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The Soldier and the Squirrel introduces children to the Purple Heart

through a loving story of a friendship between a newly wounded soldier

and Rocky the squirrel with his backyard friends. This story began as a

blog during my first year in bed after my incident. With much

encouragement, it is now a book and has been placed in the

Ronald Reagan Presidential Library & Museum. Please watch the video

on the About page to learn for the Soldier & Rocky are changing children's

lives.

 

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Saturday
Aug172013

The Dream

The channels were clogged. I was on a ship. My husband and children waited for me at port, but I didn't know which one. It was night. The fog rolled in. Lights peeked through the mist as my heart sank to the depths below. My ship backed up and tried another route. To get to my family. But each channel was too small to fit its girth. I stood on the deck. Alone. Yelling their names and hearing only the echo of my sound. A wail of emptiness.
I desperately tried to call my husband on my phone. No signal. He was waiting. The children would be worried. Or frantic. Or tired. Or just wanted to be home. Either way, only I could fix their angst. If only I was there.
I yelled again into the darkness. As though one more try would work. Was I even in the right port? Did they know I ached for them too? The darkness slowly shifted to one less vibrant. The ocean's lap faded into the distance and the sound of my frantic voice woke me from my dream. Don's voice grew louder as it soothed my face. Wake up. Wake up. His hand around my arm. A gentle urge to stir me to the present. To land. To him. To where it's safe.

My first nightmare since the change began. After going out in my scooter. When I was grateful for the sidewalk with the ramp and wondered what life would be like if it wasn't there.

The therapist the day before had asked me if I had nightmares. I said no. Because my life is filled with dreams. But last night something changed. Until my husband woke me up. And there lies the difference in it all.

I have someone to wake me up. To tell me it is ok. That the lost ship isn't real. I have someone to remind me that fear is heard. And just when you think you are lost, you can be found.

I lay here pondering the significance of it all. The phantoms still stirring my mind - too real to fully let go. I realize that nightmares are only that. Something that happens at night. In the dark. When lights are out and a lost port is hard to find. But that is only because it never existed at all.

So I will replace this memory with a dream. That our family has set sail. Together. The mist will have colors and the darkness filled with stars to guide our way. The destination determined by God's hand. So we will never be lost.

I close my eyes in resolve that I am safe. The sound of my husband's breath calms me to a new sleep. Where fear only lives in a world of make believe. I slip into the calm. Waters wash away the remnants of the night with a light that fills the emptiness within. And I am new again.

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