The Days of My Week in Afghanistan

Here is a little insight and a little slice of life from the great beyond:

It's good to have a schedule. Schedules make time go by faster. If everyday brings another thing to look forward to then everyday is another step towards the day I eventually make my way home.

In order to shine a little light on my life over here, I figured I would share a little bit of my schedule, so you can see what my week is like. There isn't much that varies one week from another; they all just kinda blend in. So I find variety in the days. Something to look forward to in a world with no weekends. Oh, and on a typical day, I work 12 hours, morning to night. Sometimes more, depending on the work at hand. But rarely, if ever, less.

This has been my schedule since November, when I landed at my new base.

Monday

Monday is laundry day. For three hours on Monday morning I go back and forth to the morale office/laundromat and wash my clothes. Sometimes I'll bring a book and read while I wait for a washer to open. While things are flipping and bouncing in one of the community washers I might go to the shop for hygienicals or other items. Then when my items finally get into the dryer, I head back to work for an hour or so. Then I pick up my stuff, drop it off in my room, and go back to work.

An interesting story from Laundry Day:

We have an option to drop off some laundry with a drop-off service. A few weeks ago, I dropped off a bag to a few of the locals who work at the drop-off place. While there, I heard a local radio station. I asked them if they spoke the local Dari dialect, as I learned some while in Kabul. They said "yes". A few weeks later, I said few words to the guy behind the desk. He smiled. Another person behind the desk said, "did you understand him?" to his co-worker. The dari-speaking worker said "Of course, he spoke Afghani and I am an Afghan." Then he smiled at me again.

Tuesday

Tuesday is gym day. I've been trying to go two days a week again. I tried three times a week for a bit, but then stopped for over a month. So I am back to twice a week. Not sure if that will make me stronger, leaner, meaner, or buff, but it gives me something to do. And I want to run the Tampa Gasparilla 5 or 10K sometime when I get back.

Wednesday

Wednesday is my half-day. Back at my old base, 1/2 days were Friday, but here I had a choice and I picked Wednesday. Several reasons went into this pick. One, Friday was already taken and we needed someone in the office. Two, I can work out long on Tuesday and recover Wednesday. Three, it's the middle of the week and I only have one 1/2 day.

For those keeping track at home, a half-day means I only work six hours instead of 12.

Interesting fact about half-day Wednesday: Both Christmas and New Year's Day fell on Tuesdays this year. My boss gave us free days those days, meaning we could sleep in and do whatever we needed to do (talk to family or whatever). So for two weeks in a row, I almost had a normal weekend.

Thursday

Thursday is gym day 2. Not much to say about day 2. It's the day after day 1. There are no interesting facts about Thursday, either. Sorry.

Friday

Friday is Hawaiian shirt day. Hawaiian shirt day might be a played out cliche in the states, but in Afghanistan, only a handful of us do it. So it's like a tribe thing. I've even gotten a few compliments on my "tropical camouflage".

Saturday

As it is back in the states, Saturday is Florida State University shirt day - even when not football season. I gotta represent. On each base I have been to, I've run into a few FSU fans who compliment my Saturday attire. Being that I'm surrounded by people who like talking about my Army time and my time working in Tampa, to find a Seminole fan is a real treat.

Sunday

Sunday is Sneaker Sunday. Because I wear low hiking boots most of my days here, I like to let them air out on Sunday by wearing my running shoes all day. I'll throw baby powder in my boots Saturday night and not put them on again until Monday morning. It's a nice change of pace.

Sunday is normally also Skype Sunday, the day I try to leave the office a bit early and talk to my folks for a little while. Or if the roommate is asleep (how can people actually go to sleep before midnight?), I type while my family talks. The style of communication takes some getting used to, but it's better than nothing.

Well, that's my week out here. Being that it's Monday, today is laundry day. Gotta go, I have socks to check on!

Drunk times, horrible writing, and a good luck wrench

I was going through some old emails in my oldest email account and I found this from November 22, 1999. Hard to believe I wrote like this. Granted, I wasn't the smoothest guy on the block, but I guess in my defense, I was a 22-year old in my first semester in college. Thank goodness I grew up.

Yo geeknik,

Man your weekend blows the shit out of mine. All I did was get drunk on Friday night and ended up puking all over myself, not very cool but I did it in my own room so it was cool, woke up early Sat to get Metallica, Kid Rock, Sevendust, Creed tickets for Dec 28 in Miami. 56 fucking dollars. Ugh. Then I watched the Florida-Florida State game. A really big deal here. People live and die on college football here. Its nuts. A dude I have the coolest story to tell you, well maybe not as cool as your story about your weekend but oh well. I went to Subway to get something to eat right before watching football Sat and as I was pulling away this guy walks up to my car and asks me for some change. I give him some pennies and nickels and shit and he tells me that he is an alcoholic and that the money will go straight to beer. I told him as that was a noble cause that I don't mind supporting in the least bit. Then he went on about how he had a job yadda yadda. Then he told me that he got drunk and sold his bicycle the night before. He had this wrench and since he didn't need it anymore he gave it to me for the 42 cents I gave him. Since I got this wrench I've had nothing but good luck. I keep it in my pocket now. Its a small little wrench so its cool. But dude ain't that a cool little story. Maybe I'll have luck with the chicks now. Who knows? I hope so. Oh well dude thats my weekend. Not as cool as yours but cool nonetheless.

Later,
The Supreme Geeknik

I have some fond memories of that wrench and even fonder memories of the Metallica concert. Getting that drunk? I don't miss that at all.

Flight of a Super Airplane book review

Brian Spaeth’s Flight of a Super Airplane is the second book in what maybe a series of Super Airplane books. It is Spaeth’s fifth book and the second I have read, the other being the first Super Airplane book.

Flight of a Super Airplane is a humorous action book, a literary combination of the Airplane! movies and Michael Bay blockbusters.  But it is far more than that. Spaeth writes in manners and uses character devices that very few writers use, making FOSA not only action-packed and funny, but an interesting and unique read.

Spaeth winds and unwinds and tangles and untangles multiple intertwining storylines between a plethora of different characters, including himself. Yes, he is in the book. And a main character to boot. So the story definitely has some Walter Mitty to it, unless Spaeth is indeed capable of fighting Bruce Willis for 20 minutes.

One of the best things about the Spaeth books is his use or reference of many of the same characters in each. Having been a fan since his Who Shot Mamba? movie, I was pleased to see reference and mention to Calvin Stadiums, the star of that film. As well, Spaeth, who acted in Mamba, references himself playing his character in the movie. So author Spaeth wrote about the character Spaeth remembering his role in a movie the author Spaeth actually acted in where Calvin Stadiums played himself, although Stadiums is a fictional character played by a real-life actor.

Confused yet?

That’s all part of the fun.

That said, Spaeth’s writing might not be for everyone. He openly admits to lazy writing and even lists some of the purposeful grammatical errors he makes in the book. I think that is irony, but I am not sure.

To recap:

Airplanes

Flying cars

EXPLOSIONS!

Hot girl on girl action

Boobs!

Bruce Willis

And a neurotic author with hidden muscularity.

Thoughts on Guns and Government Part 2

Since gun control is still in the news, I am again going to drop some of my ideas and theories on the subject here. Feel free to respond.

In science, Newton’s Law says Energy is neither created nor destroyed. It is only transferred from potential to kinetic and back.

I believe the same theory holds with the psychological measurement of Power. Power is in every relationship we have. Bosses have power over employees, friends share power, married couples may share power depending on the culture, slave owners have power over slaves, parents have power over children, etc, etc. Every relationship is a balance of power in some way, shape, or form.

In a positive relationship, power is agreed upon. In a bad relationship, power is disputed.

This goes for individuals, tribes, governments, and even nation states.

In a global community, a nation can only be as powerful as other nations let it. Unless it is the top nation, then no nation can stop it.

Likewise, a government can only be as powerful as its citizens let it. If the people revolt, either they will overthrow the government, die as martyrs, or accept the power of the government. The American constitution was written to ensure the central government cannot have more power than the people. It was spawned from the rejection of a powerful kingdom. Checks and balances were placed in the American Constitution so no body of government could be more powerful than any other.

The US Constitution is a miraculous document. Nowhere in its pages allowed for unchecked power.

With that in mind, let’s look at Power. To many, violence equals power, weapons equal power, and guns equal power.

A chief may hold the sole rifle in a tribe. A nation with more nukes is considered more powerful. Some nations such as Iran aspire to have nukes to raise their power profile in their region.

This is why we have arms races and huge defense budgets.

Someone with a gun is considered more powerful than someone without, especially among the masses.

Consider this:

In 1999, Amoundo Diallo was shot 41 times by New York City cops.

In 2006, Sean Bell and friends were shot 50 times by cops.

In 2012, US Army SSG Robert Bales went into an Afghan village and shot 16 people, including nine children.

These are all examples of the powerful misusing their tools of power on the powerless.

In none of these cases was the ability to bear arms questioned or repealed in any way.

Going back to the national level, over the last 100 years American military, police, and government power has grown unchecked. In the 19^th century, military forces belonged to the state. After the Civil War, soldiers and sailors were organized into a true national military able to project force worldwide. America vastly changed its socio-military culture.

America now has the largest military in the world by far. There is no way any organized military can defeat it. There is also no way any group of citizens or revolutionaries can defeat it either. In its current state, America will probably only collapse under its own weight – budget collapses, etc. That is what happens to all empires.

However, we also have a volunteer military. If revolution were to happen in America, which way would they go? State pride is much lower than it was during the days of Robert E. Lee, so few would leave because of love of state or region, such as the South or Virginia. Would American soldiers turn their arms on American citizens? Or would they lay down their arms and join the proletariat as Russian soldiers did during the Russian Revolution when they failed to get paid or equipped? And what would happen to the nation’s weapon systems if the volunteer force quit?

With all this in mind, in the wake of massacres done by mentally unstable people in America, lawmakers (those with power) are discussing ways to disarm the populace further tipping the balance of power away from the citizens.

Maybe I have listened to too much Public Enemy but I worry about a nation that grants its government unchecked power. I worry about a nation that has far more firepower than its citizens. What if a better form of government was thought up, say as Marx did for Russia or Jefferson did for America? Could we ever uproot our form of government and enact another?

That would take a lot of power.

By the way, I once wrote an article claiming that people who were anti-gun should be for the Iraq war because our premise was that we disarming Saddam Hussein and removing the threat of weapons of mass destruction. We were exercising global weapons control. I also wrote that pro-gun people should be for Saddam having weapons equal to his neighbors, after all, an armed society is a polite society, or something like that.

Unfortunately, as it was counter the real-life opinions on the war, few understood it.

Santa Claus has arrived in Afghanistan

One of my favorite things during the Christmas season is tracking Santa on the NORAD site. For over 50 years, the North American Aerospace Defense Command has used their super secret binoculars to follow the path of jolly Saint Nick as he travels the world giving gifts to good boys and girls. In the last few years, NORAD has embraced social media, using interactive maps and videos to highlight Santa's trip.

This is the first time I have ever followed Santa's path while living in a different country. As expected, on the eve of Christmas, Kris Kringle and his reindeer flew over Afghanistan, giving gifts to good boys and girls and wishing all a very Merry Christmas.

Nine months in Afghanistan - the 75% update

Greetings all,

I know I just wrote at the 8 month mark – 66% of my adventure – but I am passing the 75% mark today and wanted to give a quick update.

Not much is new on my new base. The hours are longer, but I am working to build a management program for an officer I’ve known for years, so there is a bit of personal gratification there. Alas, with 14 hour days and the fact that I still don’t really know my way around this base after 6 weeks, I haven’t had much time at all do or work on comedy. So no more updates from the stage. Sorry.

But I do have two points I do want to give an update on.

One, it’s cold. Not arctic frigid, but cold enough for my Florida self already. We are dipping into the low 30s at night and the high 40s during the day. And when the heater in my room doesn’t work, that’s cold. I haven’t seen the sun in at least three days. Supposedly, it’s supposed to snow soon. I haven’t seen snow since 1999 in Bosnia. I thought global warming made snow extinct. Must be an Afghanistan thing.

One thing I have to remember out here is perspective. It always helps to have perspective. Although it might be cold when I walk from my building to work or from my building to dining facility, I eventually reach a heated interior. While walking, however, I often pass a group of Afghan laborers who work on the base digging ditches or doing other forms of manual labor. All day, all night, and even in the rain. The cold, wet, bone-chilling rain. I feel bad for them, but they taking advantage of an opportunity to work in the few places that are hiring in Afghanistan. At least for now.

The second big thing I want to update everyone about is my first novel. I am writing a book out here. Not about Afghanistan or anything like that, but about baseball, the blues, and the Devil. It’s been a great way to escape in my little free time and dive into my own universe and story. I am currently nearing page 90 of my rough draft. That might not seem like much in regards to a book, but I am working on it. I hope to have the rough draft done before I leave. Then the editing and re-write process begins. Maybe I will have it done by this time next year. Maybe I will be published, maybe I will self-publish. Whichever way I go, I will let everyone know.

Third and final note of this abbreviated update goes along with the “whichever way I go” theme. That is, I need to figure out which way I am going when I get back. Do I stick with the current field, which may or may not face severe budget cuts? Do I finally work on a book on the Kurdish military of Iraq, the subject I wrote my 90-plus page master’s thesis on? Do I go get that MBA I’ve often thought about getting? And if so, in what? Marketing? Finance? International business? It would help to have a plan. So for the next few months, I need to make one.

Or I could wing it. It’s worked so far.

A few brief moments with Edgar Ter-Oganessian

For whatever reason, this year has been one of my most difficult. Not only has it been one of my most challenging in regards to being in Afghanistan and all the physical, professional, and personal tolls that takes, but it has also been one of my most emotionally trying. As I have written on this blog, both of my grandmothers passed away. In August, I found out an old Army friend of mine I visited in 2000 and had an experience worth writing about passed away in 2007.

A few weeks ago, I found out a college friend, another person I had some writable times with, passed away in September.

I met Edgar Ter-Oganessian in a class during my junior year at Florida State. It might have been Intro to Political Theory, I’m not sure. But I do remember the class was in a stadium-like classroom, where the rows angled up the room and the students looked down towards the professor. Kinda like a stadium-seating movie theater.

Edgar and several other members of the Florida State football team, to include current NFL player Darnell Dockett, sat in the row right behind me in class. It was the first class I had the opportunity to talk to and interact with members of the highly regarded football team. I had football players, such as future NFL player Chris Hope, in other classes prior to, but never sat near them nor talked to them.

In typical high profile athlete fashion, Darnell Dockett vanished from attendance after the first week, never to be seen until the last day and the final exam. But Edgar and one of his boys were there almost every class. Within the social structure of the class, I became part of his group. I don’t know how I ended up sitting near him, but I remember I cracked Edgar up a few times with a some witty comments. After that, we were friends.

Whereas Darnell Dockett fit the disappearing athlete role, Edgar seemed to fit the “I’m just in college to play football” role. Although a fun guy, he didn’t seem interested in class, despite showing up to every lesson. I’m not sure how much Edgar learned in the class, but he did teach me an academic mantra that while I never tried to live by, I’ll never forget.

“A ‘C’ gets a degree.”

From my perspective it wasn’t a mantra I strove for, as I was reaching for As or Bs, but from the perspective of an athlete with 2-a-day practices and playbooks to memorize, and school a second, if not third priority, it made sense.

Even if Intro to Political Theory wasn’t his bag, Edgar did care and did try to do at least minimally well. As he saw I was doing well, towards the end of the semester he asked if I could help him study for the final. I accepted, as I did with anyone who wanted to be a study partner.

Edgar swung by my apartment one night and we did some studying, but if I remember correctly, he did more talking on the phone. He also told me pearls of wisdom about being on the football team, such as his belief that former Seminoles defensive coordinator Mickey Andrews looked like a fish when he was mad. To this day, I can’t look at Mickey Andrews and think of anything but a fish.

Even outside of our class, Edgar asked me for academic help. I remember him once calling and asking me to write paper for him for $40. When I respectfully declined, saying I had too much on my plate with my own papers and an article for the student newspaper, he was cool with that, saying only that he understood and that he would see me in class. I’ll admit, even though I wanted to help, something just wasn’t right about that. I’ll edit people’s work and make it shine, but I’ve always drawn the line on creating for other people.

I stayed friends with Edgar for a few semesters after our class. He invited me to perhaps one of the best, if not most interesting Super Bowl parties I have ever been to. I wrote about my experience partying with Edgar during the 2002 Bucs-Raiders Super Bowl a few years ago. Let’s just say it involved chicken bones, fat girls, a lot of beer, and a 9mm pistol.

The involvement of the 9mm was also one incident I don't think I will ever forget. As we all kept drinking and watching the game, and as the Bucs started to pull away from the Raiders, Edgar, a huge San Francisco 49ers fan, walked out of the living room for a few moments and returned with a pistol. He placed the pistol on the coffee table in front of his chair and told everyone they should root for the Raiders because longtime 49ers Jerry Rice played for the Raiders. And if they rooted for the Bucs, they could get the hell out. He ended his decree with statement, “this is how I’m living”. Another absolutely classic line I’ve kept with me all these years.

I partied with Edgar one other time before we went our different ways. The second party had a lot less beer, and to this day I still I don’t know whose place it was at. But that night Edgar taught me to the term “baking cakes” for hitting on a woman. Every time one of his friends talked to a girl during the party, Edgar would tap me on the shoulder and say “look, he’s baking cakes”. It didn’t stick like the other phrases he told me, but “baking cakes” was still original.

Years later, I saw Edgar at a Tallahassee club called the Moon. It was either 2005 or perhaps 2006 after I had moved down to Tampa. Of course, he remembered me and gave me a handshake hug and asked how I was doing. I remember him being much calmer and telling me he was going to grad school, which I found shocking considering my academic impression of him years earlier. But I congratulated him and told him good luck.

I guess people really can change. Edgar was only in his early 20s when we hung out and I was in my late 20s. When I saw him at the Moon, I was a bit past 30 and he was in his mid-20s, and probably hitting the post-college maturity level when throwing chicken bones and wielding guns at parties is considered a bad idea.

Two years later he got sick. According to the FSView and Florida Flambeau, Edgar had a rare cancer called Rhabdomyosarcoma, a cancer that affects the muscle attaching to bones. Edgar made it four years with this unique cancer before the cancer took his life.

From what I’ve read, Edgar ended up an inspirational man and a counselor to many FSU students. That’s awesome. It’s always great to hear about friends who made a difference. It makes me feel even worse that he is gone far too soon.

As I mentioned, in the last year I’ve lost two grandmothers and found out two friends passed away. Two of these people I knew for 35 years, the other two for only a few. Two people I celebrated holidays with and two I drank beer and partied with. In 2012, I learned I will never see any of them again.

Writing to me is not only a way to convey feeling or to tell stories or jokes, it also a way to record. Record for anyone who wants to read the story of my life and how great the people I encounter are, how they all bring something different into my life, and how they all have influenced me in some way, shape, or form. Through this adventure I have propelled myself on over the last 35 years, I have met some amazing people and shared some great times. Times I never want to forget. Times that through these words, I hope will live forever. Even if we don’t.

(Pic from capitaloutlook.com. That's Edgar deep in his sickness meeting longtime idol Mike Tyson.)

Ridiculously consistent trickle of cameos

Another November passed and with it several annual traditions:

1) Thanksgiving - the slaughtering of a bird we usually don't eat much of any other time

2) Macy's Parades - the celebration of a store most people forgot was still in business

3) National Novel Writer's Month - the writing event that causes me to lose more sleep than any report did in college

4) My submission to the Clark J Brooks Parade of Local Writers.

In 2010, I wrote about my overabundance of mailing labels.

In 2011, I wrote about the confusing pricing of fries and a coke.

This year, I wrote another article about wedding planning. I discuss giving the nuptial ceremony some afros, bell bottoms, and funk. Check it out.

By the way, isn't it about time Clark starts making t-shirts? Or maybe awarding neato little gif files that look like annual badges? Something would be nice, right?

Even Superwoman could use a foot rub once in a while

Like so many people across the world, I have been watching the David Petraeus "scandal" with interest. But my interests are of course, different from others. While most wonder "how could that have happened?" in regards to Petraeus's long-standing marriage and his biographer's marriage and all the other professional perspectives, I look at as "how did this happen?" as in, how did the four-star general put the moves on his biographer?

According to the most recent reports, Paula Broadwell was a Superwoman. An intelligence officer in the Army Reserves, a West Point grad, an doctoral student, a Harvard grad, a marathon runner, a career advisor, a wife, and a mother of two. And an author of the biography of one of our most famous living four-star generals. All this by the time she was 37 (correction, 42).

I'm 35, I don't consider myself that much of a slacker, but I haven't done half the things Paula Broadwell has done. And I am surely not going to catch up to her achievements in the next few years. If I consider myself a wee bit of an overachiever, Paula Broadwell is the definition of an insane overachiever.

But even the most motivated overachievers need a break. They need a moment or two to relax and let their uber-competitive guard down. And that's when I bet the general made his move.

(Setting: the general's private quarters, somewhere in Iraq or Afghanistan.)

General Petraeus sees a stressed out Paula Broadwell.

Here, have a glass of wine with me.

It's been a rough day. I see you are working hard. Why don't you take your shoes off?

Isn't that better?

Come here. Let me rub your shoulders.

You are so tense....

(Queue shoulder rub, which leads to the inevitable blah, blah, blah. You get the picture. This isn't a Fanfic site.)

The deed either went down like that or it went down like Tenacious D in the classic ditty "Double Team".

Or maybe, just maybe, it went down like Dark Helmet imagined it would:

For Grandma Lortz

Unfortunately, once again I am compelled to write about someone I will sadly never see again. In June, I wrote a tribute to my mother’s mother, my Grandma Walicki, after her death in the last days of May. Now, less than half a year later, I am still in Afghanistan and writing a tribute to my other grandmother, my Grandma Lortz, who passed away November 5^th.

Grandmothers come in all types. From as far back as I can remember, Grandma Lortz was the “fun” grandmother, the grandmother always took us places, let us run around, and get away with things we wouldn’t normally be allowed to do. As we saw her and my grandfather (who passed away in 1995) far less, there wasn’t the hands-on discipline and knowledge of our family rhythms that there was with my mother’s parents, who always lived much closer.

When I was young, my grandparents on my father’s side lived in Queens, in the same house where my father spent his teenage years. I don’t remember much about their house in Queens, except that it fit the stereotype of what a grandparents’ home was. There were things in the house from years before and it had a very “past” feel to it. Being that it was the early to mid-80s, this put most of their décor in the conservative appearance of the 1950s and 1960s. For lack of a better term, it was a typical grandparents’ house in Queens.

In 1985 or so, my Grandparents Lortz moved to upstate New York, to a little town called Olive Bridge, near Kingston, NY, about an hour and a half north of New York City, and in a completely different world from my normal urban comfort. There wasn’t much in Olive Bridge. Our visits there were my first experiences visiting a small town where the malls, shopping centers, and basically anything outside of human necessity was a long drive away. For a suburban kid such as myself, waking up to see deer and turkey roaming the back yard was an interesting experience. But even though it was nothing like I was used to, I always liked the quaintness of the house in Olive Bridge.

One of my fondest memories of visiting my Grandparents in Olive Bridge was in 1993 when my Grandmother took my brother and me to Cooperstown, NY, to the Baseball Hall of Fame. Although we didn’t have much time to sightsee as my Grandfather wasn’t well and couldn’t be left alone for long, we had a great time touring the Hall of Fame and checking out the sights of the baseball Mecca of the world.

That was one of the things I will remember the most about my Grandma Lortz, that she was a big baseball fan. Having grown up in Brooklyn, she was a raised on baseball, and when the Mets came into existence in 1962, her and my grandfather latched on to the new team and became lifelong fans. Visiting my grandparents always meant watching or listening to the Mets game and talking about Doc Gooden, Keith Hernandez, Gary Carter, Darryl Strawberry, and the rest of the Mets of the 80s and early 90s. I remember during the aforementioned ’93 trip to Olive Bridge sitting next to my grandfather as he listened to the Mets on his walkman and relayed that the Mets finally won a game for beleaguered pitcher Anthony Young, who had amassed the longest losing streak in Major League history.

A few years after she took me to Cooperstown, Grandma Lortz came to visit us in Florida and with my newly acquired driver's license, I took her across Florida to the Ted Williams Museum when it was in Hernando, Florida, before it moved to its current location in Tropicana Field. From what I remember, she enjoyed her time reliving the moments of baseball past. I don’t think I realized how cool it was at the time to have a baseball fan for a grandmother, but looking back, it was pretty awesome. And I guess it was because of her and my grandfather that my dad became a Mets fan and then passed a love of baseball on to me.

Sadly, those 20 year memories are among the last I have interacting with my Grandma Lortz. In the late 1990s, shortly after my grandfather passed away, my grandmother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s. Before long, her mental capacity diminished to the point that she barely recognized her grandchildren and then eventually lost recognition of her own children. About this time, I had become an adult and my trips to New York were few and far between. But every time I visited, in 1999 and then in 2003 for weddings, my parents and other family members told me to say good-bye to my Grandmother, as it would probably be the last time I see her.

The last time I saw my Grandma Lortz was at my cousin Jan’s wedding in 2011. The care home she lived in arranged to bring her to the wedding so we could take a few pictures with the whole family. Although Grandma had her eyes open, there was no reaction to anything around her. She was there in person, but as far as we could tell, definitely not in mind.

Life is about moments. You, your family, and your loved ones only have so many together. Losing both of my grandmothers while away in Afghanistan has reaffirmed to me that I made a great decision a few weeks ago when I flew across the world for my cousin Jill’s wedding. The trip allowed me to not only see my family, but to share in moments and events that will last for lifetimes. Because you never know when those lifetimes will end.

Rest in peace, Lillian Lortz. You will be missed.