Remembering our veterans, part II

Yesterday, I posted a story about Slane's great-grandfather and his military service. In writing the post, I asked my parents (GrannieCue and Papa Smurf) to share their stories of family who served and their own stories. Today, I post a story from GrannieCue about a wedding proposal she received from a solider:

That guy was a man I met on one of our family vacations. I was a teenager and ordered to watch Aunt D in the swimming pool at a motel. This guy, who was on vacation with his family as well, kept swimming around us. Eventually, he asked D for my name. (I was really mad at her for telling him cause he was kind of creepy, but very good- looking.) We started talking and vowed we would write each other when we returned to our homes. He was from Dixon, Illinois.

We wrote to each other for quite a while. He also came by bus to Columbus several times, often arriving at 5:30 AM, so your grandfather would drive me down to the bus station to pick him up. Your grandfather, by the way, liked him very much because he always addressed him as "Sir."

He was drafted to go to Vietnam, which made me sad even though I still didn't have romantic feelings for him. I didn't want anyone I knew to go there. He was ready to go and fight for his country and wrote me from there many times. Your grandmother and I would bake cookies (her famous oatmeal chocolate chip) and pack them in popped corn so they had that to eat, too. We sent many gifts of food during his tour. He sent me many pictures and gifts as well.

When he finished his tour in Vietnam, he went home to Illinois and almost immediately came to Columbus to see me. Without my knowledge (or consent, for that matter), he went to my parents and asked my father for my hand in marriage. I wasn't ready to marry anyone and still had spent more time writing him than spending time WITH him. He was very upset with me and told me that he would sign up for a second tour of duty in Vietnam if I did not marry him right away. I told him I couldn't so he went back to Vietnam. I never saw nor heard from him again. I have always felt in my heart than he must have died in Vietnam, although his name is not on the memorial.

Remembering our veterans

Yesterday, the United States paused and recognized military service on Veterans Day. (Learn more about the history of Veterans Day.) Many in the U.S. and abroad recognized military veterans. If you watch a hockey game tonight, you may still see a poppy on the lapels of the bench coaches. (Explanation here, courtesy of Paul Lukas.) 



In a provocative post about Veterans Day, Penelope Trunk reflects on choices we make to serve (or not serve) in the military make and how these choices ripple through our lives and the lives of those around us. The story she shares about her parents inspired me to share my own story of the ways war affected my life.

Grandpa Daniel graduated from Tri-State University (now Trine) in 1940. He went to work after graduation, but recognized that the United States was headed into World War II. Congress had recently passed a law instituting a military draft signed into law by then-president Franklin Delano Roosevelt. Rather than wait to be drafted, Grandpa and his friends enlisted before their draft numbers were called. He had some prior health conditions that could affect his eligibility, so he made sure found a recruiting office with standards he could exceed. Grandpa served in the Pacific theatre, putting his engineering and mechanical skills to work for the U.S. Army Air Forces (now its own branch of military, the U.S. Air Force). He never shared with me all that he saw and experienced, but it was clear to me that his military service during had a profound effect on his life.

Following the end of the war, he came to Columbus, Ohio. After meeting and marrying my Grandma (another story for another day), having GrannieCue and Aunt J, and moving into a house, the United States military prepared for a skirmish on the Korean Peninsula. Grandpa, a reserve officer at the time, was called up to active duty. They sought volunteers to work at Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, 70 miles away in Dayton. Grandpa volunteered, not knowing what would happen. He spent the duration of the Korean War (1951-55) communting between home and Wright-Pat, having Aunt D during the war. (Lori Tagg wrote On The Front Line Of R&D, about Wright-Pat and the Korean War.)

Following the Korean War, Grandpa served the rest of his professional career as an officer at the Defense Construction and Supply Center in Columbus (now the Defense Supply Center Columbus). He retired as a Lieutenant Colonel two months before I was born.

I emailed GrannieCue for her memories of Grandpa's service. Here's what she wrote back: 

Your grandfather retired from the Air Force as a Lt Col. He was very proud of his service in both WWII and Korea. His dream was to be a pilot (one he had from childhood) and, although he piloted several planes, he was never at the helm when they took off or landed. (He was never trained for that.). Although we know he was in the South Pacific, he didn't talk about it much. After viewing some of what our guys had to endure at Rantoul AFB when captured by the Japanese, I am not surprised. (Q note: GrannieCue and Papa Smurf visited the Chanute Air Museum in Rantoul, Illinois.) He spent some time training before going overseas at Rantoul. As a matter of fact, he actually met someone there from McConnelsville, his home town!

After we kids grew up and left home, he and your grandmother travelled all over the world EXCEPT anywhere near Asia. He refused to go there. He spent his time in the Korean War stateside, but far from home. When he left, I was about Slanes's age and Aunt J was a baby. He cried the day he left us to, once again, go to war. (Aunt D was born nine months after he returned home!). He made many lifelong friends during his time in the service and corresponded with and met with them until he was too ill to travel.

Interesting note: His two brothers went into the Navy and Marines. I have always found that interesting that the three of them enlisted in different branches of the service.

In a future post, I hope to share more stories of how our family has been affected by military service.

a different kind of corsage

The weather this weekend was beautiful, and we chose to spend Saturday afternoon strolling around town. We went downtown for lunch, stopped at various stores looking at various items, stopped to pick up the mail, and then after a couple hours of that headed home. Now, before we left, Slane insisted on wearing a Little Swimmer. If you have any experience with Little Swimmers, they are not made for absorption. We put a real diaper on top of the swimmer.

Slane was starting to get really fussy on our way home, we just assumed it was time for a nap. Then Q got her out of the stroller, and she was soaked. She had soaked through the stroller. We happened to be in front of Bates Flower Shop. So, we stopped in and asked Mr. Jim if we could do a diaper change in his shop. "Sure," he said, "you can use the corsage room. It is more private."

So, after we got some of the glitter off of Slane's little bottom, we thanked everyone there and got ready to leave. But, Mr. Jim has grandkids about Slane's age, and wouldn't let us leave without a pink helium filled balloon. It only lasted three blocks, but Slane loved it! She bounced it around and watched what the wind did with it.

I was prepared for a meltdown when the balloon was let go of and lost forever, but Slane took it very well. "Bye bye balloon. Bye bye," she said, as she watched it get stuck in a tree branch. She looked at it longingly as we kept walking, and then moved on to the fact that her hat had fallen off.

So, the next time you get a corsage, be warned that Slane has also been there.

Hyfrydol

We had a date night on September 22nd. We decided we had some shopping to do so we headed to our nearest outlet mall. Shopping without a toddler is a wonderful thing. I bought a new maternity shirt, realizing that I didn't have enough for a full-time job. Before we left I used the ladies room and noticed some spotting. I told Q, we decided I would keep an eye on it but it was probably nothing to worry about. At the time I thought I was 8 weeks pregnant, but it turned out I was 10 weeks along. We hadn't told a lot of people (not even our moms), and had nicknamed the baby Hyfrydol (following in our use of hymn tunes for a name).

The next day there was more spotting, and I was a little concerned since I hadn't had that with Slane, so I called the clinic and they had me come in. Our doctor was out that day so we saw the doc who delivered Slane (well, was there anyway, the surgeon should really get the credit for delivery). Dr. W ordered an ultrasound and I went in Friday morning bright and early.

We saw the baby on the ultrasound, and commented on how it looked like a shrimp. As we sat in the waiting room watching the birds that we visited so often when I was in labor with Slane, I convinced myself that everything was okay.

Then Dr. W pulled us aside into a private room, and we knew the results were not good. Dr. W told us that there wasn't a heartbeat detected, and I would lose the baby. He gave me his cell number and told me to call him as things progressed.

Now, we had purposely not done anything to prevent this pregnancy, as we had waited the year we were told after a C-section, and I specifically wanted a baby to come in the late spring/early summer so I could spend more than 6 weeks with the little one. I only got two weeks of leave (and 5 days of that was in the hospital) with Slane and wanted more with this one. Hyfrydol was due April 23rd, the week of Easter, and I already had an argument why the C-section should be on the 20th, which will be my Grandpa's 90th birthday. We were very "if it happens, great, and if it doesn't, that's okay too" with this baby, and initially that was our shock protector.

Fortunately there weren't any students at school that day and my co-teacher did a wonderful job of distracting me and we sang songs all day and left early. Q had to officiate a game that night, so I was home alone with Slane and I was a wreck, so I put her in the stroller and went for a walk, hoping Slane's godparents were home and could help me out. They were home, and were having steak, and once I told them what was up they played with Slane and distracted me some more (thanks so much J and D). We spent the next day at home as a family, and I went out and bought a cheesecake (confort food).

I was feeling fine the next week, though I was bleeding more steadily, and had no idea when the actual miscarriage would happen. The people I immediately work with all knew in case I had to leave suddenly or did not show up at school. I did not tell my administrators, as they didn't even know I was pregnant. This week was a strange week. I remember that I had stopped taking prenatal vitamins, but technically was still pregnant so was careful about other stuff. It was like being in limbo. We went out for dinner one night that week and I had wine and felt so guilty. Being pregnant with a baby that is not alive, a baby that the doctor says "you just need to wait for the tissue to die as the body does not receive feedback from the baby."

Friday, October 1, I woke up not feeling great. I was crampy. I knew we had a sub shortage that day, and went to school. I had my toughest class first thing that day, and they were not doing well. I was not doing well. I remember wanting to be like, "I'm losing my baby, please be good to me today. I can't handle behavior issues today." But it didn't matter. They were awful. As soon as they left I knew I couldn't handle school. I needed to be away where I could worry about me and not much else. I spent the first half hour of my planning time in tears.

I went to the nurse first, but she was in a meeting. I went on to the office, and told the secretary that I needed to go home. Now. She said if I could find people to cover my classes I could go. There wasn't anyone to cover my classes as classes were already being covered for an hour at a time by other specialists. I went back to my room and sent two emails. The first I sent to the teachers whose classes I had later in the day, asking if they could please have the "be respectful" talk with their kids as I wasn't feeling well but couldn't go home. The second email went to my union rep, asking who I could file a complaint with in human resources.

While all of this was going on, Dan had called our pastor and she was praying about the situation, and I had a message from an old friend saying she was praying for comfort for me that day (she knew what was going on, C, you are the best!).

After the first two classes, I got a phone call from the associate principal telling me to go home and offering to send someone to help me to my car. Two minutes later my union rep came in and told me to go home. She said she had responded as soon as she was finished subbing for someone. I don't know what she said to the associate principal, but I will be forever thankful. I do know she had a meeting with the superintendent about this issue.

I went home and slept for a while and then headed over to pick up Slane from daycare, but the miscarriage started on the way. I was on campus looking for Q so he could tell me where the carseat car was parked, and bled through my jeans before I could make it to the car. I met one of our international students as I was looking for Q, and I appreciate that she helped me find him, as she could tell something was very wrong with me. I picked up Slane, and we hung out in the bathroom at home.

She was getting restless though, and I needed help, so I called Q whose acting director let him take a break from the registration table at family weekend so he could bring over one of our student babysitters (guess we hired them for a reason), and she hung out with Slane until Q could come home. By then the worst was over. I called in sick on Monday, and about a week later it was all over.

I've had a lot of thoughts about what has happened, and sometimes the littlest things make me cry. Like, last week I read in the minutes of some meeting at school how thankful the administration is that people are willing to reschedule medical stuff so they can be at school, or when the principal mentioned that we have to give people their planning time (two classes had to give up their planning time that day with barely any notice). I've appreciated the emails from the union saying that if we are sick, we need to say that we are sick and go home. It is not our responsibility to find a replacement. Too little, too late? and no apology.

Right now the hardest thing is seeing other people talking about their babies, having babies, or posting their ultrasounds on facebook. Last week, on October 15th, I learned about a support website (thanks cousin-in-law K), and that has been helpful. But the same day a dear cousin announced that his second baby would be due in May. I didn't handle that well. I am excited, but I can't say that yet.

I wish there was more out there about miscarriage, both to help others understand, but to help those of us who have gone through it realize that there is nothing to be embarrassed about, and that it happens to more people than we think or know. Why do we keep this a secret? Is it too awkward? If people knew, would they be more sensitive? Do we think that maybe if we share we will jinx someone else's pregnancy?

I tell people that I'm lucky. I have one healthy, happy child already. I hadn't been trying for years only to lose hope again, as some I've talked to have (and one acquaintance miscarried an in vitro pregnancy, which seems worse somehow). We will likely have more chances. But I still lost a baby.

The people who knew before this have been so nice. I appreciate the cards and emails and messages. I am thankful for the counseling session with our pastor. I am glad other family members have shared their experiences. I will always wonder what Hyfrydol would have been like.

no use crying over spilled...juice

Well. Our last 36 hours have been carazy! Let's start with Sunday morning when Slane refused to get dressed for church and we were 20 minutes late. She screamed, cried, wriggled away from us, and the outfit we ended up getting on her was, well, interesting. She wore a long-sleeved onesie that wasn't snapped at the bottom, a floral patterned pink skirt, pink and brown argyle leg-warmers, black maryjanes, and her cream and brown down vest, which she refused to take off, no matter that she was sweaty. In fact, she hasn't taken if off yet, except when Q forced her into a shirt and sweater yesterday morning when she refused clothes again.


Sunday day was pretty good. We went to the pumpkin farm and Slane loved jumping, and picking out her pumpkin, and jumping, and the "puppies," which were what most of us would call goats. When we got home, as I was getting Slane ready for bed, Q somehow caused a gallon of cherry pomegranate juice to fall from the top of the refrigerator as he was opening the freezer. Juice everywhere. I mean everywhere, so much so that it was dripping in the basement below the kitchen. And even though it was cleaned up and mopped, the kitchen is still a bit sticky.

So, Monday arrived and Q was about 45 minutes late for work because a certain little girl would not let him get clothes on her. Monday was a bit of an overcommited day for us. We signed up to bring a family with a new baby a meal, and we had a meeting out of town at 7. Slane refused to get out of the car when we got home, Q forgot his car keys so he had to walk home, and he had a phone call at work that caused him to leave late anyway (but then, he was late getting there, so he rightly stayed late). Once I finally convinced Slane to come in the house she was upset about something, and then we went upstairs and she took her shoes off and was upset that she couldn't get them back on. I was attempting to cook a dinner for someone else, and the meat was burning, and Slane was upstairs crying, and then the fire alarm went off, causing Slane to continue crying, but need me to pick her up. I went back to cooking a burnt dinner and being frustrated that every step I took was sticky, and the alarm went off again. Later today we will need to find the rest of the parts of the alarm, because I don't know what I did with them. I ended up cooking new meat, Q finally made it home, we delivered the meal, and left for our meeting about the time it started, but when we got there we hadn't missed much.

Notice the part where we still didn't get dinner. We hit the Taco John's drive thru around 10:30, after a stop at the store for a few provisions for the week.

This morning, dressing Slane must have gone better. I hope so, because I got to help with socks, and that didn't go well. I'm not sure what is up with Slane, but we need to find a way to work through that.

Slane gets bangs

Slane swimming in a tub.