Hey everyone!

For those who are interested, my trip down south was EXCELLENT!!!!!

There was all sorts of mischief to be had, and thankfully, most of it did Not make it onto film.....  but it was a good time.

I spent 10 days skydiving at Eloy, Arizona.  Technically, it was only 8 days as we were rained out the first Sunday and Monday due to a major storm that blew in from nowhere on Saturday.  But we went paint balling instead.  Doc nailed me from about 5 feet away and my right arm was black from elbow to shoulder, with a matching welt on my hip.  It was really funny, and he felt bad, so I got free drinks for about 2 days...hehehe!  (yah, I milked it)  He and another guy had me pinned down behind one of the course blinds, and we were in the shoot out that never ends.  K made a suicide dash to my right, drawing my fire, which allowed Doc to out flank me on the left.  I was the only one left from my team, and there were 3 of them.  I guess I had the best hiding place.  C'est La Vie.

I made 2 hot air balloon jumps (one from 6000 ft, and one from 5500 ft), a high altitude jump from 21400 ft, 2 jumps from a sky van-back flip out from 15000 ft, a jump from a WW2 DC3 (very cool), and about 30 other jumps that ranged from solo adventures to 3 way + jumps.  It was GREAT!  

There was only one minor catastrophe, in that I got caught in a wind storm (Saturday) under canopy and landed a little over a mile from the DZ, got yanked off my feet, and dragged on my back through a farmers field for about 300 yards.  (I felt really bad for wrecking his crops) By the time I finally got back onto my knees and was trying to get the canopy under control, the guys had found me and came to the rescue.  Thank goodness for that, I was so sore and played out, all I wanted was a hot bath and my bed!  (I didn't even pack my chute, one of the guys did it for me)  We were already deploying on the jump run when all the planes got grounded due to the storm.  Needless to say, it was a little freaky.  In spite of that, I had a really great time once the weather cleared up (there was a cheer in the bar when the weather person announced clear skies and light winds for Tuesday).  

I can't wait for spring and our home DZ to open up again.  In the mean time my pals and I are trying to keep ourselves entertained here on the ground.  

Work has been incredibly busy, and is finally slowing down.  Life goes on and time just speeds past.  But I haven't forgotten about all of you and just wanted to drop a note to let you know how it's going.

Take care 

Moosetracks out.

It is amazing how fast time goes.  Have we ever considered how fast six months really is?  I know I do, I can't seem to quit obsessing about time.  This is something very new for me, as I have been described as having no concept of time what so ever.  A quick trip for me could be anything from 10 minutes to 5 hours, literally.  It's all the same to me, or at least it used to be.

Today is December 20, 2007.  Six months ago this morning, Chris was getting ready for his last day on duty.  His flight to New Zealand was  scheduled to leave that evening.  He was dressed in his uniform as always with a sharp eye for detail as any other day, and reporting for light duty.  He had just gotten back to the base after walking patrols for several weeks in a very hot zone, and was looking forward to his 18 days of leave.

Six months ago this morning, Chris got into the light transport vehicle with two of his men and was making a routine supply run to another area inside the secured zone.  It was the last thing he ever did.

The last time I spoke to him, he said "I'll see you in six months"  I said "that's a long time"  He asked "It's not too long, is it?"  I answered "it is if you are planning on missing someone, but I'm sure I'll live"  He laughed, a sound I would give anything to hear again.  I was ready and more than willing to wait six months for him.  I was counting the days, watching for the e-mails, listening to the news, and thankful for every night that brought me closer to that special six months.  Four an a half months later, nine weeks short of coming home, he died.  And so did a part of me.

In the last six months, the money I was saving to buy him a new scope for his rifle as a birthday present  went to flying me across the country to attend his funeral.  Not the way I had imagined meeting his family.  

In the last six months, I have had to learn how to live again, and to remember that there is light in the darkness.  Mostly done by being reminded by a really close friend (and Padre) that it is what Chris would want.  For Chris I learned to live. 

In the last six months, I have experienced a fundamental shift in my entire being.  My priorities have been altered beyond recognition even to myself.  I have been driven to accomplish things now, the selfish desires that I have always tempered so that I would be there for others, because sometimes there is no later.  I have stopped marking time in what holidays or occasions are coming up.  I mark it now by the 20th of the month.  Each time one passes it takes me further away from him, and closer at the same time.

In the last six months, I have been forced to test my beliefs and values, to maintain my ability to empathize.  For so long I had nothing left to give.  Nothing for anyone.  My sister had a miscarriage, and I felt nothing.  I wanted to hurt for her and to comfort her, I knew I should, but there was just nothing there.  I just didn't care about anything.  In many ways I still don't, but I am starting to feel again, I am starting to see things and people outside of my own self.  To maintain a sense of honor and compassion, and not to succumb to bitterness and develop a negative attitude toward people of the nation in which he died.  To avoid self pity, and there in control the anger and pain of his loss.  To remember that all people deserve understanding, regardless of their background.  To remember to work toward the goals of society, freedom, safety, peace, tolerance, and community.

And in the last six months, I have learned more than I ever thought possible.  Some things were good, some not, but all important.  Things I could not have learned so quickly in another situation.  Do these enlightenment's balance out the means by which they were received?  No, not even a little bit.  But I have learned them, and they will be with me forever.

Why is this posted?  I needed to confess.  There are very dark and unforgiving places in me, places that I need to remind myself are there, and to work to rectify.  I need to remember.  To reflect and to understand how far I have come in the small amount of time that has passed.  I need to honor a man that made me a better person.  To respect his memory and to share his message with the world, if not nearly as well as he could have.  Live by your beliefs and values, respect your self and others, live each day to the fullest and do what you want to accomplish so that if it is your last you will be proud of who you are and what you have done, and always have compassion and wisdom guide you.

I, and all who loved you Chris, miss you.  Where ever you are, be safe, be blessed, and know that you made a difference.

What will the next six months bring?  I have no idea, but I hope I will be a better person than I am today.

Moosetracks out.

November 11.  The 11 minute, of the 11 hour, of the 11 day, of the 11 month.  

For those who do not know, this is Remembrance Day.  At this time, on this day, the fallen are remembered.  A moment of silence across Canada for those who fought, for those who died, for those who were, and are, loved.  Strangers and friends alike remember.

For my family Remembrance Day has been very closely honored.  My family has several military ties, and from these we were taught respect and honor for this day, and all it represents.  I have chosen to share a few.

My Great Uncle Erving was physically dragged from their home in a small town of Southern Germany during WW2.  He was 19 years old, and that night he became a soldier in the Nazi Army regardless of his own choices.  Erving was never heard from again.  The family has no idea what became of this youngest member of the family.  We believe he is in a mass grave somewhere in Russia.  But it is all speculation, as not even his dog tags were found.  Every night for the rest of her life, my Great Grandmother would sit by the window, with a lamp burning.  She would stare up the street all night and pray that her youngest son would come home.  He never did.

I first hear this story as a child.  There was a picture on my grandparents mantle.  I was looking at it, and asked my mother when my father was in the army.  She told me that it was not my father, but my grandfather’s little brother.  She told me his story.  The resemblance to my father is uncanny.  They could have been twins, not uncle and nephew.

My Great Uncle George was a prison guard in WW2.  He was a member of the Canadian Armed Forces and was stationed in the Caribbean.  There were many prisoners from several countries there.  Many of his friends were shipped over seas, and never returned.  He rarely spoke about the war, and when he did, it was always with great sadness.  He was a Vet, and was proud of his country and ability to serve.  You could tell he never forgot, even though he rarely spoke of this horrid time in the world.

He died a bachelor when I was around 16yrs.  He lived and farmed alone.  We would visit often, and sometimes he would show us some of the things he brought back from the war.  Medals, grenades (duds mind you) and other historical things from that time.  He was proud, but also very sad.

A neighbour of my parents, Jake, is still living.  He was also a Canadian soldier, and he served in WW2.  He also rarely speaks of that time.  He was an infantry man.  I know very little of his time over there, but he always is very proud when he sees soldiers in full uniform.  I have known him to get choked up on occasion during Remembrance Day ceremonies.  It is his past and a huge part of his life.  How does one survive something like war, and not be emotionally moved?  Neither he nor I have that answer.

My best friends Great Uncle was a first hand witness to D Day.  He ran a shore, literally with his friends dying on all sides of him.  He never spoke of his time over seas to my knowledge.  I can hardly blame him.

My cousin James is a soldier.  He has a wife and a baby girl.  He serves because it is something he believes in.  He is willing to make the sacrifices that many others have, should the time come.  For his daughter and wife’s sake, I hope it never comes to that.  I know what it is like to say good bye to someone for the last time.  My greatest hope is that no one else has to experience that again.

And there was Chris.  He was many things to many people, but always a friend.  Always willing to help.  Compassion, integrity, generosity, loyalty, humility.  These words are often used to describe people.   He was these words and he lived their meanings.  It was not an effort to be a good person.  He just did what he thought was right and committed himself to it with everything he was.  Hard as it is to believe, it will be 5 months on the 20th since he died.  I have never wanted to stop time so badly.  It just keeps passing, and it goes so fast.  Were I to be granted one wish, it would be to go back and save him.  To take his place if necessary.  He wouldn’t want that from anyone, but he would make the sacrifice for someone else.  Stranger or friend.  With all the respect and honor I knew, he has forever changed this day for me.  He has forever changed me, and I have learned many things from having him in my life.  For that I will always be grateful.

A Canadian Doctor wrote this poem in WW1.  It is rumored that he began writing it the night his friend was killed by a mortar shell.  Simple, elegant, and true.

In Flanders Fields

by John McCrae, May 1915

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep,

though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

For all soldiers, for their families, and for the ones they protect, I write this.  I thank you, I honor you, and I remember.  

Lest We Forget.