Puzzle Pieces

I went to the mall today to do a small amount of Christmas shopping that couldn't be done online. I'm not doing much shopping to begin with this year. My brother has been dead for 41 days. The lives of my family members and myself have been forever changed because of his death, and it's just a little difficult to get into the Christmas spirit. 

But I went to the mall. It was a mall that Shane and I had gone to when he was home on leave. We had to leave after about 10 minutes because the mall is very open and he didn't feel safe. It was something that I will probably never understand because I have never been in a war zone. I've never had anyone shoot a gun at me. I've never had to look for cover. I've never had to think about the possibility of a hidden sniper. But Shane had, and even though we were in America, we had to leave the mall. I thought about that the entire time I was in the mall. I thought about how dangerous a place it would be if something bad were happening. Too much glass, nothing to hide behind, too many people, not enough exits, too many variables. 

I did my shopping. I eavesdropped on conversations. I stood in long lines. I was surrounded by normal people with normal lives and I was jealous of them. Yes, everyone has their own story. Everyone has tragic events in their lives. Fortunately, we aren't made to walk around wearing t-shirts that read "My Brother was Killed" or "I'm an Alcoholic Single Mother" or "When I was 10 I was Molested." So it's quite possible that everyone I was with while at the mall was also suffering through some sort of tragedy. Maybe they all were. But listening to such mundane conversations makes me feel as if they were all leading normal lives while I was being miserable. Maybe that's because today I chose to allow myself to feel miserable. Maybe that's what I needed. But going to the mall made me feel depressed and alone and gave me a sense of dread for the upcoming holidays. 

One thing I'm not dreading is that one of the men with whom Shane went to Basic is coming to visit my family and myself over Christmas. I'm glad he's brave enough to come stay with us during a time when many might not want to be around us. I'm excited to meet him and hear stories about Shane; for him to bring with him another piece of Shane.

I find pieces of Shane in so many different people and places. It's as if I'm building a puzzle that I cannot see. I have no idea how big the puzzle is or how many pieces it contains and I probably never will. But people keep bringing me pieces and the puzzle is gradually becoming more complete. When it's done, I will know Shane better than if he had lived to be 100, because I will know parts of him that he never would have shared with me in life. Of course, I'd rather have him alive. But since I cannot, I will continue to accept the pieces of Shane that everyone so generously gives to me. And it will be enough.

A Gay Soldier's Letter, Written Before He Deployed to Afghanistan

A couple of months ago in my 14th Amendment course, we discussed "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" and my professor asked me what actual soldiers in the Army thought of the policy. (I have the privilege of going to a law school where my professors care about us as human beings and take the time to get to know us). I had actually discussed the issue of gays in the military with Shane on a couple prior occasions. I told my professor that I could not speak for all soldiers, but that Shane had said he didn't have a problem serving with gay men. He had told me that he knew some of the men he served with or went to Basic with were gay, and so did the Army, and no one really cared. Shane said that just as long as they could shoot, they were fine by him. 

Shane was always a pretty open minded person. And even though we grew up in a small town where most everyone looks and acts the same way, someone's sexual orientation wasn't something that mattered to Shane. 

I can't imagine what it has to be like to be a soldier. And I further can't imagine what it has to be like to be a solider who is forced to hide his or her identity. 

I read this letter written by a gay soldier before he deployed to Afghanistan on Jezebel and thought it was very well written and poignant and gave me a slightly higher level of understanding on how "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" affects actual soldiers. I understand that this policy incites arguments and, like many constitutional issues, is a topic on which reasonable minds may differ. I do not mean to offend anyone with post, but merely wanted to present a point of view that many of us would not normally be privy to.

I'm writing letters to my loved ones in case I don't return from Afghanistan. I hope my partner never has to open his. If he does, it will ask him to tell who I was, because I couldn't.

I was a teenager when my brother came home with an American flag draped over his coffin, so I understand the fragility of life and the dangers of serving. And the additional burden of Don't Ask, Don't Tell is one I choose to carry. I volunteered for deployment, and I continue to serve. It's my deepest core value, whatever the cost.

The silence is the hardest part. I listen intently as my fellow soldiers talk about facing the reality of leaving their loved ones for a year and all the life events that will be missed. I don't talk about my own experience at all, because it's easier to come across as cold and removed than to risk slipping and mentioning that my loved one is of the same gender. For all I know, there are other gay soldiers in my unit, ones who understand what I'm going through. My gay friends in civilian life are supportive, but they don't often understand the military or soldiering. That camouflage is another burden I carry as I prepare to leave.

It's also difficult knowing that this policy is nothing more than politics. I try not to think too much about DADT and how destructive it is to peoples' lives, to military units, readiness, and to the progression of our country to a better place. But when I do let myself think about these things, I seethe with anger.

I am angry at the politicians who have for several years talked the talk on the policy, heightening the awareness of homosexuality among military personnel, and then done little to nothing to actually change it. We gay soldiers are the ones who suffer but can't openly participate in the debate.

I am angry at certain senators -– John McCain comes to mind –- who have obviously lost touch with any understanding of the current generation of service men and women, who, as we all know, support repeal at overwhelming numbers. They hide behind a vitriolic rhetoric fraught with illogical arguments and innuendo, smothered by their obvious fear.

And so we wait to see what the Senate will do. In the meantime, I have to remind myself to look elsewhere for comfort, to remember the courage of people like Dan Choi and his consistent devotion to changing this policy, at a very personal cost. Or Katie Miller, who made public at West Point who she really is, but would seek return the moment the policy is overturned. I also remind myself of the moral courage of Secretary Gates and Admiral Mullen, thankful that some at the highest level of military leadership get it even as others call our plight a "distraction."

And I'm reminded of the moral courage of my partner, who encourages me everyday to continue to put on that uniform; who believes that some things are worthy of our energies; who quietly plods along and prepares for my deployment as I do the same. I know as a soldier, it is the people we leave behind who bear the real brunt of deployment, who hold it all together, who send the care packages and pray for our returns. He'll have to do it on his own though. There are no support groups for the gay partners left back home.

In the meantime, gay soldiers who are still serving in silence will continue to put on our rucksacks and do what our country asks of us –- and wait.

Untitled.

I was rereading some of my old messages with Shane and wanted to share this one from back in June.


To: Elizabeth Reifert
From: Shane Reifert
Date: June 24, 2010
Time: 2:46 p.m.

So I'm guessing you're pretty busy lately which is a good thing for you. You're always happier when you have just a little too much on your plate. I'm probably going to be out of touch for a little bit, we'll see. Its 2300 here, I can't sleep. I'm noticing its becoming a bit of a problem for 2 reasons. One, I simply need my sleep, and two, its the fastest time that passes here.

A memory resurfaced today. Me and you going to get a hot n ready from little caesars back at mom and dad's. I miss the simple times, and I think if I let myself I'd probably tear up typing that. I think its funny what we retain. But I do miss that kind of stuff, especially because then we'd usually watch a movie or do something together.

A different time.

My souls getting heavy. I think I'm telling you this because you know what its like to be weighed down on the inside. I love you Bethie.


To: Shane Reifert
From: Elizabeth Reifert
Date: June 24, 2010
Time: 2:56 p.m.

hey buddy,

it says that you're online but i don't think that you really are. i'm at work right now, reading about sex offenders. gwoss.

i was going to message you last night but my internet was down. we had a really bad storm.

i do know what it's like to be weighed down on the inside. you just have to remember that no matter how much you feel as if you are underneath a rock, eventually it will get better. you have to believe that, otherwise it's like the nothing in the neverending story.

i wish i had something to make you sleep. i'd send you some sleepy pills but i know you aren't allowed to have them.

you'll be home to have bad pizza with me soon enough.

i love you, shane michael.

Basic Training and My European Vacation

The day after Shane left for Basic, I left for Europe. I flew alone to The Netherlands and I could barely say "hello" in Dutch. I went to visit a dear friend. I went to runaway from something I could not escape. I went to prove something to myself. 

So I drank too much on a couple occasions, came down with a terrible cold, had my first energy drink, made some good/bad decisions, fought with my friend, spent a day walking around Amsterdam by myself, saw a woman touch one of VanGogh's self portraits, was moved to tears at the sight of a Rembrant I never imagined I would see anywhere but in a book, listened to conversations that I didn't understand, was left alone with my thoughts, took the wrong bus multiple times, ate a raw beef sandwich, bought European clothing and shoes, had the Dutch tell me their thoughts on President Obama and America, watched baseball games, and learned a lot about myself. 

It was everything I needed and didn't need all at the same time. I was selfish. I left my parents alone. I left myself, too, in a way. I wanted to avoid who I was and what Shane joining the Army would make me. I realize that now. I didn't realize any of it at the time. 

And while I was doing all of those things, while I was dancing in a nightclub, sweaty and intoxicated from too many bodies around me and too many draft Heinekens, the beat of the music pulsating through my body, Shane was going through his own version of hell. He told me about the first night at Basic. How they were all on a bus and driven into Fort Benning in the dead of night and how the drill sergeants stood at all exits of the bus with bright lights, screaming for the recruits to get off of the bus. But the problem, of course, was that they were blocking all of the exits. So none of the recruits could move. They just got screamed at. When they finally were allowed to get off of the bus, they had to sit on cold metal benches, with their feet both even on the ground and their hands on their laps with their backs straight. For hours. And I got to dance and have a hangover in the morning. I think about that often and I find myself feeling guilty because of it. I also know that it's because Shane and so many other men sat on a bus and were screamed at and deprived of sleep and had to sit on a cold metal bench in silence for hours on end that I was allowed to dance and have a hangover the next morning. 


At the time, I was angry at Shane for being one of those men. For making me run away to Europe and try to avoid the unavoidable. Now, I couldn't be more proud and more grateful that he was.

The Last Christmas Present

The things that remind me of Shane always seem to surprise me. Yes, I think about him almost every minute of the day in one way or another. There are photographs of him all over where I live and I can't speak to either of my parents without thinking of him. Almost all music reminds me of him in one way or another. None of these things ever creep up on me; they're expected and so I deal with the emotions that they bring accordingly. 

It's the unexpected things that manage to take my breath away and choke me up. Today, I drove down Woodward Ave., passing the Detroit Artists Market. I drive past DAM at least a couple times a week. But today was the first day that there was snow on the ground. So it wasn't until today that I remembered that Shane and I had done Christmas shopping there for our parents last year. Shane and I visited the Market on a day much like today. Slush in the streets, a gray sky, biting cold air. I remember that I conscientiously didn't put enough money in the meter and left a ticket to chance. We spent about an hour in the Market, walking around, looking at all the art, most of which we couldn't afford. We purchased a handblown glass vase for our mother. We verbalized to one another that it was perfect for her because it was in shades of blue and reminded us of the water. And for our father, we got a painting of a lone wolf with its back to the viewer, staring off into the distance. Shane made a joke about a wolf pack and The Hangover, but from the amount of time that he spent looking at the painting, I know that there was a lot more going on behind his selection. 

After picking out gifts for our parents, I took our selections to the desk and realized that Shane wasn't with me. I went back onto the main floor of the Market, finding Shane staring, contemplating, at a photograph. It's entitled "Extraordinary Light" and was taken in Michigan Central Station. The photographer printed the photo on metallic paper, so it has an aged, almost magical quality to it. It's a beautiful photograph that I will not attempt to further describe with words because there are simply things that do not translate between mediums. I didn't say anything to Shane at first, instead watching him stare at the photograph. At the time in December 2009, Shane rarely did things like this. He didn't take quiet moments for himself to reflect, and I knew that I was lucky to be getting to see him like this. That was probably one of the last times I saw him like that -- contemplative, thoughtful, lost in his head. When I look back on it now, I feel like I stole a little piece of him that day. He didn't know how long I was standing behind him. Maybe a few minutes passed, but it felt like much longer. I asked him if he was ready to go and he said yes.


I returned the next day and purchased "Extraordinary Light" for him. That was my last Christmas present to my brother, and I just now realized that. I'm looking at the photograph right now. It resides on top of a chest of drawers in my bedroom, across from my bed. It's one of the first things I see when I wake up in the morning and one of the last I see when I go to sleep at night. Shane was supposed to take it with him to Fort Campbell, but he left it at home, claiming that it would only get damaged with moving around. And he was probably right. So I ended up keeping his last Christmas present for safekeeping, until he would return from his deployment. 

And I suppose that I will continue to hold on to it for safekeeping. That's one of the only pieces of comfort I take from Shane being killed in action. For me, I think he will always be deployed. He will never age and we will never grow apart. We just won't have spoken for awhile because, in my mind, I can allow him to just be out on a mission, unable to write or call. Maybe that's all the afterlife is, just not speaking to the ones we love for an extended period of time. Maybe they're always there, always right around a corner, just out of earshot. Maybe they're in our dreams, residing in that thin veil between reality and the unknown. I suppose that, for right now, while the rest of us are still living, they can live where ever we imagine them. Every time I look at photographs from Afghanistan, I imagine that Shane has somehow evaded the camera. That he is right outside of the frame, with his brothers, in his uniform, slightly slouched, making a half smile or grimacing his eyebrows, depending upon his mood. That's where Shane lives for me.

ACTS Match; Donations Update

From my dad:


"Home from an amazing day spent with 60+ motivated shooters that showed up to support the PFC Shane M. Reifert Memorial ACTS Match. Thanks to all who came out to support this cause. This match was to support Shane's brothers of the 2nd Platoon, Bravo Co. 1/327 1BCT 101st ABN Bushmasters! 


Thanks to USMC Veteran Jon Cross and Barb Stockford, Navy Mom, and all the fine folks that helped to make this match happen!" 


My dad was truly impressed with everyone who showed up and all of the money that was raised. 


DONATIONS UPDATE:
Shipments of top quality all-terrain boots were sent off to Shane's brothers. We ordered them each a pair of Asolo TPS 520 GV hiking boots from REI.

They will also be receiving sets of Under Armour to protect them from the upcoming cold winter weather in Afghanistan. We're hoping that these things will reach them before Christmas, but it's tough to tell how long it will take for everything to get to them. 


I am privileged to communicate with some of Shane's brothers in Bravo Company online. They are humble, kind, gracious men. They never ask for anything; there's never anything that they want or need, even though I tell them that, legally, the money we have raised cannot be spent on anyone but them. I'm sure it cannot be easy for them to contact my family and me, but they do. They check in and ask if we're doing okay and genuinely care about my response. They are planning trips to Michigan to visit after they come home from deployment. I'm honored that they spend some of their precious time speaking with me, when they could be speaking with family or friends instead. Each one of them holds a special place in my heart and I'm glad that I am able to get to know them. I'm even more glad that we're able to help them. 


OPERATION BULLDOG:
If anyone is interested in seeing some of the men with whom Shane fought, please watch this YouTube video of Operation Bulldog. 

Signs

"What you have to ask yourself is what kind of person are you? Are you the kind that sees signs, sees miracles? Or do you believe that people just get lucky? Or, look at the question this way. Is it possible that there are no coincidences?"

-- Signs

Pearl Harbor

Today is the 69th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor. Please take a moment out of your day to remember those who died in the attack and the many others who were left with holes in their hearts as a result of the attack. 

If you're interested in learning more, National Geographic has a comprehensive page dedicated to Pearl Harbor. 

Thank you to everyone who died on that fateful day 69 years ago. Thank you to those who keep their memories alive. 

Because They Don't Make Hallmark Cards for This

Attempting to learn from every experience that comes my way, I will take this much from Anonymous -- to be more openly thankful and grateful to those who love and care for me. So I'm going to thank 5 people today on my blog, because they are the 5 people in my head right now, regardless of whether I think they will actually be reading.


Thank you to Julianne, who was at school studying on November 6. Thank you for being at school, for allowing me to get us Starbucks, for sitting in that classroom with horrible temperature control, for that conversation we had about your moot court problem right before I got a phone call that would change both of our lives. Thank you for being there and for allowing me to be there with you when I got that phone call. A side thank you to whatever in the universe made me go to school that day so that I wouldn't be alone when I got that phone call. Thank you for pulling me to the ground and holding me when I started shaking and kept asking you, "what are we going to do" and repeating "no." Thank you for being strong for both of us that day.


Thank you to Scott Ramon Seguro Mescudi, a/k/a Kid Cudi, whom I will probably never meet in my real life and who most certainly will never read this. Your music has given me wonderful moments with Shane during his life and his death. Your new album was the only music that I could listen to after Shane was killed. I know you never met Shane and you couldn't have known that your music would speak to me so much, but I will always feel like you wrote that album for me to help me get through all of this. I do know that you know grief and loss and I hear that every time I listen to your music. Thank you for writing the line "birds seen flying around, you never see them too long on the ground," because I keep that in my heart and say it everyday.



Kid Cudi's "Mr. Rager"



Thank you to Patty, the director at Gendernalik Funeral Home in New Baltimore, Michigan. Thank you for knowing when I needed a hug and when I did not. Thank you for being magical, in that you are a strong woman and a kind woman at the same time. Thank you for making a really shitty time in my family's life as not shitty as possible. Thank you for allowing us to play rap music during Shane's viewing. I told you that I hoped I never had to see you again, and I mean that in the best way possible. But if I ever do have to be at a funeral home again, I wouldn't mind being around you, because you care and you take care of people and I wish that I could be more like you.



Thank you to my big brother, Garrett. I know that you didn't have to do anything that you have done for my family. You didn't know if we would love you or hate you, but you were there, anyways. You didn't have to be at the funeral home every day, all day. You didn't have to be at the funeral. You didn't have to stick around afterward for my family and me. I know that you don't have to be my new big brother but I'm so glad that you are. You remind me that family isn't just the one into which you are born, but the one you make yourself. Thank you for making me happy and sad at the same time when you talk about the Army and war and life, because sometimes I allow myself to pretend that I'm listening to Shane instead of you. You were the source material for many of Shane's opinions on those topics, and I'm so glad that he learned from you and that I get to have you in my life if I can't have Shane. My mom says that she can see how good of a soul you have. I don't have the ability to see that, but I feel it every time you check on me and make sure that I'm doing okay and studying and not falling off the face of the planet. I hope that I'm as decent of a little sister as I was of a big sister, because you're going to be stuck with me for awhile. 


Thank you to my mom's cousin, Peggy. Thank you for sitting with me before the funeral started, even though we didn't know one another. Thank you for not being religious and for not telling me that Shane was in a better place and for not telling me that you were praying for my family and me. Thank you for being a real person and for understanding without me having to say much. Thank you for being one of the few people that I could talk to inside of the church and for finding me where I was hiding and for just sitting with me.

Moving On

When I woke up yesterday, I thought that I was going to have a productive day. I headed to the gym and worked out with my trainer. I showered. I put on something that resembled an outfit, even though I wasn't leaving the house. I put my books out on my table and was prepared to study. I decided that I'd write a blog entry because I had a mild case of the mean reds and then I even allowed myself to take a nap since sometimes seemingly lazy activities like writing take a lot out of me. 

I woke up from my nap with way too many messages on my phone and a rude and inconsiderate comment on a blog post. And it ruined the rest of my day. I'd like to be able to say that the person who commented did not have an effect on me, but then I would be a liar. I resigned myself to bed for the rest of the day. I allowed myself to be weak and to feel sorry for myself. I couldn't eat. I felt like vomiting. I wanted to sleep but could not. I couldn't watch anything, listen to anything, or read anything, because everything reminded me of Shane and how I was probably letting him down at the moment by just moping around.


Some people will probably think that I'm a little foolish for acting in such a manner, or for letting Anonymous know that I allowed him/her to get into my head. And depending on the moment, I might be included in that group of people. But at this moment, it feels like the right thing to do. I want Anonymous to know that I was hurt by a stranger's words because all too often the person committing a hurtful act is unaware that he or she is being hurtful. Maybe Anonymous was being nice, in his/her mind. But "nice" is a relative term, and I want Anonymous to know that he/she was being hurtful and cruel and disrespectful and a genuinely awful person. Since Anonymous and I are allegedly Facebook friends, I hope that he/she deletes me as a friend, since we are obviously not. That way I don't appear ignorant or misguided and he/she doesn't have to read anything I ever write again.


Being a person who doesn't care what others think is something that I'm constantly striving for, but something I never achieve. Sometimes I present myself as the type of person who doesn't care what others think. But deep down, it hurts my feelings. Sometimes others' words can devastate me. As tough as I can appear, I can be rather squishy on the inside, to borrow a phrase that was once said to me.

The only person who I know didn't often allow others' opinions of him sway his thoughts was Shane. And he would always tell me that I needed to do the same. Since we didn't share the same brain or anything, I don't know if he was actually able to block out hurtful things or if he had created some sort of defensive mechanism against it or if he was just lying and going the "fake it 'til you make it route" when it came to allowing others to bother him. And I won't ever know. But in my mind, Shane had just found a way to not let others in. 

Shane was a physically small person, especially when he was a kid. He got picked on and got sad about it. Mean boys at school got into his head. He used to not be able to order at restaurants because he didn't like confrontation. When he got older, Shane spent much of him time hiding behind a computer screen in a world of gaming -- it was only after his death that I realized he had an entire network of friends in that world and that he hadn't become some sort of scary recluse. If Shane was alive right now, he'd find a way to fly back to Michigan to kill me himself for letting other people know these things. 

What's the point of all of this? Well, somewhere along the line, Shane bootstrapped himself. He joined the Army. He literally left a boy and came home a man, there is photographic evidence of this. Maybe it's something he was taught during Basic. Maybe it was something he taught himself. But I know that when Shane came home, he didn't allow other people to get inside of his head. 

I wish that I could have been like that yesterday, but I wasn't strong enough. Today, however, I am ridding Anonymous from my mind. Yesterday, I told my mom that I never wanted to set foot in my law school again, knowing there was some jerk thinking nasty things about me, but that was just the mean reds talking. I yet again received an outpouring of kind words and texts and emails and phone calls and comments from my actual friends. So today, I am allowing the words that warm my heart to permeate my brain, instead of cruel and ignorant words. I have finals for which I need to study and a chocolate chip waffle to eat and music to hear and friends to sit near to while I study.