February 28th, 2005 by C.A. Dubois

*sigh*
I started this post with a sigh for you, the reader. Why would I sigh for you? Possibly because I have always been distinctly aware of how this next story affects those who hear it. This is one of those things people rarely feel comfortable with. However if you are going to join me occasionally, you’d probably need to know this….I guess it speaks a lot about me, or so I’ve been told.

There is no other way to tell this story, then to state it like it happened.

The day my son’s died, I was supposed to be off. My Schedule as a firefighter had me working 4 days on, 3 days off. I had a nanny who lived with me and the boys. She was a member of our family in every sense of the word. I was a single parent. My oldest son’s father was a dead beat dad. My youngest son’s father died in a car accident long before I ever knew I was pregnant with his child. My boys suffered no lack of male role models….afterall, I did work on a department that was all men except for me.

One of my younger firefighter’s called the station house the night before. His wife had gone into labor, and obviously he needed someone to cover his shift. I called home and spoke to my boys….both of them said “Stay Mommy….you can come home when the baby is born.” My oldest son was 11, my youngest 4 1/2. My nanny echoed the boys’ feelings, and so with their blessing I stayed at the station the next morning instead of going home.

At approximately 3:00 pm in the afternoon a call came in….It was a 10-50 (Radio speak for car accident). Multiple Cars, Possible DOA’s. My crew and I rolled immediately. We approached the intersection of this car accident from the south. Initial reports via radio claimed more unit’s were needed…so I knew the northern sub-station would be on the other side of the intersection.

Our side of the intersection was the side of the “possible” drunk driver. I say “possible” because as a firefighter and EMT, you never really diagnos these things….that’s a doctor’s job. there are actual medical conditions that can make a person seem intoxicated when they really aren’t, and thus why you always say “possible.”

When we arrived on scene, it was a mess. The car with the possible drunk driver had been thrown so far that I wasn’t really able to see the other vehicle involved back at the intersection. It didn’t matter if I saw it or not, my job was clear, work on the driver, stabilize him and the scene and basically do what firefighters do until the paramedic’s arrived.

The radio clipped to my shoulder was unusually quiet after about two minutes on scene. I didn’t think much of it then…other then noting the radio chatter was quiet…..

My fire chief was the one to come get me. Just before he reached me I heard the call for life flight…one victim was critically injuried. I also heard the call for the coronor, sadly there were two deceased. Then my Fire Chief walked over and pulled me away from my patient. “LilBit…” Was all he could say.

My department called me Lilbit…because they claimed I was a little bit of a thing, little bit of a smartass, little bit of trouble and a little bit of a pain in the ass.

It was when I heard the gasped ‘LilBit’ that I realized our scene was not operating right. Too many firefighter’s, police officers, and now paramedics stood starring at me instead of working. I looked into my chief’s eyes and knew it had been my boys killed and my nanny who was being airlifted out.

My heart broke for all of the people staring at me. I have never witnessed so many men wanting so desperately to fix a situation in their lives. That really broke my heart, not because I needed it fixed, but because they needed to fix it so they could cope.

You see, I was raised differently then 99% of my peers. I don’t look at death as bad, I don’t fear it, and when it happens to my loved ones, I don’t cry for them. I’ll cry for my loss….but never once have I ever felt death cheated anyone. It is part of life, and every single being will face it at some point.

Instantly, I KNEW I would be okay one day. It was going to hurt like hell, and suck royally, but, at no point did my world collapse around me. When I looked into the eyes of the men I worked with, I saw their worlds wanting to collapse….that broke my heart.

The accident happened at the intersection nearest our home. The gas station store on the corner was our favorite place to get ice-cream. After I walked over and saw the boys and said a last goodbye, I walked to the curb right on the corner where this gas station was. I wanted a ciggarette. I wanted people to stop hurting, and I wanted to simply sit and relax. The lady who owned the store came out and sat down next to me.

“You need something…what I get for you?” She said in her heavy accent. I asked for a smoke and she got it, returning to my side. She didn’t smoke, and neither did I, but that day we did!

When I noticed that my men were not giving adequate care to the drunk driver who had hit my nanny’s car, I went over and chewed their asses. No other mother would find out her son died today while I was on duty.

90% of the people on scene did not understand why I would want this man to live. Can I see their points of views, yes; did I agree with them, no. I made sure that man lived, and I am glad I did. It was a nasty, stupid, should have known better accident. One that could be prevented by a wiser choice….that man never got into his car with the intent to kill my boys, I knew that, even though I was still in shock.

My nanny lived only another few weeks, her injuries too critical. Things changed that day in my department, many of the rural southern men who once looked at me as their peer, now saw me as a tiny lady they wanted to make feel better in some manner. Bless their hearts………I am so very glad men and women are not equal.

So my sons died in May of 1998. Most people will never understand what I am about to say next. My son’s deaths gave me the very best of both worlds. I had the joys, struggles, laughters and tears that comes with being a parent. I had my boys for the best years of their lives….they years where I adored their every breath, and they adored me. We hadn’t ever gotten to the age where we had begun to drift apart or let each other down.

Now I have the wonderful freedom that comes from being 37 years old and a single lady. As I watch my peers trying to raise their children in today’s world, I feel lucky. I don’t have to tell my boys about AIDS, Gang Wars, September 11th 2001, Drugs, Unprotected Sex…..

The people at the scene that day never understood that their deaths did not destroy me….most humans think such a loss would at least destroy parts of a person….It’s wrong in many people’s eyes to celebrate and honor death.

They lived full and happy lives. Maybe in my eyes, or yours their lives weren’t full…how could they be…those boys were so young….but you see, the universe itself is bigger then my eyes, or yours….and they died laughing, eating ice cream, feeling and knowing they were loved every day of their lives!!!!!

So, if you have made it this far in this post….stop one second and take a deep breath….It’s okay that my boys died….I promise it is….you see, their deaths taught me something….. we can never, ever, ever find our happiness if we live our life for another….live your life like a child does….for yourself….and I promise you, you might find that when you die, you were loved every day of your life!

Why Not – Right?

February 27th, 2005 by C.A. Dubois

I am a HUGE advocate of Passion. I’m not referring only to sexual passions….I mean true passion a person can feel about whatever it is their doing.

Normally I walk around wondering where the Passion for life is. So many people – so little true, real, honest passion. I would shrivel up and die if I didn’t live my life passionately.

Today as I blogged through Cyber-Space, I ran across Heads or Tails. A blog by a man named Thomas.

This man has passion! It eeks out of every pore of this blog. Now some may go over and read Heads or Tails and say, “Oh she got suckered in by his romantic erotica.”

Sorry, but no…it wasn’t his erotic stories that capatured my attention. Although they are nicely done, and he obviously has a ‘following’, what caught my eye was the passion with which he wrote every word.

Bravo Thomas….viva la passion!

Why Not – Right?

February 27th, 2005 by C.A. Dubois

I found this particular entry in Blog by Knight absolutely too cute!!! I especially adored the ‘note to self ‘ about coffee perculators!

February 27th, 2005 by C.A. Dubois

I tend to volunteer in my community a lot. 99% of the time, my volunteering is centered around children. I am a leader for Girl Scouts, A Pack committee Member for Boy/Cub Scouts, and I volunteer at almost every event held at the local Elementary, Middle and High schools. A lot of the local community finds it weird that I am so involved with the children of this area. I have no children of my own – perhaps that is why they find my presence weird?

Of Course, I tend to be unorthodox in my dealings with children. That could be the other reason they think me weird.

Last September, the local middle school asked me to be involved with the production that the Drama Club was doing. The task…Be stage manager and co-director of the musical they voted to produce – Sleep Hollow. Now how hard could being stage manager be for that? After all, even if I lost some child’s head….This IS Sleepy Hollow…I’ll just swap costumes on the poor kid and voila, a new star is born as the Headless Horseman.

I went to the first meeting, where students and their proud parents received the cast list, schedule for rehearsals and shows, and scripts. When I arrived at this meeting, I instantly began to have second thoughts. There were over 100 children, plus their parents standing in the tiny drama room of our local middle school. These children ranged in age from 4 years old to 19. I looked to the Drama teacher, the woman who recruited me, with surprise.

“Is this auditions? I could have sworn you said you already held them.”

“Oh no, this is our cast. Well almost all of them, the main supporting actors, about 15 of them are not here yet.”

I suddenly wanted to cry. What happens if I misplace two heads of children? Sleepy Hollow only has one headless horseman! As I sat starring into the sea of hyperactivity, I sat down my coffee cup.

Now for those of you who do not know me, Coffee is the nectar of the gods, and the only thing I drink. (Except water) 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, 365 days a year, I can be found with my coffee cup no further then five feet away. I am a raving lunatic biotch without my coffee, and it needn’t be caffeinated either…I just love the taste of coffee.

Mrs. Z, the Drama teacher, began the meeting. She gave a brilliantly happy little speech about how excited she was, how much fun this would be and other essential blah blah blah’s. Then Mrs. Z tried to introduce me. I say tried, because she only got through half of her introduction when a hyper 7 year old ran away with my cool cup!

“OH I KNOW you did not just take my coffee cup!”

A small child stares at me and then slowly shakes her head no. Aware that hundreds of eyes are now staring at me as silence settles over the room, I ask for my cup back, hold it lovingly and put a smile on my face. Mrs. Z quickly finishes her intro and indicates I should give some sort of welcoming comment.

The kids look scared, the parents look pissed and Mrs. Z looks like she wants to fire me, except I’m her only volunteer. I quickly decide a mood change is in need. After sharing with them my name, how many plays and musicals I have been involved with, I start the fun.

“Now over the next two months, I am going to be everywhere you kids will be. My job will be to manage the entire cast, the props and the back stage area….Which means at times, I might not ask you to do something…I might tell you too. One thing you should know, I am really big on safety, and if I see you doing something unsafe, I WILL get after you….There will be no blood, no bruises, no battering, no breaking of bones or loss of breath, life or limb around me…” Kids begin laughing at my words. Seeing their fears ease, I make my move. “So just remember, I’m always watching…..You all follow what you’ve been told and don’t mess with my props and we will have a blast….If you mess around….Well…all I can say is don’t make me go Hitler on you!”

The room explodes in laughter, and suddenly my newest nickname is born.

Two months of rehearsal’s every day except Sunday’s began the next day. Every child in the play, as well as their siblings, parents and occasional friends who came to rehearsals began calling me Hitler. As we learned to dance, sing and enter/exit the stage, the cries of HITLER become more and more…. Even the middle and high school principal’s begin calling me Hitler….During the two months of rehearsal’s, the entire rural farm community I live in; started calling me Hitler.

Our show ran for over two weeks, giving us a grand total of 27 performances. (Some days we had three shows a day) It was a grueling pace, and how those 121 kids kept up with it, I don’t know. Mrs. Z and I were exhausted one week into rehearsals.

The kids had come to me before the opening night, and asked me to arrange to have flowers for Mrs. Z at the end of every performance. They adored her, and she really is a most excellent drama teacher! As I had been asked, I did have those flowers waiting, hidden backstage each and every night. Trust me, putting on any play with an all child cast is hard enough, making it a musical with full vocal and choreography makes it even tougher, and doing all that with a cast of 121 students….That woman deserved flowers and a Zoloft!

We had a blast, and during the entire time, no one ever thought twice about the fact that such a morbid, hated name as Hitler was bestowed upon an adult these children worked with….Well almost no one…I thought it odd

Then came closing night, as always I had Mrs. Z’s flowers waiting in the wings. Our show had been so successful we had gone into a four show extension and that night was our last. The kids had made over $2000.00 for their drama club, a first in the history of the school! Never before had a production made a profit! Mrs. Z and I could not have been prouder!!!

Just as I was about to pull the curtain closed for the last time, three of our actors who were high school students, literally ran into the wings, picked me up and dragged me on stage. The three leads in the play spoke of their weird, tiny, prop-Nazi, stage manager to the entire audience. 121 kids giggled as Tim, our Lead Star presented me with their token of thanks…. a pair of costume fairy wings that slipped on over my shirt.

Instead of flowers, I had been given the best gift of all….They gave Hitler her wings….

Why Not – Right?

February 26th, 2005 by C.A. Dubois

I’m the daughter of a father
Who went to fight a war.
They say that my sweet daddy
Came back different then before.

As I grew up he taught me things
That every girl should know.
Like how to fire an M-16
And where a grenade to throw.

I learned to spy rig on a rope
Hanging from the “bird”.
I also learned to speak a language
Using hand signs, how absurd

I learned what cover and conceal
Can mean when you’re at play.
In fact I still do use those things
Even to this day.

When I was nine I learned to dig
Like any other kid.
It was a bunker and I did not know
That’s what my dad lived in.

My daddy taught me how to drive
When I was just thirteen.
Of course I drove the tank
Of a United States Marine.

I grew up wearing cameo green
And thinking it was normal.
I also wore the gowns
For when the Balls were formal.

I learned to stand in silence
When they’d take our great flag down.
I also woke to Reveille
Blaring through our town.

He did not sing me lullabyes
As I fadded of to sleep,
But I can call a Cadence
That will bring you to your feet.

I learned of things called honor
Pride and courage and salutes;
And I always knew just how to make
The spit shine on my boots.

My father may be dead now
It was his time to go
But before you call him killer
I think that you should know

My daddy, he did raise me
Taught me lots – as you do see.
He also fought a fight I didn’t,
So that I could just be free.

As I grew up I learned a lot
From that very special man.
After all, he was my daddy.
Not a killer, just a man.

For Daddy….OORAH

Why Not – Right?