Remembering when Others Forget

What is Memorial Day?  I can tell you one thing:  Not a day goes by that I don’t remember my Granddad.  With remembering him, I remember our cribbage games, his stories, his characteristics, his expressions, and of course his service and sacrifice.  I remember the things he taught me about people, life, giving, doing.  I wouldn’t be who I am without him.  My life reflects him.

So why is there one day out of the year to remember people like him?  I’m not really sure.  Maybe because it’s too time-consuming to go to the cemetery more frequently to sing, pray, read, and show appreciation to the great men and women who have gone before us.  Maybe it’s because it’s not feasible to gather extended family more often by the lake to spend time chatting, sharing stories, fishing, eating, and spending quality time together.  Maybe it’s because it’s not easy to put flags up by graves.  Or maybe it’s because without one nationally-recognized day, most people wouldn’t remember at all.

How could you forget?  How could you ignore the sacrifices and the lives of the people who built this nation?  The people who fought to give us freedom?!  The people who gave everything that was asked of them, and often more—often their lives, so that we can live the lives we have.  How could you forget?

Memorial Day isn’t for me—It’s for you who would forget without it.  So please:  Learn about the people who we need to remember, and never forget them.  Our nation—our lives—are a reflection of the sacrifices made by other men and women.  Take Memorial Day to learn about them, and take the rest of the days of the year to remember them.  And don’t you dare forget.

Living with [almost] Constant Pain and Discomfort

I have a really hard time publishing this post.  I don’t want people assuming that I’m sick or weak, or someone you shouldn’t invite on hikes or other adventures.  I don’t write these posts for pity, but I write them for understanding.  So here’s what it’s really like:

First off, I’d like to make sure it’s understood that the pain I live with hasn’t been constant.  This miserable pain and discomfort has been coming and going for about four years.  Then last year the discomfort never left me.  The pain still comes and goes.  As I type, the pain is very present.  It’s a sharp pain in my throat and a sickening feeling in my chest.  I feel it with every breath, and when I walk, bend, lie down, talk, sing, laugh, or move at all.  It exhausts me.

I have found respite from the pain by taking a Proton Pump Inhibitor (a medication like Prevacid), but it hasn’t resolved the discomfort which is almost always present now.  I am awaiting a medical test to investigate the issue further, and so have been required to stop taking the PPI.  I suspect that is why the pain has returned and is so strong.

When it’s bad (like it is now), I find that I talk to myself:

[Lie down in bed.  Feel a wave of extreme discomfort and pain]

“I can do this.  I can do this.”

[Walk to my car and get in.  Start driving.  Feel pain from ‘exerting’ myself]

“I can’t do this.  It’s too much.  I can’t do this.”

When the pain comes, I have a pity party for myself, and then I get on with my life.  Sometimes I cry or complain to the people closest to me, but I don’t spend my days in bed.  I don’t skip work.  I don’t ditch parties or events.  Usually, I don’t even tell people.  How awkward would that be, anyway? 

“Hi, Jenna!  How are you?” 

“Oh, I’m OK, except I’m experiencing excruciating pain right now.”  How in the world would someone respond to that?!  And really, there’s more going on in my life than the pain and discomfort.  I’ll choose to focus on the positives, thank you very much!  When someone asks me how I’m doing, I can honestly say that life is great!  Because it really is—all except for the physical pain.

I’m not the kind of person who will be a spectator when everyone else is having fun.  If there’s a water fight, I’ll be the one with the hose!  OK, OK, I’ll be the one who starts it…  But this discomfort is getting pretty bad.  There are more and more days when I should make the prudent decision to not participate in things that are physically exerting because I pay for it later, sometimes only moments after the fun ends, or even before the fun ends.  That’s what scares me the most:  This pain might be the end of all fun that involves physical energy.

I remember having this pain and discomfort one spring, right before I drove from Utah to Minnesota.  It was horrible.  But then it lessened.  I camped for a night in the Rocky Mountains.  I felt better than I had in a week and I ran everywhere just to feel my lungs work.  It was wonderful!  Having a body that works feels so good!

When you experience recurring pain, you would do anything to make it go away.  And you fear that it never will.  What if the day comes that this discomfort comes and never leaves?  Well, you only live once, and if this is going to be a regular part of my life, I’m going to find a way to live happily with it.  Nothing could happen to me that will keep me from living my life.  Nothing.