Fake war, real death, and hugs.
Home again, after a very long week.
In the early morning hours after my last entry, my friend passed away. There was a period of uncertainty when nobody knew what was happening next or when it might happen, and I wasn't going to push for details given the stress and grief everyone was under.
My dear Betsy -- the lovely COBRA blue Element -- was packed for War the night before, and I packed a spare bag with a suit in case I needed to leave the event early. I received word at camp that services would be the following week, leaving me free to try and enjoy the weekend. Using my snazzy inherited phone, I made travel arrangements and escorted a friend and fellow fighter into town for stitches.
Without divulging compromising details, I can share that there is a portion of the Corvus Brother's Circle -- a warband-members-only ceremony -- that involves toasting. I shared with my Brothers that my friend had seen the SCA fighting demo at Comic Con and watched it twice with great intensity. I talked him out of watching it a third time because... well, it's Con and there's a lot more to see than SCA fighting demos. He wanted to participate in heavy-weapons once he was old enough. I told my Brothers that now he'll never get to strap on armor, or take the field with a great group of guys (and gals) as I do.
I didn't tell my Brothers this because I wanted to depress them. I told them this because what I learned was that we should never take this thing of ours for granted. We do something most people do not, and we've built something together -- the unit itself -- out of camaraderie, out of love, which matters because we say it does. And that's power.
I offered my toast to my friend, Louie.
The rest of War went well. Corvus was a mighty 40+ on the field, and even those few times we didn't win we did acquit ourselves admirably. The parties were fun, and despite having destroyed my air mattress setting up camp, I managed to find a comfortable place to sleep two of the three nights.
(which is all the detail I'm sharing about that.)
After heading down the hill on Monday and having a brief but lovely lunch with nici13, I ran a couple errands in San Diego before returning to the Batcave. I hastily unpacked, showered, and slept for four hours before catching the first flight back to Utah. I only had another six hours sleep between then and my return last night.
I had been asked to arrive a couple days before the memorial to help with all things graphic-related. I purchased a scanner and spent hours scanning in old photos, getting some prepped to be blown up to poster size, others for a slideshow, and designed the program itself. In order to make the deadline, I slept little, scanned a lot, and subsisted on Diet Coke and peanut M&Ms from the hotels limited gift shop. I accessed my friend's laptop to use his music for the slideshow, and made many trips to office supply stores and a very helpful Kinkos to put it all together in time.
During my time driving, I found myself appreciating certain aspects of my rental car, a blue Dodge Nitro, that I found lacking in my Betsy. While Babe (as in "the big blue ox") had the V8 I'd missed for so long after losing Ripley (my blue Durango), I felt as though I was out of town cheating on my long-suffering, always accommodating, stalwart Betsy. I thanked Babe for the time together, but had to get back to my main ride.
It was at this point I realized just how little sleep I'd been getting.
The memorial service went as well as it could have. We held it at a lovely high-class rented venue, and were able to give the grieving mother a chance to sit back and just show up; it helped to remind her she was in the capable hands of smart people with good taste who knew how to handle events. And we did. iPhoto's slideshow mode was fantastic, and I ran it live from my laptop to a rented flat-screen TV.
The memorial was very sweet, and I think it was what everyone needed. It did tend to mythologize my friend; he was far from perfect, but had a sweet core once you had a chance to see it. I'd forgotten how rough his earliest years were, and just how far he'd come after having been adopted. I won't go into the details, but let's just say it meant a lot once he decided he wanted to hug you. It took him years to become comfortable enough with people to offer them a hug.
That's something I failed to properly appreciate while he was alive. When we would see each other after a while apart, I usually offered him a handshake. I intended it as a sign of respect from one man to another young man. He would usually reach for the hug, which I accepted and returned. I wasn't adverse to it, I just thought the handshake was the more mature and "manly" greeting.
Then I heard his mom talk about how he took time to warm up to people and it would take a while before he offered you a hug and just how special it was to have made the list of people who got them. I'd shed a few tears by this point in the service, and realizing how lucky I'd been to have that young man want to hug me I cried more. When his mother played a message he left on her answering machine during his first six-month hospital stay, I nearly lost it altogether.
(and I rarely lose it...)
The memorial was followed by a lovely buffet lunch at the same rented high-class venue, where I learned the family had gone on the very day that Louie's adoption became finalized. It was a place to celebrate their new family, and a place to commemorate the passing of their adopted son.
This was followed by a graveside internment service. There were more tears, and I thanked the mother for sharing that bit about the hugs because I didn't really understand it before and was glad to now. We hugged, and I flew back home. I don't remember much of the flight, only taking off and being asked to bring my seat back up for landing.
Between work and writing assignments I've been largely nocturnal for the last few weeks. I tend to get more done once everyone else has gone to bed. I would stay up late, but got the eight hours I need once I finally went to bed. This past week has tweaked my schedule something fierce. I got ten hours of sleep last night, and still nearly fell asleep while geeking out at a friend's house tonight. Now that I'm back at the Batcave, I'm awake and writing with little desire to go to bed.
However, there is work to be done this weekend. Today was my day off. Saturday and Sunday are work. Monday will hopefully be a return to writing.
I still owe revisions.