Counting Blessings

It's been a tough month for Braden and so it's been a tough month for all of us. Braden's unit was deployed to Iraq last week and he took it hard. Very hard. For those of you who don't know, being in a unit is like being in a huge family of brothers (sometimes including sisters, but for Braden, it's brothers). They work together, sweat together, eat together, and learn to function as one literal unit, each soldier performing his task with precision, knowing his own skill and training will eventually be called upon to save the lives of others, possibly his brothers'.

But Braden did not go to Iraq. He was injured on their last deployment and is still awaiting a medical board to determine his future with the National Guard. He also started summer school the same week, which is daunting all by itself for him. He's not a school person.

Things got to be so intensely stressful for him emotionally, that he experienced seizure-like symptoms. He'd had this once before, during similarly trying times, so I knew what was coming, but it didn't make it much easier to watch or experience. Sometimes he jerks and twitches in his sleep when he is having night terrors, but this time the twitching and jerking increased, until he cried out, his body went rigid, and he stopped breathing.

I counted the seconds--they told me last time that if it lasted longer than three minutes to call 911. Who could sit there for three minutes, just counting? But I counted. Thankfully, I had to endure only 15 seconds of watching my husband tremble stiffly on the bed, his hunds curled on his chest and drool seeping from his mouth. Then his body relaxed and he breathed in grating gasps until finally, his breath eased into a steady rhythm and he woke up. It took him a couple of hours to return to normal (for lack of a better word) but he eventually could speak clearly and his pupils contracted back to a regular size.

But that is over, now. It will probably happen again, and it will probably be hard again. But today I count my blessings. I am grateful that he is home with me, while so many husbands and fathers have to be away from home, fighting for our freedom. I am grateful for the progress he has made and the determination he has to continue fighting for his own freedom from his physical and emotional injuries, now that his calling to his country has passed.

I am grateful that we spent today at the lake, basking in the sunshine and splashing with our children and loving this time we have together. Life never ceases to amaze me, with all its twists and turns, dips and climbs. But then I sit back and watch my children run into the waves, laughing as if life could not be better and I realize that it's true. For us, life could not be more perfect than it is right now. Where we are and what we experience is not by accident. Though times can get unbearably tough and sometimes I'm not sure how we'll get through--today, right now, I'm eternally grateful and happy to be a soldier's wife.

I like old people. Especially the cranky ones. Not the sixty-something retired's that think the world owes them something for making the world what it is today (not that that's much to brag about) but the seventy and eighty year olds who are cranky because they're tired of pretending to care about what people think of them. (I know many sixty-something's who are wonderful people and I love them, too, but you know what I mean.)

I love how old people say what they want to say without worrying if it's politically correct or offensive, and how they don't get in trouble for it. I love the white-haired, wrinkled, fragile spitfires who love to laugh because they've figured out the only thing that really matters in life is being happy with who you are, where you are, in every moment. I love when they don't mind when they get called old, but actually seem a little bit proud of the title.

I love the look old people get when they're tired of talking, tired of laughing, tired of living. How they gaze off into the distance, remembering, re-living, and looking forward to the next step, the next level of their existence to whisper them away.When they get that look, I want to know all the secrets they've learned, the ones that people can't tell but have to learn from living life. The secrets about the wisdom that only comes from years and years of happiness and laughter and pain and heartache.

One of my favorite sights is of an old, wrinkled man holding a new-born baby as they stare into each others eyes, whispering those secrets that only those fresh from heaven or near to returning can know.

I hear people complaining about their wrinkles and weak knees and discuss their failing bowels. I watch Hollywood stretch and scar their signs of age away, and I understand the desire to remain youthful and energetic, but I hope that I never succumb to the vanity that robs my age of the wisdom of living. I hope that I can see my face wrinkle, watch my body sag, and be able to smile as my eyes fill with memories of a life well-lived and a mind sharpened by the wisdom of years.