DIY

I keep seeing this cute little quote floating around social media.  You know, because social media is the best place to find your inspiration.  It’s also the best place to declare your victories and remind others of their shortcomings.  What did we do before social networking?  I guess we just had to be pretentious assholes directly to other human beings.  We didn’t have the virtual buffer of the internet to minimize our passive-aggressive efforts to make those around us acknowledge how charmed we wanted our lives to seem.  Essentially, Facebook is like Mean Girls, for the entire internet community.  Anyway, back to this nugget of arrogance, disguised as love and equality I keep seeing infecting the social media channels.  It says, very definitively, in black and white “A real woman can do it herself.  A real man won’t let her.”  Aw…That’s sweet.  And VERY progressive. 

At first, I thought it was cute.  I was happy for my friends who felt so confident in their relationships to make such an assured statement the worth of their partners, and themselves.  Then, I started to wonder what those words actually meant?  “A real woman can do it herself.  A real man won’t let her.”  The entire statement just seemed erroneous to me.  I wondered what women were trying to say about their worth, versus the worth of their male companions.  Is she saying even though she is capable, she shouldn’t have to do it because there’s a man around?  Is she saying that I want a man to take care of me?  Or is she saying that she just doesn’t want to do it all by herself anymore?  And what exactly are we talking about?  Dishes?  Laundry?  Yard work?  Sex?  What does it mean? 

After, I had seen the statement made no less than 12 times over the course of a week, I started to get a little offended.  I started to question the motives behind those words.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  I understand that we all need a little help sometimes.  I know that some relief from responsibility keeps us sane.  I also know what it’s like to get trapped in a place where pride and independence inhibits you from asking for help, or even accepting it when it’s offered.  But are you really telling me that life is a fucking fairytale?  Do you really expect me to believe that you CAN do everything, but instead you would ALLOW a man to do it for you?  This is gender socialization at its very basic, people.  This is the Princess Principle at its finest.  Essentially, you are saying that you CAN do it, but because you have a vagina, you shouldn't HAVE to do it.  You are telling other women that “real women” deserve a provider, not an equal. 

Come on ladies.  We should have come further than this by now.  We know that men can fold laundry and go to the grocery store and cook dinner.  We also know that women know the way to the hardware store, the batting cages, and the lawnmower.  For fuck sake, we even know how to build bird houses, hit a softball and cut the grass.   What are we teaching our daughters when say things like “Just because you have the ability to do something, doesn’t mean you should actually do it?”  Also, what are we teaching our sons when we say asinine bullshit like that?  We are telling them that woman only want men who will take care of them.  This is how we stay stagnant.  This is how we raise children who only know what gender stereotypes tell them they should be.  Then they feel ashamed of themselves if they don’t conform.  Or even worse, our children become too confident if they do conform. 

Now granted, I get offended by seemingly harmless statements on a pretty regular basis. I understand it’s not because people intend to be hurtful or ambivalent, it’s because a difference of perspective often makes me think “What the fuck?”  Or “where is this fucking utopia you speak of?”  We all expect something different out of life.  Some of us expect to be taken care of.  Others expect to take care of others.  That isn’t gender specific.  And under no circumstance, should it ever be.  We should all know how to take care of ourselves.  We should also know how to take care of others.  But we should NEVER expect others to take care of us.

-Inner Peas

Courage

A few months ago, I started to write about doing “right.”  I worked on it for weeks.  That’s very unusual for me.  Usually when I have something to say, I say it and then it’s done.  But writing about doing right was hard.  Because “right” is so subjective.  Is it right for you?  Is it right for me?  Is it right for all of us?  I never finished the “Right” piece because I didn’t know how to make it relevant to everyone.  It wasn’t until today that I knew the right way to make “right” relevant. 

So here it is.  Right is about courage.  Right is standing up to authority, even when you have no chance of winning.  Right is speaking on behalf of the voiceless.  Right is challenging the status quo.  Right is right.  And because I don’t have all of the words, I have compiled a photo montage about courage and doing right. 

Paul Revere:  The guy who told all the other guys that it was time to fight for what they believed in.  

Teddy Roosevelt:  The guy who said we can't risk losing our natural resources.  Subsequently, the National Park Service was born.  

These ladies, know as suffragettes, who fought to the death so they could have the right to vote.  They didn't even start asking for equal pay and equal opportunity until 50 years after they had the right to vote.  Voting is kind of a big deal.  Do it.  

These guys, without names, who built the ICON of the West Coast.  They did it for 12 hours a day, without health insurance, while walking an uphill tightrope.

Rosa Parks:  "Fuck you.  I'll sit where I want." At least that's how I envision it.  

  Jane Goodall:  Changed the way we view humanity.  Did it without any formal education on the subject.    

This fucking kid.  Stood in front of a tank.  A TANK!  Ok, three tanks.  Because he said "no need for tanks in the middle of Beijing."  He was right.

This.  Because this is right.  And the fact that it has to have a logo, a motto, or an emblem is wrong.  

Do you even know who this guy is?  He's the guy who made it public that your privacy isn't private anymore.  And because of that, he is safer in RUSSIA than he is in the United States.  

I know what you are thinking.  You’re thinking “Oh, Angela...You fucking hippie. When will you ever learn?” This is the thing, though.  I have learned.  I have learned A LOT.  I have learned that silence is golden.  Unless you have a conscious, then you have to have a voice.  I have learned that patience is virtue.   Until your patience has been exhausted, then you have to act.  I have learned that good things come to those who wait.  Oh...No.  No they don't.  Good things come to those who bust their fucking asses for it.  That's what courage is.  Courage is speaking up against what is wrong.  Courage is exercising your voice.  Courage is fighting the good fight.  Right now.  

Courage isn't easy.  It isn't popular.  But its right.  

-Inner Peas

Be Still

It’s approaching sunset.  Today is the solstice.  For those of us above the Tropic of Cancer, it’s the longest day of the year.  For those of us down south of the Tropic of Capricorn, it’s the shortest.  Everyone in the middle is pretty much living the same day as yesterday.  And tomorrow.  And three months from now.  But in the more southern and northern latitudes, we are experiencing a shift in seasons.  A shift in time.  A shift in mood.  Astronomically, the solstice is a time when the sun is either at its highest or its lowest point in relation to the equator.  Linguistically, the solstice is Latin.   Coming from the Latin derivatives of “Sun” and “Be still.”  But personally, spiritually, the solstice is a time of light and dark.  It’s about day and night. 

Pagans believe that the Winter Solstice is the beginning. It is the celebration of darkness, before the light of a new season.  It’s a time mourn losses, and put them behind you.  For earth bound believers, it is a time of great humility.  And it is.  As for the Summer Solstice, Pagans say that it’s a time of reflection: a time to look back on where you have been. Those ideas have always been brilliant to me.  In times of darkness, our ancestors found a way to look to the light.  In times of light, they looked back to the dark. 

When I was a little girl, I had no idea what the solstices meant.  I knew that summer meant I could play outside later.  It meant no school.  It meant warm nights and dew on the grass in the morning.  The Winter Solstice meant Christmas and food and cold.  Yes, we have seasons in California, too.  Sometimes, it even snows here.  But anyway, back to the solstices.  I never understood the significance of the shortest or the longest day of the year.  I guess at that age, it really didn’t matter.  It matters now, though.  It matters a lot.

The first time that I had ever seen people celebrate the summer solstice was in Alaska.  I drove off the ferry.  Got a house.  Burned a fire.  With people I HAD NEVER MET BEFORE. I was pregnant with Radely and I was tired after a 19 day transit from Virginia.  But something told me to stay up and sit by the fire with these people.   As soon as I watched the sun set behind Barometer Mountain at 11:15, I watched it rise again at 4:25.  There was no darkness.  There was only twilight in what should have been the dark of night.  But it was in those hours, that I realized what the solstice is about.  It’s about the old and the new.  It’s about remembering the past and looking forward to the future.  It’s about being humbled by what you have and being hopeful about what may be.  It’s also about recognizing loss and succumbing to sacrifice. 

From where I write, sunrise happened this morning at 5:47.  The sun set at 8:37.  That’s 14 hours and 50 minutes of total daylight today.  That’s more than half the day to see life clearly.  That’s more than half the day to reflect on what has gotten me to this point.  Those mosquito bites on balmy, island nights.  Rolling down the grassy hills above the Lake.  Paddling the West Side of Santa Cruz Island.  All night fire drills in Yorktown, completed by making out with a guy with a guitar.  Jumping the fence to the University swimming pool and jumping from the cabana roof, naked, with people you barely know.  Sitting by the fire while watching twilight turn into twilight…Year after year after year.  Devising a way to save the world from itself in the dying embers at 4:AM.  Watching the sun set behind the lazy pines, while a little boy runs laps around the yard, picking berries. 

Solstice is about the past, the present, the future.  It’s about a lot of things.  But ideally, it’s about being still so that you can remember where you have been and look forward to where you are going. 

-Inner Peas

We All Fall Down

When Radley was learning to walk, nearly six years ago now, I made a very hard, very conscious decision about how I was going to approach the milestone.  As any first time parent will tell you, the first year of your first child’s life is excruciating.  While full of delight, awe, and endless photo opportunities, that first year is also plagued with uncertainty and fear.  Because this thing is cute.  It’s also brilliant.  Duh.  You made it.  It must be the most magnificent creature to ever grace your friends’ news feed on Facebook.  Just to be clear, I didn’t know what Facebook was when Radley was born.  Anyway, you get the idea.  And if you are a parent, you remember that first year of your first child’s life with marvel and clarity.  You also remember the dismal feeling you felt when your child made the first foray into upright mobility.  Horrifying. 

Anyway, the first time I saw that precious little dude pull himself up on the couch, clumsily try to balance himself on his own two feet, I had a very quick coming-to-Jesus moment.  I knew he was getting ready to fall.  I had to decide how I was going to deal with the inevitable crash-N-burn.  While I was marveling in my 8-month old and his clearly advanced development, I knew he was going to was going fall.  In that minute, I decided that I wasn’t going to run to him.  I wasn’t going to hold him while he cried.  I wasn’t going to coddle him.  Instead, I was going to applauded him for getting back up. 

Now be reminded, this is an evolution that only I was there to experience with my son.  The entire event transpired in less time than it has taken me to retell the story.  Actually, it was a matter of seconds.  I had to feel the pride, the accomplishment, the mommy moment.  Then immediately, I had to decide how I was going to deal with the defeat that would surely follow.  And it did. 

As I watched my baby cry after his very first fall from grace, I fought every instinct my body was screaming at me.  My natural response was to run to him.  To pick him up and hold him in my arms.  To kiss him until he didn’t hurt anymore. I didn’t do that though.  What I actually did was smile and clap and sing his praises for being brave enough to try and try again.  I didn’t run to his rescue.  I just acknowledged his efforts.  It was that decision, made in seconds of uncertainty, that changed my outlook on life and probably guaranteed Radley’s college fund will be exhausted on therapy before he is of college age. 

So, this trip down memory lane brings me to today, when I saw my girlfriend post something really poignant on Facebook.  I know.  I know.  You are thinking that nothing poignant ever happens on Facebook.  But really.  It did today.  One of the women nearest and dearest to my soul said to the internet:  “How many times I have fallen, is how many times I have gotten back up.” Lynda doesn’t let her emotions get the best of her.  She doesn’t fall very often, but when she does she pulls herself back up.  She did that today.  And I applauded her. 

Lynda is at a place in her life that I am very familiar with.  It’s a place that is going to be very dark and very lonely for her.  It’s a place where she is going to question every fiber of her being.  It’s a place I wouldn’t wish on strangers, much less the people I love.  But sometimes, it doesn’t matter how much we try to protect our loved ones from the fall, they need to experience it.  Even if the fall has no other purpose than the recovery. 

There is strength in defeat.  There is weakness in victory.  In the balance, it’s all the same.  We’re all just trying to survive.  Just like those seconds when I had to decide how I was going to raise my child when he first started walking, I also decided the kind of friend I wanted to be.  I can’t stop you from falling, baby, but I can be your biggest fan while you get back up.  

Humble Yourself

I deal, a lot, with my own self-worth issues.  Because of my station in life, I also deal with many others and their self-worth issues.  By no means, am I here to judge the value of others.  In fact, due to my unique perspective, I probably have no business, whatsoever, addressing worth and importance.  But I’ve had a week.  The kind of week that makes you remember how small you actually are in life’s plan.  The kind of week that makes you want to bury yourself in a cave.  A cave that you dug into the side of a mountain.  By yourself.  With a garden spade.  That’s the kind of week I had.  I would rather have built a pyramid in the desert without water or food.  By.  My.  Self.  I would have rather done that than have dealt with the shit I encountered this week.  It was a fucking week, man.

Weeks like this take your emotional well-being out to the recycle bin with the milk jug, peanut butter jar, and the six empty wine bottles.  It was the kind of week that puts you in your place.  The kind of week that reminds you that you are REALLY insignificant.  The kind of week that screams at you:  “HEY!!! You answer phones and forward health records!!”  Or at least, that’s what it said to me.  It doesn’t matter what else I do with my day, phone calls and fed ex are what I do.  That’s what I was reminded of this week. 

That brings me to the topic:  humility. Humility has become routine for me. Humility is the reason I get up every morning.  Humility keeps me employed. Humility also keeps me connected to others.   Because of my anxiety, I often become overwhelmed with myself and absorbed in my own problems.   Then I remember humility.  I also remember that understanding humility means realizing that the universe is bigger than you are.  I answer telephones and forward health records because I need be a part of something bigger than I am.  If you consider yourself larger than life, you never get to participate in the bigger picture.  If you fancy yourself important, you don’t understand humility or connection. 

So, as I was saying, I had a fucking week.  It manifested in a pretty overwhelming panic attack this morning.  I don’t know why or where it came from.  But I was terrified.  Usually, when fear overcomes me, it’s because I haven’t paid the bills or done the laundry or watered the garden.  Usually, when panic presents itself in my life, I have to do something I don’t feel comfortable with or I am overwhelmed with reality or I am terrified of rejection.  But this morning, I woke up shaking.  For no other reason than I just woke up shaking.  That was probably the most frightened I had ever been during an episode.  Because there was no reason for it.  The worst part was that I had to call my friends and tell them I couldn’t make our brunch date.  That’s when I remembered humility. 

While I had a week that I don’t ever want to repeat, life had a funny way of reminding me of my worth.  It humbled me.  It reminded me that some people only see me only for my job description.  That’s OK.  Because I know in my heart, that nothing is outside of my job description when it comes to doing right by the people I love.  It also reminded me that there are some people who will love and trust me, regardless. 

How do I know?  I know because of the door that is always open to me.  The door that will always let me cry and scream.  The door that always opens when objectivity needs to take a front seat to unreasonable demands.  I know because of the kid who I have never met before, but felt comfortable enough to spend 25 minutes at my desk of Friday.  He asked questions and listened to my answers.  I know because as I carried 22 health records into the clinic, a girl, who I have known for less than a month, walked up to me, tears in her eyes and said “Thank you for all of your help.”  Then she told me her story.  Right there in the parking lot.   I dropped all of those records on the ground and held her, as she cried.  She trusted me.  She humbled me.

Now, back to the point, humble yourselves.  Remember what is important.  Remember what you want your legacy to be.  You can make a fair argument for your ability to make change.  You can make yourself more important by telling other people that you are important.  Just because you talk about doing right by others, doesn’t mean that you are actually doing right by others. In order to do right, you actually have to do right.  It takes courage.  It takes strength.  It take character.  It takes humility.  On Friday night, I watched a man, plagued by his past, make right with his future by speaking in a public forum about his demons.  This very afternoon, I sat with a man who has always been my advocate, and as we sat, he just let me be as crazy as I needed to be.  Loving people without expectation is humility.  Being loved by others is humbling. 

-Inner Peas 

I'll Pray For You

The other night, I sat with a woman who I hold very dear to my heart.  She is a woman whose honest soul I saw, vividly, the first time we met.  She is strong and selfless and sincere.  She is fierce and faithful and fervent.  She, like all the women who I love, is her own woman.  She is also a woman most people would never expect for me to share such an intimate connection with.  After all, we come from vehemently different backgrounds.

 She was born in raised in Texas.  I was born and raised in California.  She was raised in church.  I was raised by a pagan and an atheist.  She has found her faith in God.  I have found my faith in nature and humanity.  Her connection is with Jesus Christ.  My connection is with the Universe.  From an outsider’s perspective, the likelihood of us ever being able to sit comfortably in the same room is incomprehensible.  So, the fact that we share the bond of sisterhood, must be even more astonishing.  But I knew Cayce’s spirit was sincere the first time I looked into her eyes. 

Naturally, when I saw her for the first time in two years, all I could do was hold her tight and tell her how much I loved her.  As we drove to the market, we made small talk at first.  Then, I heard a new confidence in her voice.  I heard a new purpose behind her words.  When we got back to the house, we sat and laughed and caught up.  There was no pretense.  There was no agenda.  We just shared where we had been in the time since we had last seen each other.  Finally, something inside me blurted out “How has your spiritualty changed since the last time I saw you?”  And she looked at me, without hesitation, and said “I’ve rededicated myself to my faith.  I pray now.  I know how to pray now.  Because I pray, I know God’s direction for me.  I’ve found peace.”  Say what????

As you might imagine, I realized I was delving into a conversation that could go very badly with someone I love very dearly.  But I know that she loves unconditionally, so I told her:  “I don’t want to offend you, but I am genuinely interested in your journey.”  She let it all go.  She told me about where she had been.  She told me about where she is.  She told me she doesn’t know where she is going, but not knowing is easier to accept since she has renewed her faith in God.  I told her “Little sister.  Your soul has always been blinding.  But I saw something in you today that I have never seen before.  Your confidence in your path and your purpose is overwhelming.”  She blushed a little and hugged me.  Then, I thought about my faith.  I thought about my purpose.  My direction.  So, I shared with her my beliefs with her. 

I talked a lot about my creator being unknown and unnamed.  I talked about how my faith comes from nature and human connectedness.  I told her that I HAVE to believe that we have a connection with the earth and with each other, and my faith in that assembly, lies in the Universe.  The Universe is my higher power, my creator.  I also told her that the reason that I needed something to believe in is because, as much as I believe in it, science can’t yet answer everything.  I also said “There are some things that are so far outside our control, that we need to believe there is a reason.” 

We both listened to each other, perhaps with some skepticism, but without any argument.  Then she said something that really resonated with me.  She said “Until I reaffirmed my faith, I never knew how to pray.”  Those words crashed into me, and I stopped thinking about spirituality. I stopped thinking about the difference in how Cayce and I worship.  I started to think about faith.  I told her “I pray a lot, too.”  I don’t look to the bible for reprieve, but I do look to the stars.  I don’t thank God for what I have been given, but I do thank the Universe.  I may not look to scripture for answers to the unknown, but I do try to make sense of nonsense with my faith.  I do that through prayer.  Maybe not the same prayer as others, but prayer all the same. 

There was a time that I would get very offended when people would say “I’ll pray for you.”  I’d think “What the FUCK?  You don’t think I’ll survive without your prayers??”  I didn’t want any of it.  Don’t try to save me, people.  Only I can save myself.  Then, suddenly, engaged in a VERY unlikely conversation with a VERY unlikely ally, I got it.  I pray, too.  I don’t pray in an orthodox manner.  But I pray.  At night, when I all I feel is dissonance and all I hear is noise, I look to the stars, and try to regain perspective.  When someone I love is going through a hard time, I take them crystals to ground them.  When things don’t make sense to me, find peace with the things I do understand.  That’s how I pray. 

I know that Christians hold stigmas about non-believers.  Pagans, who claim neutrality, tend to judge religious types.  Wars over God have plagued this planet for millennia.  These are ideas that I have rolled my eyes at for as long as I have had a critical mind.  But the other night, in a conversation with I woman I love, not for her faith, but for her character, I started to become a believer.  Not a believer in her God.  Not a believer in mine.  I started to become a believer that we all share a common faith.   And that faith is that we can all find peace in our journey. 

-Inner Peas

Remember

On Memorial Day 1998, I was 12 days away from my high school graduation.  I was 15 days away from boarding an airplane to Philadelphia, PA.  The only thing I was thinking about was getting my hair done for graduation and the most flattering $6 pair of sunglasses I could find and KMART to hide my hangover during commencement.  Getting on that airplane was the furthest thing from my mind.  I didn’t want to think about the flight to Philadelphia or the bus ride that inevitably would ensue, from Philadelphia to Cape May, NJ.  I most certainly didn’t want to think about what would happen after I got to Cape May.  So, on that balmy Monday, 15 days before my life would be changed forever, I thought about graduation.  I sat with my friends and laughed and celebrated our accomplishments.  You know, because when you are 18, you are convinced that the greatest achievement of your life is graduating from high school.  I look back now and think “Wow.  Nobody knew how real shit was going to get.” 

Candidly speaking, shit got real for me a lot sooner than it did for most of my classmates.  We graduated on a Friday.  The following Monday I was on that plane.  Oakland.  Minneapolis.  Philadelphia.  Then a bus to Cape May.  Hello Coast Guard.  We got off the bus.  There was so much yelling.  There were so many push-ups.  There were so many rules.  The fear that came with breaking the rules was even more terrifying than the actual rules.  First night there was this guy screaming:   “If you did drugs EVER in your LIFE, WE.  WILL.  FIND.  OUT!”  Another guy screaming:  “WHY DON’T YOU KNOW YOUR BLOOD TYPE???”  And my personal favorite, the guy who guaranteed the certain death of 86 people: “IF YOU CLEAN THAT SHOWER WITH BLEACH AND COMET…YOU.  WILL.  DIE!!!!”  Oh my, I am going to kill all of these people by cleaning a shower.  I just want to make the grout white again.   Shit was real.  But in hindsight, it was the furthest I’d ever been from real. 

After the eight weeks in boot camp, I went on to five more years of service.  Station BELLINGHAM, QM “A” school, CGC SHERMAN, CGC MUNRO, housing office (please read: get me the fuck out of here.) That was my service.   All of which was, clearly, very glamorous.  Scrubbing brains out of the taft rail on a 41’ utility boat.  High seas drift netters in the Bearing Sea.  Chasing “go-fasts” off of Mexico.  Pulling dead bodies out of the water on Christmas Day.  Writing wills.  Watching hostile fishing boats flagged from Ecuador, crewed by Chinese nationals fight with us over who had the biggest guns.  For the record, that was us, we had the biggest guns.  After all, that’s what we do in this country.  We have big guns.  It wasn’t until I left the service, however, that I learned the meaning of Memorial Day. 

You may be thinking:  “But Angela, you grew up in a military family.  For the last five generations, your family has served this country.  How could you not understand the meaning of Memorial Day until you, yourself, had served?”  Well…The reason is because I also come from a family of pacifists; a family of good Samaritans.  They didn’t fight just to fight.  The people in my family who served before me, served because they believed in the greater good.  They didn’t necessarily believe in the reason for the fight, but more, they believed in the people they could serve in the fight. It’s called service.  Service isn’t just about sacrificing yourself, unquestioningly, to the arbitrary and the unknown.  Service is also about sacrificing yourself to make sure that others don’t feel like their sacrifice is arbitrary an unknown. 

The reason that I didn’t understand the reason for Memorial Day until after I had served is because I had never seen anyone serve before. I knew that they had served, but I had never seen them serve.   It’s also because the people who had served before me considered their service part of their citizenship.  They had all seen atrocities more heinous than I could ever have imagined.  They never spoke of the dead, because it was too painful to discuss.   We live in a different time though.  We live in an era that we would be remiss if we didn’t speak of the dead.  We also live in a time when those who have survived deserve a voice as well.  So, here, tonight, I would like to recognize the people who save lives, the people who heal the lost, the people who make sense of the unknown. 

After 16 years of watching this service evolve, I have watched people serve without recognition.  I have learned the value of servitude.  I have seen selflessness bare its soul to the helpless.  I have had the opportunity to watch the most magnificent servants turn in the most magnificent leaders.  The most remarkable part about those people, is that even as leaders, they still consider themselves servants.  These are the people who stand the watch night and day.  Then they stand the watch into the next night.  These are the people who get underway, in heavy weather, on boats that may or may not be fit for the weather.  They are the people who take responsibility, not only for the crew they travel with, but also for the people they embark to assist.  They are the people who don’t point fingers at another guy for the indiscretions of the people who work for them.  Instead, they take full responsibility for the shortcomings of the people they are responsible for.  They respect their craft. They honor their trade.  They know that saving lives is their business.  Not just the lives that ask for their assistance.  They are also in the business of saving those who have been appointed to their attention. 

Memorial Day is about the fallen.  Even in this peace keeping, sea going service.  We have lost many to the perils of the job.  I guess that’s part of why I am uncomfortable when people thank me for my service.  Because in my mind, I didn’t serve.  I collected a paycheck at the tax payer’s expense.  It was a job that I should have done, without pay, for the betterment of our society.  My service is arbitrary. There are so many who have given so much, and done it without expectation.   But even more than those we have lost, we need to remember those who have survived.  We need to remember those who take ownership of the fallen.  We need to remember that for every lost soul, there is another who will take the responsibility of the loss to the grave.

-Inner Peas