Daren’s death has changed you… God brought him into your life not to F you up with grief but to push you in the right direction that was meant for your life.” 

While at this point I still disagree with the big man upstairs and think that I could have learned more from Daren’s continued life here on earth than from his death, I know it is out of my hands.  I’m not supposed to understand it all.  The Man has got a plan and I need to trust in it.  My friend Lindsey said, just think Daren will be up there on “Team Sarah” cheering you every step of the way.  I like to think of him that way, watching down over all of us, color commentating our lives.  It’d be hysterical.  I love to picture Daren in the line of the Brad Paisley song, “But when I get where I’m going, and I see my Maker’s face.  I’ll stand forever in the light of His amazing grace.”

A friend asked me if I had wished I didn’t know Daren that well, that wouldn’t that make it easier.  Absolutely not.  Knowing Daren was a gift, one that I will treasure for the rest of my life.

Another one of Daren’s friends, Sarah Brahm, had posted the song This=Love on a memorial site for Daren.  I think it’s just the perfect song to remind me of Daren and his love for our country, our freedom and us.  He died for us and for that we can never repay him, but you know what, I know he would have never asked us to.

I remember always liking his “about me” section on his Facebook.  It’s one line. 

- About Daren: is alive and loving it. -

He did.

First Lieutenant Daren Miguel Hidalgo was laid to rest today 7MAR11 at West Point Cemetery.  His 25^th birthday was Friday.  They sang Happy Birthday to him at his funeral.