With One Voice

I know it is no longer Sunday, but I didn't have time to post yesterday. These past two Sundays have been pretty emotional. As Foster and I were sitting in church last Sunday, his Blackberry vibrated indicating he had a new message. Since the Blackberry is his work phone, he always glances at the message to make sure they are not getting called out on a misson. The title of the message was "Death Notification". I heard him suck in his breath and his face went white. He handed me the phone and I read the message. Major Mills, Army National Guard had passed due to injuries sustained during a Special Forces Airborne jump. Apparently the jump had gone bad for a few of the soldiers when an updraft caught their parachutes as they were landing, dragging them about 500 yards. It was all over the news. Up until this point, the soldiers had been injured, but none had died. Foster was devastated. He worked with MAJ Mills, and considered him a great man and an upstanding soldier.

As I grabbed his hand and rubbed his back as he was fighting back tears, the lecture started the second reading of the day: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 8Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day" (2Timothy 4:7-8) I started to cry. It was heartbreaking. I had never met the man, but the passage was so perfect, and my mind started thinking of the people that were left behind to mourn his loss, and I cried.

This Saturday Foster and I attended his funeral along with hundreds of other soldiers. It was an amazing sight. The Masons performed the traditional funeral, and then family members and coworkers spoke. They held this man in high regard, and he was truly dedicated to the Army and to this nation. Form the stories that were told, he was so dedicated to the Special Forces, that when he hit Major rank and could not be promoted any higher (I guess they stop at MAJ) he resigned his commission, became a SGT, and went on to get his Warrant Officer. When he passed, he was a CW3. This is true dedication. He gave up a high paying job to stay in his field. He went from giving orders to taking them and then becoming an expert in his field. I was inspired. They did a final salute, and hundreds of soldiers lined up, in uniform and civilian clothes, and four at a time, rendered one last salute to send him off. As I mentioned before, I had never met the man, but by the end of the service, I felt honored to take part in his final salute. I could have sat idly by and not participated, for I was in civilians since my husband had worn his dress blues, but I wanted to. I must admit, it was the first time I have ever saluted in heels.

As the guests filed in the back of the auditorium after the final salute, waiters started passing shots of Irish Whiskey. According to his mother, one of his requests was to use some of the SGLI ($400,000 insurance) to throw a three day Irish wake complete with a final toast with good old Irish Whiskey. Everyone raised their glasses as his brother recited an Irish Blessing, and we all took our drink. I looked around, and faces puckered and noses crinkled as the warming liquid ran down their throats. Armatures! This is the way I would like to be sent out. Celebrate my life, and drink to your hearts content!

The rest of Saturday was spent with JJ and Mr JJ, Bug and Ky, and Foster. We got decked out and watched the football game. We played cards, laughed, had a blast!

This Sunday, Foster and I reversed roles. It was his turn to console me. At the beginning of every mass, I check the songs that will be sung throughout. There is a board on the alter that lists the page numbers of all of the songs. I started ruffling through the pages, and Foster looked at me inquisitively, "I am making sure they won't be singing any songs from Rosies funeral, and if they are, I have warning, so I won't be taken by surprise and cry," I explained. He nodded understandingly, and mass commenced.

The second communion song started to get to me a little bit (there are two each mass). It was "I know you a near" some of the words are "Yahweh, I know you are near, standing always at my side. You guard me from the foe, and you lead me in ways everlasting." It is a touching song, and always stirs some deep emotion. However, I held it together, took communion and knelt down to pray. When the song was finished, communion was not finished, and I noticed the guitar was playing cords that were familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. The notes were not very clear, but I leaned into Foster, "It sounds like the beginning of some old country song," I was a little confused, because there was no third communion song listed. I figured the guitarist was just going to play acoustic through the rest of communion, so I wasn't expecting it when one of the singers started singing "Amazing Grace". Immediately tears started streaming. I looked at Foster with a "SERIOUSLY?!?!" look. I purposefully check the songs BEFORE mass so I wasn't taken off guard, so it was sooooo unfair that they did not list this as a song. For those of you who are new and don't know, Amazing Grace was the opening song to Rosie's funeral. It gets me every time. Foster even started to tear up. It's weird, because this Sunday was the first Sunday that the mass did not strike a cord with me. None of the readings or the sermon pertained to anything currently going on in my life, and I wasn't looking for Rosie in this Sunday's mass. Boy did she show me! She made herself known and made sure I didn't forget she was looking over us. I was a blubbering mess by the time I walked out of there though, so that was a little embarrassing.

I hope all of your weekends were filled with love and peace, and Annette, I know this was a hard past few days for you, but know that you and Valentina were in my thoughts and prayers.

Sailing the River

I had my MRI on Friday. First off, I became a pin cushion for the tech. I had gone for a run in the morning with Mrs. Prince, we are trying to work off the baby weight. I tried to drink as much water as I could to replenish the fluid I lost in the 4 miles I jogged/walked but I guess it was not enough. It took the tech three attempts to finally get a viable IV started on me to administer the contrast. She said if she didn't get it the third time, she was going to send me home and make me come back in in a few days. I am glad she got it, because I would have been very frustrated if I had to go in a third time to get the MRI. So as I was laying there through the exam, I started to wonder how the heck I was able to sleep through my last MRI.
When I was in 68W training (the medic school for the Army), I had some major shoulder pain that ended up being a damaged nerve resulting in a condition they call "Rucksack Palsy", or Parsonage Turner Syndrome. Anyway, before they were able to tell what was wrong, the Army doc ordered an MRI of my shoulder. As I lay in the big noisy machine on Friday, I wondered how the heck I slept through the entire 45 min exam the first time. Yes, they gave me ear plugs my first time, but even with the ear protection on this time, the machine sounded like a jackhammer drilling away. I realized I must have been exhausted during training.
Now that I reflect back, one thing the Army taught me, in addition to shooting and running, clearing a building, and saving a fellow soldier, is to sleep anywhere, anytime. I even learned how to sleep standing up. I remember falling asleep on the rifle range while the other half of the soldiers were firing their M16s, I guess the rat-a-tat-tat of the weapons was an interesting type of white noise. Of course when I was up at 4 am every morning and lucky to get to bed by 10pm, I worked out and trained all day and even occasionally in the middle of the night when a Drill Sargent felt like being extra mean, I learned really quickly to catch a wink of sleep whenever the opportunity arose. I must have really needed a good nap when I was in the MRI machine back then, because there was no way I could have slept through it yesterday.
The coolest part of the MRI yesterday was that they had a pair of head phones I could wear and listen to music through the process. I asked her to play a little country music. I love country. People make fun of it, but I feel country is a main stream kind of gospel music. Most of the music is focused on family, God, love, and even loss. Even if you don't like country, I guarantee you there is a country song that you can relate to. One of my favorite artists came on toward the end of the exam, Garth Brooks. I have always loved his music, even before I became a country fan. All of the sudden, a song of his that I have loved for years took on a whole new meaning. "The River". There is a verse that goes:

There's bound to be rough waters
And I know I'll take some falls
But with the good Lord as my captain
I can make it through them all...yes

I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry

garth brooks -- the river @ Yahoo! Video

I started to tear up. It was so true. I have take probably the biggest fall I will ever have to face in life this past April. I have given my burdens and grief up to God and asked for his strength and trusted him to be my captain through the rest of this journey. I will continue to sail wherever this river and this wind blows me. And I will not give up until he calls me up with him.

Serenity

God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.

Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.

I am sure this is a prayer that all of you have heard at one time or another. However, to some people this prayer has a lot of meaning. Alcoholics Anonymous members use this prayer with their twelve step program. When I was about 13 years old, my father recited this prayer to me. At the time, it didn't mean much to me, but over the next 15 years it would pop up at the most challenging times in my life.

Basic training was pretty easy for me. The physical aspect was a little challenging, but as the days went on, it became second nature to run three to five miles in the morning, get very little sleep at night, and see through the psychological games the drill sergeants tried to play with us. I was 26 when I joined, so I was mentally stronger than the younger members, and was completely prepared for anything the Drill Sergeants could throw my way, or so I thought.

One evening, as we were all getting ready for bed, one of the Drill Sergeants decided to do an inspection of our lockers. He opened one girl's locker and found a dirty band-aid on one of her shelves. Instead of punishing just this one soldier, he decided to make all of us pay for her mistake. The Drill Sergeant ordered us to all pack up our lockers, haul our gear down three flights of stairs, and be on the drill floor in formation in five minutes. If we were unable to do this, there would be consequences. He knew very well that it would be virtually impossible to pack up all our equipment and uniforms and be on the drill floor in five minutes. Sure enough, five minutes pass, and most of us are still packing up our lockers. I happened to be halfway out the door when he stopped us, and made us all get down and start doing push ups with all of the gear on our back. When he was done punishing us, we formed up downstairs, and he then started his stopwatch again after telling us we had seven minutes to unpack all of our gear and put it perfectly back into our lockers. If we were unable to do this, we would have to repeat the process all over again.

No one was able to put their lockers back in order, so of course we had to pack everything back up, and head back downstairs. This continued for at least five cycles. The Drill Sergeant even threatened to make us sleep outside if we were unable to follow these simple instructions in the amount of time given. This is the first time I ever got frustrated at Basic training. I was so upset, I started to cry on the fourth trip back up the stairs. It was going on eleven PM, and we got up every morning at four AM. I wanted to go to sleep, I wanted to be left alone, and at this point, I wanted to perform violent actions on the girl who left the used band-aid in her locker. Now that I look back, I understand that it was not that girl's fault. If the band-aid had not been there, the Drill Sergeant would have found some other excuse to use this form of punishment on us that night.

As I was packing up my locker in fast forward speed, crying and trying not to beat someone up, a book fell out of my duffel bag. It was the prayer book my mom had given me before I left for basic. It fell open, and the prayer that was looking up at me from the page was the Serenity Prayer. I immediately stopped crying, calmed down, and just went along for the ride. I realized at that moment, that no matter what I did, I had no control over the situation, could not change it, and must accept it. Eventually, when the Drill Sergeant tired of his entertainment for the evening, he let us all go back upstairs and go to bed.

A few months later, I was again training for the military. I was in San Antonio studying to be a medic. My bunk mate, Flea, and I made a pact at the beginning of the school cycle that we were going to help each other out. I wanted to graduate valedictorian of our class of four hundred, and she wanted to graduate with the highest physical training score. If I accomplished my goal, I would earn a medal, if she accomplished her goal, she would earn a patch and recognition of being the strongest in the company. We both were well on our way to attaining our goals until one fateful night.

Flea and I had just finished our last test in EMT training. I had gotten the highest score on the test, and she had just gotten her best score on the physical training test. We decided we wanted to go out and celebrate by shopping and eating wings and watching Ohio State football. We left the bar in plenty of time to make curfew, but our driver took a wrong turn. When we pulled up to our barracks, we had three minutes to make it to our bunks. As we bolted across the drill floor, heading to the door to our barracks, a female sergeant who hated both of us made us stop and start doing push-ups. Although our phones said we had three minutes, she decided that we were late, and needed to be made an example of. Up until this point, neither one of us had gotten in trouble. We were both known as the goody-two-shoes in the company, and this sergeant was ecstatic to ruin this reputation.

After an hour of getting "smoked", she promised us there would be more punishment to come. The problem with this, is that I would not be able to receive my medal if I had any negative activity on my record. I dreaded what would happen all week. She decided that our punishment would be that the following Saturday we would have to stay in the barracks as opposed to going off base like all the other soldiers. We would have to surrender our civilian clothes, wear our uniforms, and sign in the office every hour on the hour. We also had to sign negative counseling statements that would go into our record, and ultimately prevent me from graduating "Distinguished Honor Grad", and prevent Flea from getting the recognition she deserved, "High Female PT".

While we were carrying out our punishment, we popped in a movie titled "Mr. Brooks". The opening scene starts with this man reciting the Serenity Prayer. I was once again reminded that I had no control over the situation, and I needed to accept that. However, I did have control over how well I would do the rest of the school cycle. It was at that moment that I decided I would not allow this sergeant to get me down or destroy my goal, even if I would not get the recognition. The rest of the term, I studied hard, dealt with more harassment from this woman, and kept my spirits up. The day they announced who would be leading our class in graduation, to my surprise, they announced my name! I was confused. The negative counseling I had received should have prevented me from obtaining this title. I inquired with my platoon sergeant, and he explained that the statements for all of the people involved with that punishment had mysteriously gone missing.

The day of graduation, the female sergeant came up to me and asked, "Who did you bribe to get this honor?"

"You, sergeant. Didn't you get the check in your mailbox?" I responded with a slight smile on my face.

"Well done Finneran! You deserve it," she said as she patted my back and walked off with a grin on her face. I found out that she had done all of this to see if I would give up. She wanted to see if I would still try my hardest knowing I would not get the reward in the end. Because I heard the Serenity Prayer, I did NOT give up, and continued to try my hardest even though I thought I would not get the medal.

This weekend my family endured another tragedy. JJ's mom, Mama JJ, passed away. She has been battling with pancreatic cancer for months, and decided to give up the fight and go home to our Father. She is one of the most amazing and giving women I know. She was vibrant, always laughing and smiling, and close to Jesus. She had grace and beauty up until the very end. Mama JJ took care of everyone, and put everyone before herself. She was so too young. I have to admit that I was slowly becoming angry for the first time since losing Rosalynn. They say that a miracle happens following the death of a child, and I was praying that since my child did not have the chance to live, that God would grant Mama JJ an additional 25 years with her family and friends here on Earth. I know it is up to God to make these decisions, and miracles do not always come in the form we ask for, but I could not help but hope this prayer would be answered.

As I was walking into the church for Mama JJ's memorial service, I was asking the question "Why?" I was actually getting a bit angry. The night before I had watched Papa JJ sob and become weak with sorrow. I had watched my best friend cry and mourn the death of her mother. This did not have to happen! If God had just granted us a miracle, we would not have to say goodbye to this loving, amazing woman. I signed the guest book at the entrance of the church, and picked up the prayer card. The blessed mother Mary was on the front, and on the back was, as you guessed, the Serenity Prayer. I started to cry. As I read it, I realized there was no reason to be mad at God. I realized that no matter how much I prayed or hoped, I have no control over this situation, that it is all in God's hands. That I have to take this world as it is, and not as I would have it. I have to trust that He will make all things right, and He will bring peace to our hearts in this difficult time.

I do have control over how I proceed from here. I will be the best friend I can be for JJ. I can keep my promise to Mama JJ to help look after JJ and help her through this grief. I will be an ear to listen, a shoulder to lean on, and even a punching bag to hit if she needs it. I love JJ and her family as my own, and will do anything they need. I just pray that this is the end, that there is no more tragedy from here on out. Instead, we need some hope and a little light in this family. However, if this is not the end, I know I can't change anything, but will continue to remain strong in my faith and close to my family.

I love you Mama JJ. You will be dearly missed.

God Bless.

Baptism and the Gift of the Holy Spirit

I did not think I would have the strength to write today, since it is our original Estimated Due Date. Whenever someone asked when I was due, "May 28th," was the response. However, I found some inspiration. On this day she was supposed to be born, I will tell you the story of when she was born to Christ and blessed with the Holy Spirit.

Following the C-section, I was rolled out of the OR with my doctor at my side. She was still crying and told me that as soon as I was more alert and Rosie was cleaned up, she would bring my daughter in to see me. I told her I did not want a single drop of pain medicine until after seeing her. My family had been trying to get a hold of our priest at St. Pius, or the priest that married us, an old family friend, to Baptize Rosie when she came into the world. However, we could not get through to anyone at St. Pius, and our family friend was in the Hospital down the road with Bronchitis. So the hospital found us an amazing Catholic chaplain to help with the ceremony of Baptizing our silent daughter.

I cannot remember a lot about the following 12 hours, but the parts I do are comforting to me, and I will hold close to my heart forever. One of the hospital's chaplains had Rosie dressed in a beautiful dress, booties, and and adorable bonnet. AS soon as she handed Rosie to me, I marveled at how perfect she was. She was absolutely beautiful, and looked as if she was just sleeping. I took off her bonnet to see her blondish hair, I took off her booties to touch, count and admire her tiny toes. I held her fingers and was mesmerized by the fact they were big for her body, just like mine. Her lips were the perfect shade of rose red, and I gazed at her peacfully shut eyes, expecting them to open at any moment and stare lovingly into mine. The world around me disappeared. Although there were easily 20 family members and friends in that hospital room, the only two I could see were Foster and Rosie.

The Catholic priest had brought a beautiful shell to baptize her with. Foster had asked if he could do the honors of pouring the water over her head and blessing her. The priest opened up the private ceremony with a beautiful prayer, and Foster proceded to trickle water over her tiny head while through tears saying "I Baptize you, Rosalynn Patricia Foster, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." It was such a beautiful and intimate moment to share with so many people who love and care for us.

This past Sunday was the Pentecost. For those of you who are not familiar, it is the day that God sent down the Holy Spirit to all the disciples, and they were able to spread the word of God in any language, to all the nations. Our Deacon's sermon last Sunday really hit close to Foster's and my heart. He talked about the presence of the Holy Spirit in our lives. I requested a copy of the sermon so I can quote one part that really stuck out to me:

"Now, Jesus' gift of peace does not promise ease or comfort. In fact, many of the disciples had very difficult roads ahead of them in the following years. And, like them, for many people, it does seem that adversity comes in waves. Sometimes it's not one thing, but one thing after another. Or sometimes life can throw up challenges and heartaches that no one else can recognize but the persons experiencing them. And it can feel that we are left alone to cope, while the world goes about its business, oblivious.

But when the Risen Jesus showed his friends his wounds, he not only assured them of his presence, he revealed to them what his presence would mean for them, and for us. It means that he does not leave us to bear hardship alone, but stays to bear it with us through the Holy Spirit. Not just as someone who can intellectualize or imagine what we are going through, but as someone who can understand it, because he suffered too. He came, not to put and end to suffering, at least not right away, but to embrace suffering so that he could help us bear it."

We listened to this sermon, and felt as if it was written just for us. It seems as if the Lord's Day has also become a day that He regularly let's Foster and I know He is with us through all of this.

As I sat in that hospital bed with my husband at my side, my daughter in my arms, and completely surrounded by people who loved us, it felt as if Jesus was standing amongst the crowd, crying with us. Surely the presence of the Lord was in that room!

Rosie walks with Jesus

So yesterday was a pretty difficult day for Foster and I. It was the day of our scheduled C-section. If everything had gone as planned, then we would have had a healthy, happy baby girl. A baby girl who had his nose, my lips, a combination of his hair texture with my hair color (blondish and curly). She was also very unfortunate to have our shoulders. The chaplain at the hospital had a beautiful pink dress to put our beautiful girl in for her Baptism, however, she had to rip the lining out because Rosie's shoulders were too broad to fit in it. We know she probably would have been an incredible swimmer! The one thing I wish we could have seen was whether or not she had our dimples, guess I will have to wait to see her in heaven before I can see her smile. And oh what a happy reunion that will be! Until then, I will just have to imagine what she looks like, and Jesus will have the pleasure of walking with Rosie and seeing her beautiful smile.

I don't know if it was a way to fill our time yesterday, but Foster and I did some major therapeutic shopping. We went all over looking for paintings and lighting for our living room and dining room. We had a lot of fun, and my usually frugal husband's hand was WIDE open. We found these amazing pictures:

Sorry these pictures do not do the paintings justice, but that is the best I could do. We also got some pretty lighting for the formal living room, including a great desk lamp for Foster's desk:

Although the shopping was great, we had some quality time to talk about Rosie and our feelings about the day. Foster and I have been talking about how Satan has truly been trying to test us by trying to destroy the two things he hates the most, family and our faith in God. But what we never thought of was that God had chosen US to carry Rosie and be her parents. God blessed us with the privilege of carrying this beautiful child knowing all too well that she would not take a single breath in this world. However, He chose the perfect parents to carry her! Foster and I are strong individually, but unbreakable together. We love each other so much, and regardless of what life throws at us, we will make it through together. We loved her even in the short amount of time we got with her, and we will continue to love her, carry on her memory and do as much as we can in her name. Hopefully, God willing, we will be able to give her a brother or a sister to look after in the future.

I played Foster this beautiful song in the car by the band Selah, the lyrics are :

I will carry you
While your heart beats here
Long beyond the empty cradle
Through the coming years
I will carry you
All your life
And I will praise the One Who’s chosen Me
To carry you.

It is a beautiful song, and so true! I WILL praise Him who chose ME, and I WILL carry on Rosie's memory the rest of my life! And I will wake up every morning thanking God for the blessings I have: an adoring husband, a supportive family, and my own little angel in Heaven watching out for me!