:crybaby:Sarge Harold Schafer- airbourne ranger, black beret etc etc etc veitnam vet. (former pres. of ny state chapter of v.v. of america, passed about two years ago, helped all vets, and me, anytime anywhere for any reason.)
Sarge,
I first want to say, I am happy you are with your brothers, cheering us all on down here.
But I miss you, I miss hearing your voice, it had such a profound calming effect on me. I miss being understood, I miss your hands holding my brain, whispering words so simple to make me stop flashing and start seeing the here and now again, putting on the newest bandage, then placing my brain back in.
When you were still here, I reached out to help your brothers, all the time. I know it's where I live at the moment, but there is no one here to help. No one to remind me of all the great paths you have shown me, of the times you thanked me, for what I do not know, but the words were felt, unlike the reg. people who I do not feel, nor ever want to. Plain and simple, we struggle to become ourselves again, and in that we fought for our feelings, unlike the normals, we feel intensely, and I see the reg. as sort of a fake facade of curiousity never finding realness. There are many of them to find each other.
But why is it Sarge, that I am always the one they were searching for, each one, that within seconds they say they feel as though they have known me all their life. Every person is almost like a recording of the last.
When will it be that I feel that way toward another?
How can it be that I am the one and only, for so many, but can't find mine.
Was I put here just to help and move on, it gets kind of boring doing the same routine over and over and never being inspired by one like myself.
My inspiration is old and dusty, and haven't been alive enough to create anything artistic.
Healing from surgery has made me a huge loner, and even though I don't remember what my dreams at night are, I awake to smell of adrenalin oozing out of my pores. Today I have a red spot on my eye from some fight I had in dreamland. I hate the fact that I am weakened. I hate knowing if I did have to go into full on protection mode, and use it, that I may be mortally wounded by my own actions. (for the readers, I haven't had to use my fighting skills for a long while, I just have them ready at all times, programmed and that's the way it is.)
I miss you Sarge, but am so glad I was blessed to have you in my life. I truly know I would not be here if it weren't for you. The one who finally got me, the one with the big patch on his leather jacket that said, "If you weren't there, shut the fxck up".
Our first meeting, after talking on the phone for over a year, was on the flightdeck. You were the only one I invited. You're first words were, "Wow, to be honest, for some reason I thought you were a fat girl, you really are a billy jack type."
You made me laugh. But you took me even more seriously after our talk there. We had only seen each other for maybe five brief times, but way over a decade we spoke via the phone.
Thank you for being you, thank you for the connection, thank you for the words. I cry for what I am missing. But always and forever, bless you with peace eternally. Thank you God, you don't always, but you got it right when you let him come down here. Take care of him, or you have me to deal with when I get up there for the last time.
(gonna make some changes, too, so be ready God.)
p.s. I am a shaman and can get away with that, I don't expect anyone to follow my lead on that one, we, God and I, have an understanding.
Love and respectfully, White Wolf