My beloved Irish has been dead for a year

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My beloved Irish has been dead for a year.  I have now flowed into a life in which she will not call me at all hours of night.  I will not hear her rationalize to me that her time is limited on this Earth.  I miss her smoky down in the belly laugh that left her lips when she made a funny.  So much is left for her to teach me.  So much left to be taught about life with PTSD due to MST.  What paths to take?   Should I zig when I should have zagged?  OH Irish, where are you ?now?  Are you with your beloved father and the Heavenly Father pointing and laughing at how we are missing what is so obvious that we can not see.

If you are watching over me now.   Please help me see CLEARLY now because LORRAINE is gone and I’m cold and tired.  I know that was one of your favorite jokes.  And I remember how pleased you got with yourself for telling this joke.  I remember listening to what was life like for “WACs” who were transitioning.  I loved hearing about you eating with the German Chancellor.  And how far off the regs your hair was when you met the German Chancellor’s wife.

I wished I had been on of your LTs.  I think it would be a blast.  Even though we met after we hung up the uniform-me due to weight gain and you due the chemical sensativities that the uniform triggered for you. You had become my CO in a way that few officers know how to be commanders.  The tactics you were going to teach me was how to navigate this business of being a disabled veteran and use that to help others.  The tactics you were going to teach me was how to take my military sexual trauma and use it for something other than hole that sits in my heart and it can never,ever can be feeded.  I felt that you know how to lead the soldiers from point a to point b.  This you would do in your enumeratibale style and I would love it and laugh.

Some of my favorite times with you was when I would sit away from the cigratte smoke, I hade my bottled Coke(that you spefically bought up for me from NH) and I just watched you issue orderes and expectations and all 3 of us just wait for you command .  And we did it.

When your time for the illness to blanket you with it’s warmth and reassurance that the end is near.

You sent us on to sightsee and it just so happens that we were at the WIMSA when the call came.

Irish died alone.  Not by my choice I can assure you.  I didn’t know what to do.  I was and still am angry over her death.  I felt so very alone.  But I dusted myself off and waited for word of where I needed to go to attend the service for her family and friends.  I don’t think her family realized the impact that Irish had on the military and veteran community.  We all knew of the 11:00pm phone calls and learned the history behind each group of movers and shakers in the vet community.  That funeral was not as emotional for me as the one at Arlington National Cememtary.  To walk behind the casson that carried her cremains to the columbarium was too much for me at times.  The day before I went to Arlington by myself and I found her spot.  A papercard marked her spot.  It has her birthname, with rank, dates of service, and a marking for her religion.   I was overwhelmed at this simple piece of paper held her history.  But she was so much more than a group of numbers and names.

Now as I contemplate the loss of another friend from cervical cancer, I am at a loss.  But as Irish would have wanted me to I go and “take care of my people.”  and in doing so I keep Irish’s  spirit alive……….

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