The Mission, Part 1

As you can all see, it’s been awhile. Nothing is flowing from these fingers, and it’s not because I haven’t been thinking about writing. It’s just that what I’m thinking about has nothing to do with politics, nothing to do with what’s passing for news out there. I glance at the headlines and hear whispers that Rick Perry’s popularity may have crested, and that he needs to “revive” his campaign. Revive it? It barely has gotten started. I heard something about his ranch and a racist slur and I think, Why is everyone so surprised?  Chris Christie in? Nope. Sarah Palin? Nah. 

In other news, the Republicans are threatening to hold their breath and throw a tantrum in the grocery store if the Ds don’t give them more tax cuts. Same song, different day.

In the meantime, the recession has officially been over for two years (for who?), but only the 1% are seeing it. The economy isn’t improving, yet companies are still expected to provide profit to their shareholders, so the real backbone of the company (that would be the employees) are asked to squeeze more blood out of the proverbial turnip with no guarantees that said bloodletting will even guarantee them a job next month.  Occupy Wall Street is gaining steam. Will that lead to fundamental change? I hope so.

But. All of the above is merely static.

In a year that has seen, to name just a few, the death of a friend, the murder of a co-worker, the passing of two of our beloved pets, the dissolution of our daughter’s marriage, and the Reno Air Races crash on September 16th, I can only focus on doing the things we need to do to get through to the other side as emotionally whole as possible.  And while the world may have paused in shock and grief for a few days after the accident, it has mostly moved on. That is as it should be. Life is for the living. But for us and many others the trauma lingers. It comes at odd times. When I see flashing police lights. I no longer think, Someone’s getting a ticket.  Now I think, every damned time, Someone is hurt.  Planes coming in for a landing too close to the ground startle me.  Planes making the full-throttle steep ascent out of Reno-Tahoe airport are so reminiscent of Galloping Ghost’s final split seconds, that they send my heart racing too.  Images of the day appear unbidden at the oddest times. I don’t know what sounds, sights or smells trigger Sweetie’s flashbacks, but I know he has them. Sleep, for him, is still an issue and so he is tired much of the time.  At this point, we can only focus on the here-and-now and not clutter our lives up with shit that is still going to be shit tomorrow. It has only been three-and-a-half weeks, but it feels so much longer.

After the accident we wanted to make some sense of it, but it was clear immediately that there was no sense to be made. That has been our answer to every fool who tries to tell us that there must be a reason.  No, there isn’t. It was an accident. A horrific, life-changing accident and there is no cosmic lesson we are required to learn. There is no why other than this:  In a matter of seconds a piece of the plane broke off, causing the plane to careen out of control, causing the pilot to black out, and ultimately, causing the plane to crash into a crowd of spectators. People died. People were maimed – physically and emotionally. If the plane had crashed on the other side of the field, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But it happened. And it happened where it did. And we’re just having to deal with it. 

Sweetie and The Nurse

In the immediate aftermath of the accident Sweetie started talking about The Nurse. The Nurse who grabbed him as he came running into the carnage. The Nurse who took a look at one victim and said, “He’s not breathing. Come with me.”  The Nurse who moved to another pile of humanity, still alive, but minutes from bleeding to death.  The Nurse told him to tourniquet the man with two missing legs. “Use your belt,” The Nurse told him.  He did. But he needed a second belt and yelled for it – or did The Nurse? A second belt appeared across his shoulder. He pulled that one tight as well and then held on for dear life.  And all the time The Nurse moved between the four lying there and yelled for Number 1′s!  The Nurse was Sweetie’s touchstone. It was her voice that kept him moving through the awfulness. 

So you can understand why Sweetie wanted to know who she was. To find her. To talk to her again. We knew she was from St. Mary’s. That was all we knew. And Sweetie’s recollection of what people looked like was distorted by what he saw that day. Oil, blood, body parts, more blood. He thought she was a tall  muscular woman with dirty blonde hair.

I made it my mission to find The Nurse.

To be continued . . .

It’s been a week

We met with a trauma counselor* through the Red Cross on Thursday. He helped us to know we aren’t crazy and that everything we’re feeling right now is normal. The guilt, no hunger, crying, flashbacks.  He encouraged us to talk about it with each other and with people we trust and to be gentle on ourselves. To follow our normal daily routines. To allow ourselves time to heal. But we won’t ever be the same, he said. Don’t expect that. We’d already figured that out. But it will fade with time, he said.

We are trying to put all the puzzle pieces together, and that means we comb the news for pictures and videos. What Sweetie finds, he shares with me. What I find, I share with him.

There are triggers. We’ve been told not to avoid them but to work through them and tell ourselves that we’re okay. I know that’s what I’m supposed to do, and I’ll have to. There is no avoiding planes landing, sirens, or flashing police and ambulance lights.

There hasn’t been a day go by that we haven’t cried. Not yet. We are slowly starting to experience hunger again, but we only eat to fill the hole. It all pretty much tastes like paste. But on Thursday night I sliced up a ripe tomato from our garden and lightly salted it. I could taste it, and it tasted good.

It will get better.

* If you, or anyone you know, was at the air races, witnessed the accident and its aftermath and is struggling emotionally, please contact your local American Red Cross for free trauma counseling. They can help you. If your company has an Employee Assistance Program, they can help as well.  Whatever you do, don’t stuff it. Please.

Sharon Stewart: A smile for us, year after year

In addition to our regular gang of box seat security volunteers who return year after year, Sharon Stewart returned each year too, in her black jeans,  smiling and laughing and showing the newbies the ropes. 

She had a quick smile and always a friendly word.   And she worked hard in the hot sun to make a few bucks to maybe put enough of them together to take a trip to see her sons.

“She couldn’t wait to work those five days for the air races,” said Jose Luis Cacheux-Ojeda, who goes by Joe. He and Sharon had been together for 35 years and have lived in the Reno area since 1994.

[ . . .]

Charlene Summers, of Sparks, said Stewart was her best friend.

“She always laughed. She liked to do things to have fun. She was very outgoing,” she said.

Summers said Stewart would usually lay out her clothes the day before the air races began and would get to work an hour early.

“She just loved it. She was where she wanted to be.”

Maura Cox, Stewart’s next-door neighbor, said she was all smiles when she finished work Thursday and she waived to her Friday morning before going to work.

I will miss her very much.

What good did it do?

Oooh….Susie had a premonition. And gosh, gee, how dare we ”science fundies” doubt her. Since it is unlikely that anyone else will see my comment at her post, I have posted it below.

I guess I’m what you would call one of those “science fundies” because I want to ask, if indeed your “premonition” was just that what good was it? Understand that I am asking this from a great deal of pain, as a quick visit to my blog will show. So, how could your premonition have helped? What good can it do? You say you saw a plane crash, but not where and when, right? So after the fact you say, hey, oh yeah, I “saw” it.

How will that help the wounded, the grieving, those who will suffer emotional trauma for this for years? What good does this post do except for you to tell us that you think you’re special?

The next time you have one of these dreams, be specific. Tell us when, where , who, and then maybe, just maybe, something can be done to prevent it. Otherwise, keep it to yourself.

Reno Air Races, Love, and The Bargain (Updated)

Seconds. That’s all it took.  One moment we were watching the Unlimiteds coming around the third lap, then a massive, collective intake of breath and hollering from the crowd. Looking up we saw the P-51 coming straight at us. No time to think, we started to run toward the plane thinking it would crash behind us, but in the same split second I thought, I can’t run that fast.  It’s over. And then the pilot, using all the skill he had, pulled the plane up and away from the bleachers where hundreds of spectators were sitting to watch the final race of the day. The pilot did his utmost to maneuver out over the tarmac away from the crowd, but it was not to be, and the plane flipped and went nose-first into the ground.  (Update: The pilot’s pull-out actually happened before he reached us…after he’d come around the last pylon, near the pits. When we saw the plane, it had already flipped downward was making its final descent to the tarmac. At one point I thought there had been two pull-ups – before he reached us and a second immediately over the bleachers, but after reviewing many videos, my initial impression of a plane barreling full-bore at us was the true one.) From where I was I could not see where the crash occurred. I could only hope he missed the crowd, but I couldn’t tell.

My husband, along with another one of our volunteer group, immediately ran toward the crash zone. It was the last I saw of him for about a twenty or thirty (more?)  minutes.  I quickly climbed the stairs to the reserved bleachers, but even from that vantage point, I could only see debris scattered across the tarmac.   After a few minutes, I sat down on the stairs and put my head in my hands. Finally, I got up and headed back to the box seat entry way. As I walked the tears began to flow.  Don, our friend and co-volunteer, held me as I sobbed for a bit. Then we stepped back into the role we’d known for years, but with a difference. Medical people in, box seat holders out.  And then there were the box seat holders with grim faces waving their tickets and needing to get back in. We just need to get our stuff. Okay. In.

Paramedic? In. Nurse? In. Used to be a corpsman in the Navy? In. Just trying to see if the friend you think might be in here is okay. Sorry, please…they’ve asked everyone to leave.  Law enforcement badge in civvies? In. Blue latex gloves? In.

I still wasn’t aware of what it was really like out there until the survivors started to leave. One fellow on a cell phone described being pushed out of the way by someone and then looking back to see that person. Except that person wasn’t there anymore.  Another bloody young man poured water into his eyes. Others passed by with blood and flesh splattered on their clothes. And then I started to shake.

Sweetie appeared. Grab my cell phone and my radio. I don’t have my belt anymore. I had to use it for a tourniquet.  I grabbed his stuff and opened a bottle of water to wash the blood from his hands. I found a couple of flimsy paper napkins and did my best to clean him off.  He told us a little of what he saw, but not all. That came later.

Then finally, we were all told to leave. Hugs all around.  We gathered up our bags and headed out to the car. Phone calls and texts in the car from family and friends. Discussion back and forth in the car – Sweetie, me, Don.

Home. Shower for Sweetie and then the three of us broke out the booze and snapped on the news.  Video showed a grim scene and an initial photo showed Sweetie off to the right assisting the St. Mary’s nurse doing triage.

As we watched the video, and two or three or some number of straight shots of Jack Daniels later, Brad started to ask, Where’s the crater? There’s, at least, a twelve-foot crater in the tarmac. Did I just imagine it?

No Baby, you didn’t imagine it, but they’re not going to show that on the news. They’re just not going to.

But, it looks too clean! That’s not how it was!

And then it all poured out. What he saw, what he heard, what he smelled. The desperation of trying to tourniquet a leg with a belt that had run out of holes. The nurse yelling Number One! Number One! and calling for oxygen.  The impossibility of lifting the body board, and the nurse calling for muscle.  All of it, and more.

And all I could do was hold him and then, after a good long while, put him to bed.

This is the bargain, you know. We put our hearts out there in love and friendship because the reward is love and friendship in return. And sometimes, because that is just the way life is, our hearts will be broken in ways we could never comprehend.

From one race to another…

The Paycheck Fairness Act has been added to the Senate legislative agenda. You can track via the link at the right sidebar, and please, call your Senator in support of this vital bill! The race is on to see that this bill passes.

Sweetie and I spent the weekend at the National  Championship Air Races as volunteers for box seat security, and I’m heading into the two weeks before our Northern Nevada Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure on October 3rd at Boomtown. As I am the Race Registration & Database Chair, I’ll be mucho busy in the next two weeks, so posting will be light. If you able to scratch up some shekels, won’t you consider donating to this worthy cause?

And in the spirit of the rest of my week

I’ll be volunteering with Sweetie at the Reno Air Races  working box security through Sunday. If you happen to be there, come on down to the box seat gate closest to the pit and say hello. We’ve got to get up at the crack of dawn every day, so posting may be light, but who knows. Something may strike me (doesn’t it always?)

In the meantime, please give your full attention to your flight attendant as we prepare for take-off. (Source)