Paul got married on January 20, 2010. His wife, Lisa, is an exceptional woman, and nearly as tall as is he! He goes to Afghanistan on the 26th of next month, back a year later. I hate it, but can’t even begin to imagine how Lisa feels. 2/23/10
There he is, all six feet five inches of him. That is an incredibly comfortable hammock, by the way. On his lap reposing is Russ, the cat. He has very long, shaggy hair, but it was all shaved off for the summer, so he kind of looks like a mythological creature. Actually, it’s pretty dark. You probably can’t see anything. Only we initiated can make out the nuances. Ah, well. Anyway, it’s the summer of 2004 and Paul is working 80 hours a week for the John Kerry campaign. He was just discharged from the Navy and passionately against the war. He thought (so many of us wanted to believe) that Kerry was the answer. Poor baby. I wish I could go back and just give him a whisper “it’s okay, baby. Go fishing. You’ll feel much better in the long run.” But we all have to go through it on our own, don’t we?
He’s back in the service again – the signing bonus was too good to refuse, I guess. I’m just hoping like crazy that whoever the hell gets elected on November 4th doesn’t send him back to war. Paul is an artist and has a poet’s heart. He fences and plays paint ball. He loves and feels things profoundly. I don’t want to see anyone in a war, but my baby? A child I fed from conception? I nursed him at my breast and kissed his little red head and hugged him (he didn’t usually want to be hugged, but he endured it). I’ll never understand mothers who give their sons up to the military without a fight. (10/13/08)