03/11/01 - 9:52 pm

Dear Alicia

The date was March 13, 1991, the place was an auditorium in Chicopee, Massachusetts.  There was an auditorium, screaming people, loud music, and alcohol.  This event was the culmination, for a group of people, of an experience that changed lives forever.  What was it?  Well sis, 10 years ago today, your little brother and 54 others touched American soil for the first time in 197 days.  Less than 24 hours later, this same group would return home after a 224 day adventure, which I playfully referred to as the worlds largest beach party.  None of us would be the same, physically, mentally, or even spiritually.  Although we hadn't been through the hell that others in our similar shoes had, we still suffered the fear, the desperation, the curiousity, the loneliness, the isolation, the brief respites  of jubilation shattered by the thundering protestations of a madman.  Wherever we have spread to in the past decade, we are still linked and bonded together by the common memories of our winter of sandy discontent.

And as I slowly drift to sleep, for a moment dreams are sacred
I close my eyes and know there's peace in a world so filled with hatred

Over the next few letters sis, I'm going to attempt, once again, to do something that heads the list of my greatest of procrastinations. (a trait for neither proud, nor ignorant of)  Since it happened, the journal and recollection of memories have been burned into my brain, aching and screaming to come out.  Kat is a testament of the stories built up inside me, especially when it comes to Desert Storm and my experiences there.  It's not like its something that I've blocked out, or avoided, I don't think, because the trauma and impressions left on my psyche pale miserably in comparison to others, some who survived, others who did not.  But the fact remains, there have been stories told and stories held, and its time for my story to escape, and begin.  What better time to do it, then now, 10 years later, with the aftermath molding and shaping my being everyday, forming my future, solidifying my past and attempting to bring it all into focus.  So this  is the beginning (or actually the contination, if you count this entry from a couple of years ago) and we'll see how far it gets this time.

I realized the other night, while talking to Kat, that today was the anniversary of my return, and it once again stirred the rumblings of procrastination and creativity within my soul.  But what would I write about, would I ramble on, which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing since apparently, according to her, I ramble quite well, but as usual, while capturing my thoughts and feelings on it all, I also wanted it to reflect the power and depth that reminiscing about this day, those days, and the whole experience brings to me.  As fate and the calendar would have it, my answer would come via an adventurous feline.  Stay with me on this one.

I told you, on Sunday, about the events which lead to the immobility of my vehicle.  After some creative tinkering on Monday morning, I managed to get the car down to a repair place, where they subsequently told me that the damage could be fixed.  The temp fix would run me $150, and could probably get me by as long as nothing like this happens again, but the permanent, safe fix, would run me near $600.  Now, these guys did not have to give me that option.  They could have just greedily said the higher amount, fixed it, and counted all the way to the bank.  But these seem to simple, reputable business men.  Actually in business to provide a service while making a profit, instead of just the latter, which seems to the prevailing attitude these days.  So I agreed, to the lower amount for now, but with a promise to come back to get the full job done. (an honest one, not just one to blow smoke up these guys, since they were being straight with me, I had no reason to be otherwise to them) This did however limit my travel and force a day off of work which I will be paying for the rest of this week.  But thus I digress.

My Gulf War adventure began on a seering August day in the Nevada desert, and ended on an overcast early evening in New England.  In between, lay that one event in my life that changed the direction of everything else.  Sir Isaac Newton stated that a body in motion will remain in motion, well, a life in motion will continue in a given direction, until something occurs to change it.  Our vivid memories, good and bad, become the bookmarks in the story of our life.  These combine together, and the more intense memories then delineate chapters.  The beginning of August, 1990, a new book was started.  A sequel, and a prequel all rolled into one.  This is my tale that I have to tell.  

For the purposes of this letter, I'll start simply.  Many people asked us if we knew why were over there.  This was something we asked ourselves every night, watching the desert wind ripple our tents, feeling the sand engraving the memory deeper by pounding our bodies, the sun carving into our skin the finite power of it all.  Why were we there.  The question has many answers.  Why did we go over there, once we were there, what did we learn, and now that we're back, what was our purpose.  Those may seem like the same thing, but once again, I ask you to stay with me, this will all make sense.  

Why did we go over there - Believe me, everyday of my time there, I asked myself that.  Why did he have to sit in that birthday cake, why did I come to work that day, why was I even in the military, why had my life's decisions lead me to this spot, this moment in time.  Well, from the official standpoint, we were there to stave off the aggression of Saddam Hussein, and to protect American interests while stopping the spread and influence of power hungry aggressors who violate human rights of citizens involved.  Or something like that.  Basically, I went over there because Uncle Sam, who signed my paychecks, told me to. Through circumstances to be revealed later, I ended up going a lot earlier than I should have, but in retrospect, I think I was supposed to.  For whatever doubts and indiscretions I may have about things that happen to me, I know that they all happen for a reason.  These reasons may not always be readily visible, but eventually, the smoke will clear and you'll see why.  

What did we learn - The one thing that each of us can say, is that we learned to appreciate that which most of us take for granted.  While the events droned on, the wars of words, the flexing of military muscles, and political equivalents of "oh yeah!" happened around us, most of us realized a far deeper message coming out of it all.  We truly did not appreciate what we had, until it was no longer there.  Mass deprivation of even the simplest of things can make you realize their true importance in your life.  It's a sad but real lesson that the majority of us learn much too late.  In order to find yourself, sometimes you have to lose everything.  And that is just what happened to us.  Stripped down to our bare necessities, we dug deep inside ourselves to find our strengths, and what a joyous, but painful discovery it was.  

What was our purpose - This is the one that brings me back to my original story of the car, the repairmen, and the localized denizens encountered during my journey.  You see, long after the memories of realization had faded, and those inconsequential things had been returned to us, one thing still lingered in my mind and soul. Yes, I gained a greater appreciation for that in my life, every little thing, every major thing, did matter and did serve a purpose in the grand scheme of things.  I caught myself sometimes cursing the traffic jams, or cable outages or long lines at a store, but then remembered the time when I had none of those and would have given anything to be experiencing them, instead of ducking for cover from an errant explosive, behind a makeshift shelter of nylon and sand.  Those fears, those feelings, will haunt me and stay with me always.  Present, always, sometimes buried but always influencing every action and reaction.  But days like today remind me of my official reason for being there, which actually blends in a small into personal beliefs as well.  

The owners of the shop were simple men.  When I first ventured into their world, it was a small office with a computer as the lone source of civilization that has pervaded these simple peoples life.  Please don't take simple as meaning any negative connotation though.  Simple, in the text of this is their lives, its all they want, and all they need.  The men in the barber shop where I got a haircut, regulars coming in and out, conversation about the most inconsequential, yet important things in life.  Context being in the eyes and heart of those saying the words.  

These are the people who we, who served in Desert Storm, were there for.  For the right of people like this to continue to live like this.  Yet there was something a bit more, the search and discovery of the simplicity that can be discovered amidst the absence of what we thought was important.  I envy people like this sometimes, because they have found their happiness, and live it every day, passing most of us who are still frantically searching for it.  We look so hard, that we overlook it.  I don't want to glorify, nor diminish my experiences over there.  Kat has pointed out to me, and I see it, that the stories I tell tend to take on a more dramatic flair with each telling of the same version.  I thought about it, and realized that I am starting to turn into those guys who sit around and constantly relive their greatest moments, embellishing sometimes, in order to feel more exclusive and important.  I don't think that I do that, but then again, perception is all in the eyes and ears of the beholder. 

Then I wake up each morning and turn on the news to find we've so far to go
And I keep on hoping for a sign, so afraid that I just won't know.

I realize that my events, and my life, have been no more or less traumatic or dramatic than anyone elses.  This was an event that was a bookmark in my life, that gave me enlightenment and learning, but I try not to build into any great earth shattering event.  I was a simple person, we all were, we did as we were told, and we came home.  Some look back in pride, others in fear, even some in neglect to think about it.  But one thing is clear, it does stay with us, and sometimes, as in anything, the closer we look, the more we see.  The more time passes, the clearer things can get sometimes.  

Show me the way, show me the way
Take me tonight to the river
And wash my illusions away

Desert Storm did have an effect on my life, as have other events before and after.  As with any memory, there are certain times, certain sounds and certain visions, which fuel these memories.  Today, they were more prevalent, tomorrow, they may fade.  They will always be there, and will always show an effect on me. It doesn't make me any better or stronger, nor even weaker, than anyone else.  

It's just another one of those things that makes me who I am, something I search every day to discover.  Maybe I make it too difficult, but amidst aversity, maybe, just maybe, the picture will become clearer.  

Show me the way, show me the way
Give me the strength and the courage
To believe that I'll get there someday
Every night I say a prayer
In the hopes that there's a heaven...

Show Me The Way (1990) - lyrics by Dennis DeYoung, performed by Styx 

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