Sitting on a Park Bench

I can't think of a time in my life when I wasn't scared of the future. All these events deserve their own space on the shelf: starting a new grade, high school graduation, or getting fired for the first time. Now I just have to figure out a way to make more space for more fears. I married five years ago, and Jacob will be here in four months; I've never known such fear or resentment. Fear, because I'm not sure if I can care for another life; I can barely take care of two. Resentment because Sarah is bound to find out I'm a fraud and a waste of her time. 

I used to come here as a kid and loved it. There was so much to do. Sometimes Sarah and I would just sit on the grass and look into the horizon and feel ourselves existing while the world went on by. That seems like such a long time ago. 

It looks surreal, lonely, and intimidating all at the same time. It's cold in my hand. I have fifteen tries to get it right, although I don't think it will ever be right. 

So I come here. This bench, this park, this sky. The same sky that she and I look at makes me wonder if she thinks the same things. Life is funny sometimes.

"Can I sit here?"

 I knew that voice. It was calming and loved. His slicked-back hair. His Dollar Tree aftershave smelled fabulous. I sat there in shock as my grandfather smiled and spoke.

"You don't have to say anything as I imagine this is odd," he consoled. "We all go through things in life that may seem like they weigh a thousand pounds, but when it comes time to lift them, they're light as a feather. I remember I was getting ready to ship out with the 101st Airborne and got held up in Georgia. Turns out flat feet are no good for war. So they sent me home. You wanna talk about deflating an ego? I was sent off with a hero's parade only to return to sad faces and disappointed neighbors. For years I thought your grandmother thought I was a failure. I thought she didn't know about the loose floorboard by the bathroom where I kept the gin. I looked at your father and knew it was inevitable. I couldn't bear putting another me into society. I walked out to the shed, and I saw your grandmother. In one hand, she had the gun, and the other, the bullets. 

The sound of the bullets hitting the ground mixed with the silence of her tears was louder than any bomb we could have dropped. I dropped to my knees; I couldn't cry. The disappointment wouldn't let me. As your father lay in his crib, your grandmother told me that your aunt was on her way. I wasn't a failure. I loved your grandmother, your father, and your aunt. I just didn't know how to express it. 

We sat with our backs to the shed wall in silence. I felt her head gently resting on my shoulder, her grip on my hand tightened. At that point, I knew I was worth it, and I needed to get some help. It was the hardest decision I've ever made.   

At first, the words came slow. Sometimes I didn't want a response, but only an ear. Life is scary. It's scarier when you go at it alone. You're not alone. 

It's going to be ok. Trust your heart. Trust her smile. You can't undo the past, but you can write a new story. It wasn't until your father was in middle school and they put on a play of Bambi, and I saw him up there on stage, and I was immediately sent back to that night in the shed when I loaded the gun. 

August 9, 1999, I came here to look at the water and remember the day I asked your grandmother to marry me. Five hours earlier, I said goodbye to her as the cancer took her away. I never thanked her for that night in the shed. Uncertainty is frightening, but you owe it to yourself and your family to keep going. Your family is an army, and armies win battles. You have some really great people that want to help you win this battle. Go recruit them."

I sat there exhausted and sad. What seemed like hours had passed as my grandfather talked to me was only minutes in real-time. I didn't know if I was sad or reluctant that I knew that I must be going crazy. I missed my grandparents. I never knew…

"This summer, I hear the drumming…Four dead in Ohio…." 

That song. There's always been something about Neil Young that reminds me of my father. He was always playing Neil Young, always talking about how many times he saw him live. I guess I really don't have an opinion on Neil either way. He did that record with Pearl Jam, but I still couldn't get into him. It was nice to see my dad happy when he would listen to him, so I just soaked it up. Later in life, I would lean on those memories when things got rough; it somehow made it better. 

There was this one time…

Jesus Christ. It's him. My father. I start to cry and attempt to leave, but it's as if a thousand bricks held me down.

"The bench, huh?" His voice pierced my soul. I couldn't move. Hell, I could barely breathe. He's the epitome of evil. I keep asking myself why is here? He continued: "You can't leave. That's not how this works. Hear me out; when I'm done talking, then you can leave. It's no secret that I wasn't the best dad out there. Even now, I live with extreme guilt for what I put you through. But you have a chance to change what you know. I can sit here and tell you I wish things were different, but I'm not going to. I want you to know that I was at the bar when you were born. The police arrested me when your sister was born for disorderly conduct. I saw your little sister turn blue, but I was too drunk to do anything. There wasn't a day that the bottle didn't tell me what to do. You're built differently, though. Your soul is strong.

I can't stress this enough, listen to your heart. Listen to the wind's message; you're loved. More importantly, you're loved by your family, and you know that. That's something that I could never fathom. My family loved me, and in turn, I didn't love them back. I can't take back what I did. No apologies will remedy that. You can't leave early. We see Sarah, we see Jacob, and at times we see you. What scares me is that we don't see you all the time."

It was at this time he touched my hand. It was warm. In a blink of an eye, he was gone. At that moment, I knew it was ok to cry. It was ok to be scared. It was ok to break the cycle.   

Journey Through the Past: 20 Years of Military Service - Part 4 (1 of 1): I Got Married?

 WOW! Here we are, part 4! This has been really rad to do, and I would be lying if I said that this was a little bit therapeutic. I'm definitely holding on to the idea that folks are enjoying these to some extent. So without further ado, let's jump into part 4!

I'M MARRIED! Fresh off my first deployment, I'm on shore duty and life is pretty good. Nicki and I are figuring out this whole marriage thing, I'm digging my job, but more importantly, I'm not on a ship and deploying, yay me. Now, where I was working, the building required key card access due to the classified information we held. I worked in what we referred to as "the vault" which is where most of our classified information was held (stick with me, this comes into play later on). On October 12, 2000, the USS Cole was bombed while docked in Yemen. As October 12, 2001, rolled around, the country is still remembering those who perished in the senseless attack and attempting to make sense out of it because ships have gone into the Port of Yemen for years with no issues. 

Two months later, the country would forever change.

September 11, 2001, started like every other day. Alarm, coffee, shower, coffee, car, work. In that order. I got to work, started my morning routine in the office, I did turnover as I had duty that day (basically I had an issued cell phone that I was attached to for 24 hours) so I started my rounds on base to grab the mail, and other assorted paperwork, etc. As I entered the base post office,  I get a call on my phone telling me to get back to the building immediately. As I hung up the phone and headed to the car, the base police cars seemed to be everywhere with sirens blasting. I started to notice that they were setting up barriers and closing roads. 

I get back to my building and headed into my office and the t.v. was on. We stood there in silence as flight 175 flew into the South Tower. 

We got orders to shut down the building and leave the base to go home. What was normally a 5-8 minute drive to get off the base turned into about 2 hours. Every car was getting checked as it left. Traffic to get home was insane. As events unfolded that day, I remember turning off the television to get a break from the horror. I grabbed a cigarette and headed out to the balcony that overlooked the boulevard in front of our apartment. I didn't see anyone or anything. It felt apocalyptic. 

For about 2 weeks the country was one soul. As the American flags showed up in the Wal-Mart discount bins, we weaponized our anger and dressed up racism as patriotism. March of 2003, we invaded Iraq. Now, I don't want to take up too much space with the Iraq War, if you've made it this far in my blog series, you should have a pretty good idea of where I stand with certain issues. I did learn pretty quickly that you can't call the Vice President a war criminal and be on active duty, especially on My Space. I still remember being in my LCPO's (Leading Cheif Petty Officer. In civilian terms, I would say they would be like an assistant manager. The Department Head is the manager. Hope that makes sense) office and he just sat there with his head in his hands shaking his head. He called me a dumbass and told me to check my privacy settings, and don't say specific names. We had a mild chuckle and then we went out back to smoke and that was that. That wasn't the first time my social media accounts were being monitored and definitely wasn't the last. Thankfully I had some really great luck with folks I worked for that when I was tattled on I was never reprimanded or got in any sort of trouble that needed documenting and when the doors were closed sometimes we shared the same ideals. 

It's 2004. It's time to go back to sea! When picking orders for your next duty station, you usually pick like 3 or 4 choices and then your detailer (person who "approves" your orders) lets you know what you got chosen for. Since my first ship was an aircraft carrier I was trying to shoot for something smaller. I had picked smaller ships such as cruisers and destroyers. Really it was for a change of pace. I also bought into the myth that going to different types of duty stations would make a difference in my career. Right. Anyway, I got a call from my detailer and she said I had been picked for the USS George Washington (an aircraft carrier). This was my first lesson in you can wish in one hand and sh*t in the other, then try and figure out the difference. 😂

So, I guess I'm staying in Norfolk, Va and I'm back on a carrier. Such is life in the military. Realistically I was fine with it. I'm from Norfolk, I knew the carrier life, I wasn't disappointed but it would have been nice to leave Virginia for a little bit. Later in life, I would realize that you need to be careful about what you wish for! 

Deployments during this time took on a whole vibe. I still missed Nicki and home but I started to re-visit some writing ideas and really look inward and how I can do things differently with my life. It was also at this time that I felt my mental health get a little off-track. Unfortunately, the military doesn't do mental health. It's one of the most taboo topics you could bring up. It's easy to mock and it makes a great punchline. The military is filled with dark humor and at some point in time, you will be a part of that. I'm not exempt but I learned to use it to my advantage. It made a great shield, but that shield has a very weak foundation.  

As with any deployments, care packages are gold! I remember one time Nicki asked me if I had any special requests for a care package that she was getting together. My mind began to rattle off album after album book title after book title. But when you need Coheed and Cambria and Drizzt, you gotta have them. When those packages came in, it was like a new day has dawned. 

What would get me through all those deployments wasn't necessarily what was in those boxes, but that the items would smell like home. It sounds weird but those are some of my best memories of getting those packages. It was great to get those packages but you never forget that smell of home. Marvelous. Just writing and remembering about those experiences, I got such a huge smile on my face opening those boxes and seeing the Singles soundtrack or Midnight Mauraders, or a new copy of the Icewind Dale Trilogy because mine was so worn out. One of the most rad things she sent was a small photo album with pictures of her, the dog, our friends, etc. I still have that album. It will always be something I'll always get emotional over. There's nothing better in life than when you don't have to question if you're loved and appreciated by someone. You know it. You feel it. It's magical. 

So, we are going to stop it here because we have gone on long enough and the next installment is pretty heavy and is another long one. Thanks for reading. 

 

 

Journey Through the Past: 20 Years of Military Service - Part 4 (2 of 2): He's a Monster; I can't be Like Him.

**Asking for help is never easy. It's scary. No one wants to admit they have a problem, recognizing that could feel like failure. It's not. You're not. Your worth in this world is much more than you will ever know, and you are never alone. https://www.aa.org/ 

We are about to get into some heavy shit. A dark time in my life that I constantly look back on. It was a time that describes what I'm built from but does not describe who I am. 

Alcoholics breed alcoholics. It's a disease, and it kills the soul. 

For about 4 years, I was a high-functioning alcoholic. What started out as a joke to bring liquor in bottles of mouth wash onboard the ship for deployments not only made them entertaining but woke the sleeping demon with great fury. Even when I was a kid, I always felt it would get passed down to me; it was just a matter of time. Like most kids, when I hit my teenage years, I discovered weed, but I never really drank as a teen. The occasional beer, but I never really got a taste for it. It wasn't until my early 20s that I started to develop a taste for it.  

As time played out and I got more comfortable with the demon, this was also the time that I knew I had inherited a cursed gift. At the height of my addiction, I was not only drinking and driving but draining liters like Steph Cury drains threes. Then liters turned into gallons.  

Once you feel it take over, there's nothing else. You don't remember what you did, said; you make excuses why you got so drunk. It feels natural. You can no longer tell the difference between you and the bottle. The worst of it was when my wife got switched to nights. As it was, by the time I got home, I was two or three drinks down, and now there's no one home to cut me off. I was a mess. 

I remember that night vividly. Nicki found me on the floor, unresponsive and not breathing. Then the noises started, but I couldn't open my eyes yet, but I could hear noises. Voices, crying, etc. My eyes opened to EMTs standing over me. I was moments from the paddles and a trip to the ER. 

The next day I was met with an ultimatum that I never thought I would know. It was her or the bottle. The very thing that destroyed my family was getting ready to ruin mine. 

I often visit the memory of me and my wife dumping liquor bottles down the drain, and I remember thinking so many things. From stories of my dad and my father-in-law, and wondering how this happened and what this means for my career in the Navy. Do I tell my chain of command? I hold a security clearance, my chain of command finds out, I'm done. I had enough time in by now to know that you only tell the Navy what they need to know. Anything dealing with addiction or mental health is very taboo and frowned upon; it's a weakness. Out of 20 years in the military, I can count on one hand how many people I would trust with talking about mental health issues. 

So what do you do when you want to get sober, but you don't want to involve the military? You thank the universe for sending you your soulmate, who is going to hold your hand while you walk through hell; that's what you do. And that's what she did. Through the tears, the shakes, sitting there and listening, and the hugs, but more importantly, she assured me that everything was going to be ok. I still thank her after all these years for being strong, loving, and understanding during those times. 

I know this was a long one. I teetered with even mentioning this part, but this was such a huge part of my life that I needed to include this if I was going to tell my tale. So, what's in store for the next installment? We get healthier, we get orders to Jacksonville, Fl, and against all odds, I become a recruiter. For the folks that have been hanging out and enjoying this series, thanks for reading.  

The Confession of William Wilson

It was nighttime. I could smell her perfume. I thanked her for picking me up, a stranger on the side of the road. She didn't know it yet, but I would be the last person in her life. The last person she would talk to. The last person to see her alive. 

Just recalling that night is intoxicating.

I sat in the passenger seat, waiting for that right moment. Then it happened. The detour on Highway 58 rerouted us down a semi-secluded road, not too far off the beaten path but just enough. Just enough that the people filling up their cars with gas nearby never heard the screams. 

I pretended to get something from my bag. I planted my elbow across her face and knocked her out as I sat back up. I sat there in silence, looked over at her, and wondered if this was the one. I can leave her here and let her live. Or I can kill her and make her my statistic. My headline in the next day's news. When they're alive, they belong to their world. Once they die, they belong to mine. She will always be mine. 

I, William Wilson, make this confession of my own free will.