59. Fighting the Anti-Christs

Doctor (to post heart-attack patient): “Every year on this date, your heart stops because you’re grieving for Ted.” 

Patient: “For twenty-seven years, I loved him. He was my soul mate…So what do I do next? How do I treat it? 

Doctor: “I wish I knew.”

I hope I didn't come across as too harsh in my last entry when I referred to the people who don't read my blog.  It's okay, honestly.  No one is obligated to do anything - after all, thanks to Soldiers like Jon, it's a free country.  Everyone has their own way of dealing with loss.  Writing happens to be mine, though I understand it's not for everyone.  Again, it's more the fact that I get frustrated when people ask, "so how are you?  How are you handling things??"  In response, I usually think - impatiently and admittedly, a little selfishly - that they would already know the answer to that question if they'd take a few moments to read an entry.  But again, everyone has their own coping mechanisms.  For me, this is just the one and only place where I can be honest about how I'm really doing.  Even if someone takes the time to ask me how things have been, I usually avert my eyes and say, "oh, you know, I'm fine," which clearly means something quite different.  I usually mention that I've been writing a lot to try and work through the issues I avoided for so long, which is really my code way of saying, "if you want to know the answer to your question, it's out there.  You just have to read it."  Again, I'll always be far better at expressing myself with a pen than when I attempt to explain my deep sadness and innermost fears while fighting back the tears in person.

A funny thing happened to me at Arlington during my visit this afternoon.  I was feeling kind of disappointed (for reasons other than the obvious) because, in my rush to get out the door, I'd grabbed the flowers I bought for Jon off the counter but not the frozen piña colada mix I wanted to leave at his headstone.  Anyway, so while I was sitting there with Jon and using my phone to respond to a request for donations to a Fallen Soldiers benefit, both my legs suddenly went numb.  I've had terrible calf cramps before, some of which have literally woken me up in the middle of the night, but nothing like this.  It was truly bizarre.  I'd been sitting "Indian-style," which is something Jon was incapable of doing.  We ate dinner once at a traditional Korean restaurant and I remember the look of pure discomfort on his face at the fact that he physically couldn't cross his legs to sit on the floor at the grill.  As the feeling of numbness spread all the way down both my legs, I started to panic.  I figured it would pass after a few moments, but instead it started to get worse and I couldn't move them at all.  I lay back on the grass in front of Jon's headstone and started to cry, overcome by the irony and the unknown nature of whatever was happening to me.  I listened to the distant drums of funeral processions, heard the occasional 21-gun salute, and the familiarity of these sounds made me cry even harder.  In the midst of this mini anxiety attack, I ordered my brain to picture something funny, anything that might help me to relax.  I envisioned the photograph I found just last night of Jon and I passed out together on the couch at my parents' house in Florida...and reminded myself of how his "I Love Beer" matching pajamas had struck me as incredibly sexy.  It's the first thing I told him about when I sat down at his headstone today and it's that silly memory that helped me to start to regain the control and function of my legs.  As I squeezed my eyes shut and let the tears flow, it was as if I could hear Jon's voice telling me to stop running myself ragged - to stop throwing my energy into every cause out there with all of my effort and just take a minute to relax.  It was as if he wanted me to just "be" without constantly having to think and do so much.  If he'd been sitting right there next to me, he'd probably say, "Jenna, I love that you always want to help everyone and be so involved, but saving the world can wait - just give yourself a second to be here in this moment with me."  

Jon trying to get comfortable on the little floor pillows at the grill table in Korea - no Indian-style sitting for this man!

So that's what I did.  And as I did, the sensation slowly returned to my legs.  I opened my eyes to the blinding sunlight and laughed while still crying at the fact that my husband is somehow managing to take care of me, even from a grave site in a cemetery.  The last thing I heard while saying goodbye to my sweetheart and leaving Section 60 of Arlington this afternoon?  The long, sad sounds of a bugler playing TAPS. 

Although I felt better as I wandered back through the Cemetery Visitor's Center, happy is hardly how I'd describe myself after sitting at my husband's grave and talking to a headstone for a couple of hours.  "Irritated," "drained," and "emotionally exhausted" are probably more accurate descriptors.  Imagine, then, my frustration, when the gate guard yelled at me for trying to exit through the vehicle lane instead of the pedestrian lane.  Good Lord, man, I thought to myself, I'm not a lost tourist wandering aimlessly around and getting herded from one place to the next.  I'm on a very personal mission to visit my husband since he's actually buried here.  I'm sorry if using the wrong gate makes that mission a little easier for me and slightly less convenient for you!  This wasn't quite as dumbfounding, however, as my encounter with "homeless dude" at the Arlington Cemetery Cemetery Metro Station yesterday evening.  Still wet and uncomfortable after the downpour that hit me en route to Jon's grave, I wasn't really in the mood to talk.  The trains were also running very slowly due to some ongoing track construction, so I knew I was in for a long wait.  My feet (in my canvas platform wedge sandals) were killing me, so I sat down on one of the open benches out of the rain.  A man with a backpack full of God-knows-what came over after a few minutes and asked to sit down.  I was still in no mood for conversation, but I moved over to give him some room.  The first thing he asked was if I had any change for the homeless.  With his nice clothes and a practically brand-new sports backpack, he sure didn't look very homeless, so I said no, that I didn't have any cash on me.  After asking everyone in the general vicinity the same question, he came back, plopped himself back down next to me and proceeded to ask me where I'm from, what I'm doing in town, etc.  I was trying not to be rude, but I ultimately just dropped the bombshell and told him that I was here to visit my husband, who's buried at Arlington.  He said how sorry he was, asked if the tattoo on my right arm was a tribute to him, and then proceeded to tell me that I had nice feet...and that I should think about getting married again one day.  After sharing these deep thoughts, he asked me one more time if I had any change for the homeless.  Then, just as abruptly as he'd sat down, he got up and walked off, mumbling to himself about he needed the train to come so he could sleep on the subway.  Unbelievable...but realistically, not that surprising.  This is the dichotomy that exists at a place as sacred at Arlington National Cemetery, when we have the delights of the subway to factor into the overall entertainment value of any somber visit.

Laying in the sun with my baby at Arlington once I could feel my legs again...so peaceful and beautiful.

After this latest escapade, my friend I'm staying with in D.C., took me to an evening church service.  It was probably exactly what I needed after the day I'd had.  The people were nice, the place was full of young professionals who looked like me (even if perhaps their stories are different), and the music was uplifting.  The book of scripture on which tonight's sermon was based was 1 John.  If that in and of itself wasn't enough to give me chills, the focus of the talk was on deception and how certain anti-christs in our lives (good examples might be Osama Bin Laden, Bernard Madoff, my ex-boyfriend, etc.) can easily sway us away from what we know to be right.  I've certainly been down the road they refer to as a "crisis in faith" - be it for moral reasons, i.e. making some error of judgment you struggle to forgive yourself for (check!); theological, i.e. not wanting to accept what the Bible says about non-believers going to Hell and trying desperately to figure out some back-door loophole to get these loved ones into Heaven (check!); and last but not least, spiritual, i.e. fighting with God about why he does certain bad things to certain undeserving people (check check check!).  I can relate all too personally to several of these crises that tend to pull us even further away from the truth of what matters at the times when it matters most, but if there's anything I've learned in the last few months, it's that I'm not going to let others' ideas about how I should be living my life affect the decisions I make.  If these people want to dissuade me from following the dreams I have left on earth without Jon, bring them on and let them try, but at the end of the day, I know what I hold most dear, and that is truth.  All the cynics and naysayers in the world can't change the very essence of what I know to be true about Jon's new home in Heaven and they can't take away my belief that I'll see him again one day.  It's all about love, and if God could create a love here on earth as strong and beautiful as the one Jon and I shared, then there can be no doubt that there are many more emotional riches to be had when its the time for those of us still here to go too.  If there were ever a tangible victory over deceit, distraction, and the anti-christs, I think this must be it.

Sending you this heavenly piña colada for when we meet again one day...that's
right!  For one that good, you gotta wait to enjoy it with me, like old times :)

Tonight when I finally got back to my friends' house, I took the frozen piña colada mix out the freezer.  Piña colada for one, please!!  Cheers, baby, I said to myself, as I sipped the sweet delicious concoction.  Cheers to us and to when we drank these things from the slushy machines on our honeymoon in Jamaica.  Cheers to paying $11 for a rich and delicious one made with real cream and savoring every last drop, to include the slice of pineapple and maraschino cherry on top.  Cheers to finally enjoying a few more of these together in Heaven when I get there.  And cheers to you - to you, my sweet husband - for being the kind of man who provided (and still provides) all the love and and faith I need to fight all the anti-christs out there.  Thank you for trying to protect me in your own special way from the bad things in the world while still allowing me to enjoy the good, like the love I have for you...and piña coladas, of course.