one stands again, another won't

Back in September, I wrote about how my best friend's brother was seriously injured in Iraq. Both of his lower legs were amputated and and his left elbow sustained multiple fractures requiring surgery to replace it with a cadaver's. Finally, just last week he was fitted for his prothesises and is learning to walk with beginner ones. He and Alica have been working together as a team for all this time at Fort Sam Houston, Texas waiting for his body to heal enough to start the process and I couldn't be happier that Catlin is "gettin' vertical". The sooner he walks, the sooner he and Alicia come home.

On a very sad note, there is one more young man who will not be coming home. I just learned a couple days ago the Duncan Crookston, the only other survivor of that September explosion died on January 25th after fighting for his life for almost five months in the ICU. I met his wife briefly when I went to visit Catlin and Alicia in San Antonio and I was first struck by her youth (19) and then her remarkable strength; she couldn't wait to get Duncan home just so she could take care of him. She has been a hero in all of this, and I imagine she is, at least part of, the reason Duncan held on for so long. The Denver Post wrote a little article about Duncan's funeral which Catlin(Joe) contributed to. There is a beautiful tribute written by a friend of his here and here, bring tissues.

Air Force

Taken at 8th Air Force Museum near Shreveport, Louisiana.

look! a tiny pressed mattress.
*edit 11/09*The bomb count so chilling, I still can't get over it a month after taking these photos. Even so I find the repetition of the missiles oddly beautiful the white ones are so similar to Bone Mother's shape it's frightening.

Flight

Though I know it happens thousands of time everyday airplane flight always seems miraculous, and I love nearly everything about it. Going through goofy security procedures, engaging in people watching, language and accent discernment, napping uncomfortably in plane seats, (though admittedly I hate airport food), waiting on the tarmac, all for that moment of lift when a huge can of metal becomes airborne and the world below drops away to toy village, then ant farm, then abstract surface marked with patches of developed land, squiggles of forest and river, and cities shaped like twinkling stars exploding ever outwards. Sometimes all of it disappears beneath a world of clouds, which comes to resemble traveling on another planet of white, grey, blues, tinged with pink. Then as the plane lands, subtle textures of topography become more apparent: the forests separate into areas of closely space green lines of cultivated pines and irregularly colored wild trees, new suburbs with their shiny cookie cutter homes abut old farmland, the bare prints of old farm houses and barns remain and their driveways truncate to nowhere. Old property lines are marked by old growth sometimes cut in two by newer roads. Reading the land this way is seeing the layers upon layers of history, so little is left unmarked by us. Someday I continually promise myself, I will do a series based on the designs found in aerial photography.

The reason for flight? Last week Tommy, my brother-in-law and I flew to Louisiana to visit with their older brother before his deployment to Iraq and then drove to Texas to visit Catlin and Alicia for the first time since his return from Iraq. Both visits were very good and far too short. Much roughhousing and teasing occurred during the week because what else do you do but joke and laugh and play and upon goodbye bid each other to take care?

Pictures to come.

war touches my family

Chief Micanopy by George Catlin

I debated whether to share this bad news, but in the end decided it fits under musings. I met my best friend in kindergarten, her younger brother is the same age as mine and so I've known Catlin (named after the artist who painted the above picture) since he was barely a toddler. Our mothers were fast friends and I vividly remember many, many weekends spent as children together at the local springs and our houses. He grew up, joined the army, and went to Iraq. I learned yesterday evening that he was seriously injured by an IED. From what we know now: his left arm is shattered, he has a skull fracture, and worst he has lost parts of both his legs, one from the knee down and the other from below the knee, his torso is relatively unhurt and the doctors seem to believe his brain is alright. The other guys he was with were not so fortunate. Three of the guys with him died and the other survivor is not doing as well as he is. Thankfully his best friend was not in the vehicle. Thankfully he is alive. I am so worried for his physical and emotional well-being, and so sad for his army brothers and their families.

When someone you know chooses to be a soldier and is deployed, you are very aware of the possibilities, but you can only wait for him or her to come home. No matter your political beliefs, you can only wait. This evening we spent with his mom, dad, sister, extended family and friends on the back porch and ate Southern comfort food, talked, and waited for more news while anxiety and anticipation hung in the humid air. Soon he will be flown from Germany to Texas and we will wait for him to wake up, to heal his body, to grieve his friends and limbs, to heal his heart and soul, and to live. He has a long road before him, I hope he will know he is not alone.

War just breaks my heart, all the loss the comes from it is far too great a cost.

*I am going to continue to update through the comments for awhile*