Let's see....
I am going to try to make this short and sweet *laughing at the thought of me making something short and sweet*. Da Man came in from drill yesterday. I was down here by myself. The first thing out of his mouth was, "I'm home. I'm going to bed. My head hurts," and he went to walk out. I knew something was off, so, I stopped him. There was idle chit chat about what he had done yesterday. Then he reaches into his pocket, pulls out a folded sheet of paper, and says, "I got my permanent profile today." I didn't know what that was.
To make it short, he received the paper yesterday telling him that because of his injuries sustained in Iraq that he is being recommended for discharge from the Army National Guard. I guess some people would expect that to have a rather positive ring about it, but it's just the opposite and for so many reasons.
Da Man is all about being a soldier; it's what has defined him since the age of 17 when he enlisted. And now he's looking toward the end of his military career because of injuries he sustained while in Iraq. But it's far more complicated than that. See, according to the VA, his medical records are lost, no one can locate them. But yet the Army told him that he has a case of TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury) and, which we all know, PTSD. So if his medical records are missing, how the hell did the Army find this information out? And better yet, why is the VA not treating--no, why aren't they even fucking acknowledging--the fact that he does, indeed, have TBI?
And then there's the thing of losing the pizza shop gig and tentatively losing his National Guard gig in the same week. Yeah, he's going through a tough stretch right now.
I forced him to get out of bed last night. I knew that he would lie there and sleep away his life because things hurt right now, and I wasn't having that. So I rallied my best pep talk and headed upstairs. He spent the evening outside with the family and seemed to be much better when it was time to go to bed.
This morning he volunteered to be bus aide because today, ladies and gentlemen, *drum roll here* is Grace's first day back to pre-school. Whoo Hoo! I said, "Whoo Hoo!" *dancing the Cabbage Patch*He had some stories when he returned home this morning. One little girl sat and batted her eyes at him the whole ride. I told him that Grace wouldn't have a little chicka stepping up to her daddy. *snicker*One little girl cried. And then there was this mother who made her daughter stop on the steps on the bus so she could take her picture--oh wait. That was me. The bus driver told me that Grace was so spoiled. I told him no, she was overly loved. But bear in mind that as the bus rounded the corner this morning I was standing on the sidewalk, bouncing up and down, and waving the "Stop" sign, given to us by the teacher as a signal for the bus to stop or go, over my head like a fool. There wasn't much separation anxiety coming from me this morning. Nope. None.
I wish with Da Man, as I do with the girls, that there was some kind of magic wand hidden in the back of my closet that I could wave while uttering "hocus pocus" and take all the pain away. But there isn't. And no one thought to buy one as their baby shower gift either. It sucks for me, Savior To All, to not be able to make it go away. So I then try to focus my energies on trying to make it hurt less, you know. Yet even I, forever prophesizing of The Universe and Its purpose, realize that there are only so many "Everything happens for a reason"s that someone can endure. But I am finding that it's all I have most times these days.
He knew this was coming, the whole medically discharged thing. But it doesn't take the sting away. It doesn't make him feel any better about having to wonder what it's going to be like to never wear the uniform again. And the whole disappearing medical record thing doesn't help at all; it only aggravates it.
*sigh*
My mother had some kind of brain fart and told the teacher that I would volunteer as bus aide today. I didn't have any intention of doing that. I told her that she could ride the bus this afternoon. Hell, there's only four girls on the bus because the class is split in half today and tomorrow. I suppose I will heave my big ass up the steps of the short bus *laughing with apos about the whole short bus thing* and tend to the little ones.
It's funny how, in one way, it feels as though the summer was almost never ending and yet in another it feels as if it should have just started. I'm actually kind of glad that Grace is back to school because I did so much down there that I felt empty all summer. I'm ready to get back into the swing of things. It feels good to have an agenda, things going on that require planning.
Tomorrow she takes her first ballet class, and Wednesday morning she will be taking her first art class. Good things for that overly loved, NOT spoiled, little girl. And I actually had a pretty relaxed morning with Mak too. It's much easier to take care of one child than two. I love my girls to death; they're my oxygen. But I'm so glad I made the decision to get spayed.