STILL ALIVE
My journey through war, combat and the struggles of PTSD. And the Perils of Addiction. (And stage four cancer)By Rusty LeeAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Rusty Lee
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4678-4825-1Chapter One
My chin nestled in my palm I sat at my sixth-grade school desk, gazing starring eyed out the window into the horizon stretching far beyond the schoolyard where youngsters played. It was then I dreamed that I would one day become a world traveling journalist, a new adventure around every turn. And about six years later, with the dream still burning, I truly believed that dream would materialize. I imagined myself returning home for a visit but soon departing after marveling my friends with adventurous tales. And when exhaustion set in after the countless miles, I would write novels, spellbinding all who read them. But I would discover life has a way of altering dreams. Some dreams come true. Many don't. Mostly, I would discover, dreams change. But as long as I'm still alive, I've found, the possibility they might come true keeps dreams alive.
* * *
I was four years old the first time I almost died but knew I wouldn't. Something powerful rescued me from death's door and, although I thought I knew, I hadn't the slightest clue what it was.
My family was vacationing at a quaint southeastern North Carolina resort, its focal point a pristine lake with water so clear you could view the lake's bottom without so much as a squint. Although a bit cramped for my parents and their four boys, we laid claim to one of the pine- green cottages peppering the lake's perimeter.
Our first morning, after a breakfast of bacon, eggs, and toast smothered in strawberry jam, we boys were anxious to romp in the water. Pop and my three older boys sprinted to the end of the pier and, without slowing their strides, dove into the cool morning water for a race to the lake's bottom. Having yet learned to swim, I was left standing at the pier's edge, alone.
A couple minutes passed with me watching the big people play. Then, like a torpedo, Pop burst above the surface. This was my chance. "Let me play in the deep water with ya'll, Daddy. Please!"
Pop spurt a stream of water. "Not this time, son. We need to teach you how to swim first – just stay on the pier and watch for now." Head down, I sulked.
Lugging towels and a red aluminum cooler, Mother trudged up the pier toward us. She went about her business of being Mother, placing towels for my father and brothers and filling red plastic cups with ice. She then sprawled out her petite five-foot frame to soak in the sun, all the while keeping her proud eyes on her beloved family.
I watched with wonderment as the big people churned all the way to the lake's bottom that I knew had to be at least a hundred miles deep. When Pop and my brothers reached the lakebed, they'd circle, hold hands then battle to stay submerged the longest. After what seemed an eternity, one brother would shoot to the top with the others close behind, gasping for air. Then they splashed about, laughing, and in a few minutes spiraled back to the depths.
I plopped down, my plump chin resting in my pudgy palms and, sitting on the pier's edge, I dangled my toes in the water. What I wanted at that age – when nothing seemed fair – was merely to belong. I decided to do something about it. When Pop and my brothers submerged, I glanced toward Mother to find she was busy watching the others.
I backtracked a few feet then stood at the pier's edge. Since I'd been watching my brothers and Pop do it, I figured it'd be an easy task to dive into the water, swim to the bottom and float back to the surface – just like the big people. Then they'd have to let me be a real member of the family. I raised my arms and then, leaped in feet first.
The first few seconds were OK. The cool water rushed past my body. But when the water swallowed me whole, I began to sink. I flayed my limbs. Looking upward through thousands of air bubbles, I saw Mother leaning over and looking down at me. Sinking, I thrashed as water surged inside my lungs that felt like they were ready to explode.
And then something incredible happened. A soothing calm I'd never felt came over me. Somehow, I understood it meant, "Do not fear. Everything will be all right."
I stopped fighting then looked up to see my brother, Sammy, spiraling toward me. With one great swoop of his arm, he turned our bodies upward and we rose to the surface. Once above the water, Sammy squeezed me, offering comfort. My other brothers, Johnny and Bobby, lifted me from the water and placed me on the pier. I gasped for air.
As Mother hovered over me, Pop wrapped his arms around my terrified mother and me to console us. Mother, the only person on earth that could make me feel that everything was okay even if it wasn't, bundled me in her arms.
With eyes closed, she kept saying the same words. "Oh thank you God for saving my son. Oh thank you God for saving my son."
Her words puzzled me. I thought my brother rescued me. Who was this God person?
That memory of serenity in a near death situation, with my mother continually praising God for saving me has been forever etched upon my mind. I wondered many times in the following years if it was when Mother began praying that I experienced the soothing sensation that calmed me when all seemed lost.
There'd be other times my life almost ended. Some came unexpectedly. Some I saw coming yet I escaped, barely. A couple times, at least, I wished I had died but didn't. And I would come to believe in God. And I would leave Him. And I would doubt if He even existed.
* * *
Four years later, we moved into a brand new sandy-colored brick house perched atop a knoll of a one-acre lawn peppered with pine, elm and oaks. Just beyond our backyard was a rolling landscape of many moods, and beyond that was a thickly wooded forest.
One morning I was exploring the brook that meandered lazily through that expansive forest. The winding brook played a principal role in the life of the woods. The stream journeyed slowly over level land then cascaded down elevated terrain into small ponds that provided homes for small fish, turtles, salamanders, water spiders, snakes and a slew of various bugs. Crickets and grasshoppers bounced around the thick foliage at the edges. Though hidden, frogs made their presence known by their continuous croaking. And a myriad birds lent their sweet serenades.
During warm months, my brother, Bobby, I and some of the neighborhood gang often skinny-dipped in the ponds. I was always mindful that a turtle might snatch my pecker clean off.
This trail of water furnished nourishment to all kinds of plants. Ferns, honeysuckles and dazzling flowers grew along the edges where sunrays pierced like golden arrows through the thick forest canopy. Raccoons, opossums, squirrels and other forest animals drank along the banks.
The stream stretched for miles. Tranquility was its welcome by- product. The soothing sound of the flowing water caressed the ears and spirit. Even at my young age I could see how water that travels peaceably along earth's terrain is one of God's most precious gifts. It can calm a troubled mind and console a hurting heart.
I was scrounging about the creek bottom in search of crawdads. When I found one, usually under a rock beneath the surface of the water, I'd pick it up to study it. I'd turn it upside down to look at its belly and gently rub my fingers on what seemed to be long antennae. Placing the wiggly creature close to my freckled face, I'd gaze up and down the crawdad, paying attention to the brown lobster-like shell. I was intrigued by the way the outer shell had breaks in it to allow the small creature to bend. I'd look directly into the crawdad's protruding eyes.
I thought to myself, Just what is this little feller thinking? Does he think and speak in people language, or does he speak crawdad?
After a spell, I gently placed him back in his home. I didn't want him to get lost. After all, he surely had a family. I didn't want to be the cause of making him an orphan. How would he eat and where would he sleep if he were to lose his family? I considered that it must have taken someone very smart to make all these animals and plants. I didn't know how. I also didn't know of anyone that could. I'd heard of God but as yet did not know all He could do.
I had just found another crawdad when I heard: "Rusty! Rusty!"
I hurriedly but carefully placed my latest study project back in the cool water then leaped straight across the creek and landed on a slippery bank. After gaining traction, I took off, running to gain the prize I cherished most. Though it was the tougher route I decided to take the straight path in order to get there quicker. I cleared the creek and forest and dashed through a field of dew-drenched flowers, driving my firm legs on toward my goal. I knew what awaited me. It meant more to me than life itself. Without it, my life was meaningless. With it, life was more glorious than a sun-kissed rainbow.
I pressed forward, pulling up every ounce of energy I could muster. Faster. I must go faster. Coming out of the flowery meadow I headed straight on, through a field of coarse weeds. A covey of quail flurried from their nest on the ground and startled me. The rough weeds scratched my tender skin. Ignoring the discomfort I pressed on, my chest parting the weeds like a ship plunging through water.
My energy was nearly spent. I forged head first into a heavy thicket of brush. It knocked me to the ground and I staggered to my feet. When my head quit spinning I saw before me a monstrous wall of foliage. Could I cross such a thick wall of stems, branches and vines?
The hedge was far too tall to go over. I considered going all the way around the brush like I did earlier in the morning to get to the creek. That would take far too long to gain my prize. After several minutes of careful scouting, I found a slight opening and slid my right hand and arm in, then the left. With all my might, I shoved the stiff branches aside and dragged myself in. The jungle swallowed me so I twisted my torso left and right and dragged my legs forward. I managed to push aside the larger branches, but the smaller stems snapped back and cut me. I was oblivious to the pain, thinking only of what awaited me. I wrestled franticly, determined to weave my way through the stubborn thicket. My grazed body shoved and heaved. Finally my hands and arms felt nothing but air. I accelerated my movements – twisting, turning, pushing – until I freed myself from the thick brush.
Only a few yards of clover separated my goal and me. My legs churned. At last, I bent my knees and sprung into the widely spread arms of the most beautiful of God's creatures: Mother.
This was my grand prize.
Once she had me, her baby boy, firmly in her arms, she twirled me. I felt so secure in her arms, my arms dangled as I tilted my head up to gaze at cottony clouds spinning against a brilliant blue sky. In the arms of a true goddess, it was true bliss. All was right in my world.
Though I could not see it then and wouldn't understand it for a long time, the experience was a life lesson. Just how hard was I willing to fight to obtain my goal?
Chapter Two
"Your eyes light up the room." - Kathy My school years were relatively unspectacular. That is to say, I was just a normal kid with a normal childhood who, along with my brothers, was raised by two doting parents.
I did most things boys do, I guess. My grades were slightly above average but weren't dazzling. High school for me was one big social hour and the weekends were for partying. And I certainly did my share of it. I had continual supply of girlfriends but didn't date anyone for very long. I was de-virgined during my sophomore year, at fifteen.
My athletic career was brief and very unspectacular. Average at best. But I was fine with that. I enjoyed going to organized sporting events more than playing, I guess. I did love playing pickup games – football, baseball, and basketball and especially golf, where I was better than most but not the best. And I was fine with that as well.
I had always felt that someday I'd be a writer. In my high school junior year, I won a countywide short story contest with the first short story I'd ever written. Writing came so natural for me I assumed my Nobel Prize for Literature would fall into my lap whenever I decided to put pen to paper. I just wasn't ready to commit.
I was brought up in church and believed in God, but I'd become confused over the years. I loved and took to heart the Sunday school lessons. I truly believed Christ to be the Son of God and was in awe of His many miracles. What puzzled me however were the minister's fiery sermons after Sunday school. He always talked of how punishing God was when he came down with "His terrible swift sword." The minister, for me, created a dreadful fear of God. I understood God to be loving and forgiving. I believed people should walk about knowing God loved and supported us instead of sneaking through life in dreadful fear of Him.
I left the family nest after high school, setting course to discover the world on my own. My three older brothers had gone to college, but I wanted, as usual, something different. I wanted to "experience life" – all of it, not just the academic world. I imagined life's experiences as inside a bottle and I wanted to drink the entire bottle, not just a portion. I wanted to taste every flavor imaginable in life – the tangy, bland, spicy, sweet and the bitter
I left the church. I felt a need to find God on my own by observing life and the behaviors of His children, and consequently to come to my own conclusions.
My loving mother and father had taught me many things. One stuck out above all the others. They had repeatedly said: "Leave this world a better place than when you found it." These were words I'd never forget.
At the time, I was walking a tightrope. The country was engaged in a horrible war with and indefinable cause. America was drafting young men and I, single and childless, not in college – was prime bait. I was committed, however to sticking to the path I'd chosen, for good or bad.
A very special person entered my life soon after high school. In one way or another, she would remain with me forever.
It was magic. Even though we were in a parking lot packed with people and cars, she was all that I saw the instant she crossed my line of sight. She was a trim, lean blonde. When I met this Kathy, I thought paradise had found me, saving me the journey. She was so beautiful I assumed God had set aside all His affairs to mold her. Her sparkling green eyes were captivating. Matching dimples accented her smile, and her hair was like golden silk. Her perfect posterior rested atop shapely legs, and she didn't just walk, she flowed. Her beauty was so stunning that men stumbled over their words in her presence and most women felt inferior, yet Kathy acted superior to no one. Remarkably, she was the genuine article.
She treated me as if I were her gift from the Creator. I could not have dreamed of someone so grand and yet she came to me not in a book or a vision but in real life. I loved her like the goddess I envisioned her to be.
When I met her, I was relatively lean and firm at 160. My chestnut hair fell just over the tops of my ears, and at six feet, I was six inches taller than Kathy. She said, "Your eyes are bluer than the brightest of skies. Your eyes light up the room."
We felt like free birds soaring above a landscape of bountiful dreams. I'd become relatively proficient between the sheets, or so I thought, while Kathy was pretty new at it. I discovered that she wasn't just a girl to conquest, but a young lady to grow with. By her own admission, she felt the same. During the warm spring and summer nights, we often lay on a quilted blanket beside a placid lake. Our rapturous groans echoed among tall pines and oaks.
We approached love making as an art form. The higher we climbed the more intense our drive, all the while aiming to ascend the summit at the same blissful moment. Finally, after all energies were exhausted, we'd culminate our climb, and erupted in synchronicity. After a brief recuperation, we ascended the mountain again. That was our way of it.
Then we'd roll to our backs and with her head on my chest, we'd gaze at the star filled sky mirrored in the lake. As gentle breezes caressed our bare bodies, we were in the wraps of passion.
Sometime during our courtship, I realized that you can love someone and you can have sexual desire someone. When you're fortunate enough to find both with the same person, you've discovered bliss. Those first years of our romance were about tenderness, sharing and about me being grateful I'd found Kathy.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from STILL ALIVEby Rusty Lee Copyright © 2011 by Rusty Lee. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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