Well...?

Corporal Andrew Wilfahrt, son of Jeff and Lori Wilfarht of Rosemount, MN, was killed on February 27th, 2011, while serving in Afghanistan.

I've had some people ask me, "Why haven't you written about Andrew?" In fact, his dad sent me a message that simply said,"I'm waiting.....". But it's hard because I didn't really know Andrew. My husband knew Andrew like many cousins know each other--in the background of childhood and sporadic family gatherings. In fact, I wrote briefly after his death and I did not publish it. Some might view a blog as entertainment and this horror is not entertainment.

In the meantime, I attended the most moving celebration of Andrew's life. People from all aspects of Andrew's life showed up to share their love and memories and fill in the gaps for those of us less in-the-know of Andrew's quirks and gifts and genuine sweetness.

There was a military funeral. Attendance to one of these should be required for every American. It will make you think differently about life in our fair country. Fort Snelling is not an easy place to be when 154 civilians and retired military people line up with flags in honor of a loss too big to understand. Brisk air caused the flags to whip and snap, the solemn trumpets mourned along with family and friends in front of a wooden box of Andrew's remains. With precision, a flag was folded and bestowed upon the grieving family and it could have seemed like a scene in a movie --but there I was grasping my nine year old daughter's hand trying to reassure her. Of what, I don't know. My head still spins thinking about it, and I have no name for the experience.

Nothing I have to say will change the facts; Andrew was killed while out on patrol. A diamond trap was set and purposely detonated. Only one of the three IED's detonated while the other two failed. The successful detonation occurred directly below Andrew's feet.

That's a hard story to take, especially coming from one of his platoon mates who joined us at the funeral and afterwards at the family home. He shared with us what their typical patrol was like. While speaking, he was shaking and tearing. As "old-timers" (he was 41 and Andrew was 31), neither had spouses or children and felt this was a way to contribute to the greater good of the world while keeping more families in tact. This brave man was sent to be with Andrew's family and we needed him as much as he needed us. I kept thinking the whole time, "What are we doing to these people? This young man will never be the same." He wanted to talk as much as we wanted him to so he did. Could he feel compassion and anguish and sorrow and privilege in our hugs? That's what I left hoping.

And so there you have it. I guess what I was thinking is that Andrew was not mine to write about. I don't take lightly the pain his parents and siblings are experiencing. Their whole way of being is completely altered. My own thoughts really mean nothing. I don't take lightly his death, which happened in a war I don't believe we should be in while still I laude and respect our soldiers' service to our country. I don't take lightly my own complacency toward these wars that have been a part of our country's landscape for the past ten years. Nor do I take lightly the fact that I didn't really know Andrew. Why was that? The answer might seem simple at first. It's family, people go their own ways, life is busy, yadda-yadda. But is it really that simple?

So if you want to ask me why I haven't written about Andrew, you have to understand that to do so forces me to figure out where I fit into all of it. That's the part I am working on. I'll keep you posted.

Well spent.

We hired a local man to install windows and side our house. He was a team of one so we knew we were in it for the long haul, but we felt good about his work and him. We still feel that way, though how he feels about us is surely up for debate. He started in November and finished two days ago. Along the way, among the things we did not contract for, these things occurred:

• The garage door failed intermittently and it became a personal quest of his to solve this dilemma. He did.
• We forgot to set out garbage several times. He set it out.
• A blizzard occured in December. He blew out a trail around our house.
• A water pipe burst above our garage so he gamely made a foray into plumbing. He couldn't fix it at the time but later served as consulant and carpenter with the person that did.
• My mom was here watching the kids when her car wouldn't start. He jumped it for her and left his number in case she needed anything else.
• She called him the same night at 8:00 p.m. when a bat appeared to terrorize her. He came, got rid of the bat, and later took himself out for a drink.
• He took the dog out when we were gone too long.

Among the things we did for him:

• Cookies and cocoa most days.
• Coffee some days.
• Provided fine examples on how to fail at power plays with kids.
• Provided fine examples on how to fail with dog obedience training.
• By confirming that some humans are more hopeless than others, his job security prevails.

He's gone now. The windows are installed, the siding is up, the trim is on inside and out, my garage door has worked for five consecutive days, and the house looks great. The garbage did not get out this morning, the dog is peeing on the carpet, and I am sure this surprises no one.

Time and money may be different beasts, but in both cases ours was well-spent.

We're sorry, Kyle, and we thank you.

What we carry.

I tried to get away. I did get away. But everywhere I went, things followed. It was nice to be able to think them through to the end. I didn't have interruptions and there was this guy....tall and sweet....a good listener and knows how to hold a hand. We were carrying some of the same weights but felt differently about them, which is fine. It keeps things from being boring.

I tell you, we went to Charleston, South Carolina where the sun was on display and the palmetta trees were rustling and the history demands to be observed. Stunning and startling and unsettling all at once. I arrived thinking about Afghanistan and found myself immersed in the Civil War and came home wondering about Libya. I hardly recognize myself.

One thing that I rediscovered was poetry. We stumbled upon a cafe where they have a featured Carolina poet who reads for a bit and then the locals hit the mike with song or their own poems. There was whooping and hollering and the reminder that we all seek solace in words that bring meaning to the seemingly senseless things around us.

I left that cafe with a slim volume of poetry written by a 75 year old man completely devoted to his wife whom he lost 2 years ago. It's called The Jane Poems and in it I will learn their story. Why this is important to me is not yet clear. For now, it's enough to know that someone out there was able to mine their life for the moments that mattered and found a way to capture and share them. This seems like a good thing to carry next to all the other stuff. Somehow it fits even if I don't understand exactly how.