Memorial Daze

 

It seems fitting that I moved into a house I bought with my husband’s life insurance money just before Memorial Day weekend. John has been on my mind more than usual the past many days. John didn’t die in service to his country, but he spent all of his adult life in service to his country. He was always particularly thoughtful on each Memorial Day because he understood the sacrifice. He was present for a few final roll calls. It was one of the few things that could make my Green Beret cry.

 I am especially grateful this weekend as I move into my home, sit on my deck, and sip a drink while I look out to my backyard. I have room to stretch. Neighbors yes, but nobody so close you can hear them fart at night. A buffer zone between me and other humans. The yard DD has to do her zoomies is bigger than she’s ever had. Once Dad and I put up the fence and install a doggy door, she’ll be free to zoom to her heart’s delight.

 I know this is what John wanted for me, to be taken care of, safe, and free from financial worry after he was gone. He wanted me to have a quiet, safe house that was comfortable for me, DD, and the dozen other dogs he fully expected me to get. It came with projects that will keep me busy for a year. A new roof will be put on in a couple of weeks. I need to water seal and paint the new deck, clear out piles of crap left by the seller, build a fence. Muscle memory kicked in this week when I painted two ceilings and my craft room. It felt like old home week when I got out my painting tools. Ten years have gone by since I painted anything but furniture, but it was like no time had passed and I fell into step. Then I remembered why I drank so damn much tequila when I was painting full time. Oh, the aches and pains at the end of the day!

 I know John would be happy this house came with projects. He knew I loved working with my hands, painting, fixing, and improving. There were so many signs John had a hand in finding this house for me. I want to tell him all my plans, all the plans he made possible. I still send him Facebook messages about my day.                            

I belong to a couple of “grief groups” on Facebook and I know I’m not the only one grieving the loss of a spouse, the loss of someone dear to them. It happens every minute of every day. Life will never be the same for any of us.  For me, this world will never feel as safe as when John was in it. He was fiercely protective of me. When we walked down the street hand in hand, he’d change sides if he saw a potential threat. When we rode bikes together, he rode behind me because he said a car would hit him first. On our first plane ride together, he said, “If something happens, just follow me.” He scoped out passengers who might cause problems. While the rest of us ignored the safety talks, he knew our escape route. I never had to think about safety when I was with John because he had it covered. His Special Forces training ran deep. It was part of who he was.

When I first started dating John and we’d be at a ballgame, or anywhere they’d want to acknowledge military and have them stand up, John never would, even when I’d elbow him. He told me most guys in SF didn’t want recognition. They went about their business quietly and got the job done. He said if anyone boasted about being in SF, chances are they were attached to a Special Forces unit as support personnel, but were not qualified Green Berets. One of the things I loved most about him is that he didn’t need recognition for all of his many accomplishments. A braggart he was not.

 John was the most soft-spoken man I’d ever known, yet I knew he’d protect those he loved without blinking. It was why I let him take my dog, Maggie, for a run when we were first dating. She meant more to me than life itself and he knew it. I also knew he wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She was safer with him than anyone. On one of their early runs, after he realized she could be off leash and still stick close, they came back to my place and I met them at the door. John was literally white as a sheet. “Your dog has a scrape and a divot.”

 “What do you mean?” I said as I pushed past him to look at Maggie. She had a scrape on her belly and a divot out of her butt.

“She lost her mind when I let her off leash. I don’t know if it was the rain, or what. She leaped off the trail into a bunch of cacti.”

 I knew by the look on his face that he was sure I was going to give him the boot for letting my dog get hurt. The fact that he was more concerned about her than I was spoke volumes.

 On another run, a stray dog came out of nowhere and bit Maggie on the butt before John knew it was there. Once he did, he kicked it hard, more than once, in its midsection. When he came home, he said he’d be surprised if it survived given how hard he kicked it. Maggie was stiff for a few days from the bite, but recovered. Had John not taken quick action, the stray could have mortally bitten Maggie.

  After we were married, and he still knew his spot in the pecking order, he drove Maggie to Safeway one day in the Tucson heat. He left the windows down and knew he’d only be in the store for a couple minutes. When he came out, a busy-body good Samaritan was standing at his Pathfinder tapping her foot. “YOUR DOG IS IN DISTRESS!” John walked calmly past her and said, “Blow it out your ass.”  The ONLY time Maggie felt distress was if we were late with a Milk Bone.

 After we moved to Washington, we were in a meadow letting our Boxers run when our 4-year-old Jack collapsed. By the time we got to him, he looked dead, eyes rolled back and tongue hanging out. I lost my mind, screaming at him to wake up.  John immediately started CPR. In less than a minute, Jack took a breath. I stayed with him while John ran to get the truck (the first time he’d run since he left his job where running with 20-year-olds was a requirement). He drove as close to us as he could get, carried Jack to the truck while I Googled emergency vet clinics. John’s heart then went into aFib after the sprint to the truck. Happy to say they were both fine by day’s end. But without John’s quick thinking, we’d have lost Jack that day.

 Gone are the days when I know he would rush me to the ER when I was having trouble breathing, or he’d make a nurse wish she’d never met him when she didn’t take proper care of me. Now I have to think twice, three times, about what I’d do, or who I’d call, if a problem presented itself. My world will never be as safe as when John was in it. But he did his best to make sure I had a good life after he was gone. I can’t ask for more.