I've lost the use of my heart
But I'm still alive
Still looking for the light
And the endless pool on the other side
["Soldier of Love", Sade]
I'm ok. You're ok. We're ok.
It's fine.
The last few years I've been reflecting a lot on which experiences of my early life inform my current behaviours. This past year has seen me reflect a lot on my time in Air Cadets and the Cadet Instructor Cadre. I was an Air Cadet from 13 until I aged out at 19. I then enrolled in the Reserves and got out at 26. I am still sporting the same haircut for 37 years on, more or less. More gray. Less hair.
I was awake until 3am last night (and not for anything most of you might call good reasons, but I found it fun). It was the first time in ages, and definite proof my iron levels are returning to normal. And I was up shortly after the alarm went off, having gotten only about four hours sleep. If there's anything reminiscent of those years in Greenwood in my early 20s, it's that: long hours, little sleep, but up, washed, dressed, pressed, polished, fed, at the parade square on time. It was there, in the summers of 89 to 95, that I truly learned to soldier.
I wish I could nap. I wish I could power nap. Not a skill I ever learned. There were those who did. I remember one who could lay perfectly still on his back, in uniform, wedge on his face. Ten minutes and up again, without so much as an added wrinkle.
Up on time. At work. No matter. Zombie-like state? Sure! Easier in a way, really. Too tired to feel. Too busy to think. Just keep going. Like Dory, swimming. Just keep swimming! Just keep swimming!
soldier (sōl-jər)
intransitive verb:
to push doggedly forward —usually used with on
I don't like the word 'soldier'. It instantly raises a deep-rooted Imposter Syndrome instinct in me. My battlefields were classrooms and parade squares, not combat zones. Sure, I spent plenty of time pressing and polishing and marching on. And yes, Dan my have come into the kitchen a few days ago to catch me checking if I can still perfectly execute a proper right turn. Leg 45, calf hangs at knee, ankle relaxed, let foot dangle, bring it down naturally so the ball of the foot lands first. Snap. Yep. Still got it. And my salute? Dreamy. I'll salute good-bye on my death bed and that hand will unfurl at breast pocket high, I guarantee it. Endless time spent demonstrating proper self-discipline by standing perfectly at attention without moving while the drill sergeant du jour screamed at me about everything I was doing wrong. But I was not shooting or being shot at with bullets, just words. Ten, twelve, or fourteen hour work days, day after day, day in, day out, four hours sleep per night, weeks on end. Up on time. Parade square on time. Pressed. Polished. Or more standing still for the yelling, and possibly additional work added. I have to remind myself sometimes that most people have probably never had that experience. I lost count. Then endured another decade of it. Nonetheless, I am not soldier (noun), but I do soldier (verb). We all do that, in our various ways.
I have a nephew who is a soldier, in that 'proper' sense of the word that comes to mind for me. He's the kind you don't ask those questions because that would just be rude. That's in the past now, thankfully. Home. Wife. Kids. House. Beautiful family. Still in a uniform though. He is who I think of when I hear the word 'soldier' (noun).
Somewhere across the city right now, past the snowstorm whipping up a frenzy outside, one of my sisters is mourning the loss of a lifelong friend, a man who was like a second father to her. She and the women of that family, their spouses, their children won't get the benefit of a wake, funeral, or memorial service, or at least not for a long time to come. Locked down in our homes at Level 5 for a few more weeks, they will quietly grieve alone. And they'll do what she and I did in the early days of March of '93. When I was young I always thought wakes and funerals and burials were harrowing and pointless. In time I came to understand they were necessary. I was proud of Dan recently when, unprompted, he went to the wake of a friend's aunt. He may be too young to yet appreciate the value and importance of that act. Nevertheless, and without the peculiar benefit these ceremonies bring, my sister and the Greens will do that thing. They will soldier on.
I got up on time today, despite not having to work, and despite planning (particularly at the aforementioned 3am) to sleep in. But sleeping in is something I don't do well. And there was a storm brewing, and when I got up to pee I looked outside and realized I could have Tim's for myself, Liza-Ann, and Dan only if I got up and went right now. So l did that unsworn duty, getting back to the house just as the wind and snow started thrashing about.
And so - with a brief interlude of panic at not being able to locate my mother's ring - here I am, predictably, sitting, writing, as I so often do on this morning each year. But a few things are a little different. I mean...
I'm ok. You're ok. We're ok.
It's fine.
I won't get to have lunch with my sisters today, despite having the day off. I may phone each later and check in. I haven't heard their voices for some time. No guarantees though. It's the one day of the year I like to 'let take me where it takes me'. We'll see how I feel. I wonder how my brother is doing too. One of his daughters posts Instagram pictures of her cat daily. Gorgeous animal. A tiny daily pick-me-up, for her and for the rest of us. I hope she's doing ok too. Her version of swimming, I suppose. She's learning to soldier on. Her, her sister, Dan, my sisters' kids. A whole generation will be shaped by having been raised during a pandemic, the way we were shaped by the belief that the Russians would be invading if the nukes didn't take us out first.
Dear Betty, this year is the first time in my life I found myself thinking I'm glad she's not here for this. I would not want you, or Dad, to have to endure these times, this past year in particular. Thoughts like that are markers for me. In my self-awareness I catch myself thinking things I have or have not thought before. I hear those thoughts arise, and turn that inward eye to see where they have come from and where they have gone. It's very Litany Against Fear. We must not fear.
We must soldier on.
Your ring cut me the other day (too much salt swelled my fingers, maybe?), Mom, so I took it off for the first time in probably a decade or more. I'm long overdue to have it re-engraved, but I keep forgetting or putting it off. Every time I try I end up at a shop that tells me they don't do that any more, and refer me to another shop. (There's a social commentary in there about the nature of modern business, but let's leave that for another time.) The latest one referred me to Lawlor's, which seems fitting if I do land there, as I believe they were in business engraving trophies back when you were alive.
So earlier, when I started writing this, I realized I wasn't wearing my precious ring, and when I went to retrieve it, did not find it where I left it. Liza-Ann awoke to me rummaging around the bedroom with the torch on my phone, assuming the cat had probably played it off the dresser and under some furniture. She immediately leapt from bed to help me search. Unspoken, she understood the irrational urgency. After about five minutes of scouring the house together, she located it. If there's ever someone you want with you when locked down, it's Liza-Ann. She soldiers as well or better than anyone I know. There's no one I'd rather be 'trapped with'. Apropos nothing, she's really been kicking my ass in Catan lately. Guess I just wanted to record that. None one else I'd rather lose to, either.
So where was I going with all this today?
Nowhere, really. Forward. Ever forward. It's what we do these days. It's what we all do.
I'm sorry, my friends. But we have to keep on swimming. Just keep swimming! I know a few people who've lost their jobs of late. I've reached out to some to get resumes in the hope of helping them find work. I know a hardship like that at a time like this must feel like being kicked when you're down. I hope they find the strength to keep swimming.
I'm ok. You're ok. We're ok.
It's fine.
But I'll need to put on the kettle. I finished my Tim's.
