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    Name: dyzgoneby
    Location: California, United States

    I am married to a wonderful Marine and a mother of 5 darling children. Sniper has been home from his second tour in the Shitbox since July 2006. This will be my rants, raves and rumblings with my life with him as a Marine Wife, him dealing with life post Iraq and the Marine Corps next adventure for us. At times I may whine, I may cry and there maybe times I just don't make any sense and you think WTF. These are my feelings and my feelings alone. If you don't like what I have to say, click the "X" in the right corner and move on. Thank a vet for having that choice. If not, sit back and enjoy the peak into my crazy world.

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    Saturday, December 23, 2006

    Bringing the Corpsman Home

    *Tissue Alert~I came across this the other morning and I wanted to share it with ya'll. Please never forget this Christmas Season, those who have given the ultimate sacrifice and their families.


    Battlefield's 'Doc' now in a nation's care, Brought home by his best friend, lost medic unites perfect strangers

    The skinny sailor sat in the Philadelphia airport terminal in his deep-blue dress uniform, cracking his knuckles, shifting in his seat, waiting for his best friend.

    http://www.rockymountainnews.com/drmn/local/article/0,1299,DRMN_15_5216457,00.html

    By Jim Sheeler, Rocky Mountain News
    December 15, 2006

    A woman from the airline walked over and motioned for him to follow. She saw the nervous look on the sailor's face and stopped.

    "Wait," she said. "Is this your first time doing this?"

    "Yes, ma'am," the 22 year-old said, his voice cracking.

    "Well, unfortunately, it's not the first time for me," she said. "Not even the first time this week."

    She led him toward the gate and gave him a soft smile.

    "You'll do fine," she said.

    Inside the airport, the public-address system pumped out Peggy Lee's Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree. A nearby group of passengers loaded up their ski clothes, readying for a vacation. Suit-and-tied businessmen with premier privileges watched as the sailor was led in front of them all.

    None of them knew his mission.

    On board the nearly empty plane, a flight attendant was one of the first to shake his hand.

    "I understand you're escorting today," he said. "Is this the fella from Longmont? I live in Boulder. I've been reading about him in the papers."

    "Yes, sir," the sailor said in a warbled voice that sounded like an eighth-grader.

    "I'm sure you'll do yourself and your service proud," the flight attendant said.

    After speaking with the crew, the pilot walked over and offered his hand.

    "I understand he was your friend," the captain said.

    "I'm sorry."

    The sailor nodded. He carried his soft, white hat in his hands. The patch on his left shoulder signified his status as a Navy hospital corpsman.

    The captain then looked at one of the crew members.

    "Are there any seats in first class? I'd like to bring him up here."

    After the sailor stowed his bags, the woman from the terminal walked him back out to the jetway, where he waited as the other passengers boarded the plane. As they filed past, some stole glances at him, some smiled at him, and he tried to smile back.

    As the sailor waited, another flight attendant, a Vietnam veteran, walked over.

    "Hello," he said, grasping the sailor's hand. "Thirty years ago, they didn't say thank you to us. I wanted to say thank you now."

    The sailor nodded again and managed a grin. Then the chief of the ground crew opened the door to the stairs that led to the tarmac.

    "OK," he said. "We're ready."

    In cardboard box, a casket

    Underneath a whining jet engine near the rear cargo hold, baggage workers lifted the tarp on a cart, and the sailor swallowed hard. He checked to see if the name on the cardboard box matched that of his best friend.

    An American flag was printed atop the box, which encased the polished hardwood casket, protecting it during transit from Dover Air Force Base to the airport, and then to Denver, where the box would be removed before anyone saw it. On each end, the box was stamped with a large official seal of the Department of Defense.

    The last time Hospital Corpsman 3rd Class John Dragneff saw his friend was the same day Hospital Corpsman Christopher Anderson left for Iraq. They talked endlessly that day, about taking care of each other's families, about taking care in general. That was, after all, what they had in common.

    Often in restaurants, the waitperson would ask the sailors, "Are you brothers?" The first few times, they laughed it off. After a while, they started answering without hesitation, "Yes."

    The two men had met at field medical training school, and they clicked right away. They soon studied together, went to the beach in Camp Lejeune, N.C., where Anderson surfed, and just generally hung out, talking about where life was headed for both of them.

    More recently, they spent time talking about what it meant to hold somebody's life in your hands — and to lose it.

    Tuesday afternoon, the young sailor stood on the chilly tarmac in Philadelphia. As the casket made its way up the conveyor belt, he snapped to attention, grasping his hands into fists, thumbs at the seams of his pants, trying to squeeze back the tears.

    His eyes emptied as he brought his hand to his face in a salute, which he tried to hold steady until the casket disappeared into the plane's belly.

    As he turned, the sailor's face melted, and he walked into the embrace of Pamela Andrus, the United Airlines service director. The ground manager took his other side, supporting him.
    "I'm so sorry," Andrus said.

    Together, they walked back up the stairs, into the plane, where a cheery flight attendant came over with several tissues plucked from the lavatory.

    "You can cry," Christine Sullivan told him. "All of us want to send our love and blessings to you and be here for you.

    "You're going to do great."

    Corpsmen have long history

    On Dec. 4, Chief Hospital Corpsman Kip Poggemeyer wasn't supposed to be in his office at Buckley Air Force Base in Aurora. It was his day off, but the 37 year-old was busy trying to finish medical reports that would send another batch of Navy reservists from Colorado to Afghanistan.

    Only last year, the Navy corpsman had returned from Marine Corps Air Station Al Asad in Iraq, the closest medical base to some of the heaviest fighting in the country — a base that shook with mortar attacks 26 times during his deployment.

    Within his first week, he saw massive combat wounds while performing the same job that his grandfather held during World War II, the same job he knew he wanted since he was a little boy.
    The history of the Navy hospital corpsman dates back to the Spanish-American War. The Marines needed a field medic, and looked to the Navy to provide one.

    According to Navy historian and Hospital Corpsman Mark Hacala, the Navy hospital corpsman has provided front-line medical care that has saved countless lives on the battlefields of every conflict since, earning a disproportionate share of accolades and awards and suffering a similarly large percentage of casualties.

    Despite both services living under the umbrella of the Navy, Marines and sailors hold an intense traditional rivalry. When new hospital corpsmen are assigned to Marine units, the Marines may tease them as "squids" — or worse. Still, the hospital corpsmen have to learn to think, act and react with the speed of their Marine unit.

    When a hospital corpsman is first attached to a unit, the Marines will call them by their last name, or maybe just "corpsman." Eventually — only when corpsmen earn the Marines' respect — they earn the nickname "Doc."

    "The first time they call you 'Doc,' it's like, 'Yes! I have arrived,' " Poggemeyer said. "It makes you feel like you're part of the team."

    Once the fighting begins, the corpsman's duty is usually one of the riskiest — carrying their own weapon along with medical gear.

    The Marines say they will take a bullet for the corpsman, because he's the only one who can take it out.

    "If they yell, 'Corpsman up,' they know Doc is going to be right there," Poggemeyer said. "When the Marines call you 'Doc,' you know you'll never let them down, you'll never leave their side. That bond between a Marine and a Navy corpsman is something that will last forever. We call them 'My Marines' — they call us 'My Doc.' "

    Somewhere near Ramadi on Dec. 4, Christopher Anderson's Marines called on their Doc. Details of the attack have not been released by the military, other than the information Poggemeyer received in his office that afternoon.

    "They told me it was a corpsman, KIA (killed in action) in Ramadi from a mortar attack. . . . It brought back all the memories," he said. "I had come full circle. I was in Iraq and saw people die. But I had never seen this side."

    That afternoon, Poggemeyer and another casualty-assistance officer met the Navy chaplain in Longmont. The chief carried with him a sheet with the name of 24-year-old Hospital Corpsman Christopher A. Anderson — and his parents' address in Longmont.

    Together, the sailors drove to the modest home with an American flag flying from the porch, and another special flag in the window.

    After they parked the government sport-utility vehicle at 5:30 p.m., Poggemeyer saw the blue-star flag, signifying the family had a loved one overseas.

    "Doc Anderson," it said underneath the star.

    "When I saw that, my heart just sank," he said. "My mom and dad had one of those flags up while I was gone. My wife had one up."

    Still, he made his way to the door.

    "I pushed the doorbell," he said, "and I felt like a horse kicked me in the stomach."

    Debra Anderson opened the door and saw the men in uniform.

    "Oh, honey," she said with a smile, calling to her husband.

    "The sailors are here. The recruiters are here."

    Rick Anderson came to the stairs and his face paled. A former Navy SEAL, he recognized the uniforms.

    "Honey, we need to sit down," he said.

    "These aren't recruiters."

    With service came emotion

    In the first-class section of United Airlines Flight 271 from Philadelphia to Denver, the sailor looked through a booklet called Manual for Escorts of Deceased Naval Personnel.

    "It's weird. I think back, and I was never an emotional-type person until I joined the military," Dragneff said. "In the past, I've had relatives who died, but I never really cried. I guess that since I've been in, it all means a lot more."

    He thought back to one of the last times he saw his friend, Chris, when they went to visit Arlington National Cemetery on Memorial Day, and Dragneff found the grave of a sailor he had trained with.

    "When we went out to Arlington, standing there, I just started crying, and I couldn't understand why. I didn't really know the guy that well," Dragneff said.

    "Chris just grabbed me and hugged me and let me sit there and cry. As we were walking away, a man walked up and shook my hand and said, 'Thank you.' So then, Chris started to cry. So there were just the three of us standing there, crying.

    "A few minutes later, just trying to cheer me up, he made up some story about a squirrel on crack. Just like that. He could make you smile."

    Dragneff was the responsible one, relatively shy, the designated driver who didn't drink or smoke. He was the one happy in a sweat shirt and jeans, while Anderson would change clothes five times before going out, a neatnik who splurged on Armani and Ralph Lauren.

    At 6-foot-2 inches tall, with short-cropped, jet-black hair and hazel eyes, the muscular, outgoing 24-year-old never lacked in self-confidence.

    "Damn, I look good," he wrote on one of the photos displayed on his

    MySpace.com account. On the Web site, Dragneff posted regular updates about his friend while he was in Iraq. He was also the one to inform them of Chris' death.

    "Dec 5 2006 12:56P," he wrote.

    "Christopher Anderson, you weren't a 'real' brother, but you were still my brother. A person could not ask for a better friend or brother. You will be greatly missed. Love your brother, John.
    "Rest in peace."

    Brother gets a phone call

    On the evening of Dec. 4, Kyle Anderson wound through the remote roads of Weld County, making his regular rounds in his Schwan's food-delivery truck, when he realized he had a message on his cell phone.

    "It was my dad, saying that he had a problem and he needed my help, and that he wanted me to come home right away," he said.

    The 22-year-old shook his head.

    "My dad is a Navy SEAL. There's nothing he can't handle. I knew something was wrong," Anderson said.

    "When I called back, the first thing I said was, 'Is my brother alive?' And he said 'No.' "
    He hung up the phone.

    On the other end of the line, his parents worried. The notification team offered to go and pick up the young man who was now their only son.

    When Kyle called back, his parents asked him to pull over, saying the sailors would meet him to help drive back. He parked his truck at the intersection of Interstate 25 and Colorado 66, and waited, crying alone in the dark.

    "It was so surreal. I wondered, 'Is this really happening?' " he said. "As I waited longer, I thought, 'Maybe they won't show up. Maybe it's not real.' "

    When the government SUV arrived, Kyle dropped his head.

    "It was about 25 degrees outside, and we were standing on the side of I-25 telling him about his brother," Poggemeyer said. "And giving him hugs."

    Once back at the home in Longmont, the family talked to the notification officers about their son, breathing life into the name on the casualty list.

    "We spoke to him on Dec. 3," his father said. "He talked about the Christmas presents he wanted us to buy for a neighbor, and that he wanted us to send out Christmas cards for him."
    At his funeral service today in Longmont, the family plans to hand out their son's Christmas cards to everyone who attends.

    He asked that the card end with a single phrase: "Please Remember Our Troops!!!!"

    Fourth-generation serviceman

    When Christopher Anderson enlisted in the Navy in 2005, the Longmont High School graduate became the fourth generation in his family to do so. At boot camp, he was voted the "honor graduate" in his class. After that, he wanted to excel in everything.

    Before he left for Iraq, Christopher and his father mined military supply shops, looking for any equipment that might help him in the field. He looked for anything that might help him blend in with the Marines, since he knew corpsmen were prime targets.

    "I have to be able to do this in the dark," he told his father.

    In Iraq, he asked to be stationed with the front-line Marines and was assigned to a 12-man unit. One of his first tasks was to memorize each Marine's medical records. His medical expertise stretched beyond his unit to the Iraqi people, who would talk to him "because he was 'the dictor' (as the Iraqis called him). "There were times that nobody would talk to anyone except him," Rick Anderson said.

    Once, he told his parents, an angry crowd had mobilized, but it was quashed when a woman recognized the corpsman and stepped in.

    "She said, 'This is the one who helped my baby,' " Rick Anderson said, "And that dispersed the group, and everything was OK."

    After some of his weekly early morning calls home, it was impossible for the couple to fall back asleep.

    "One time, he called us at 5 a,m. My wife heard some funny noises and heard shouts of 'Where's that coming from? Where's that coming from?' " Rick Anderson remembered.

    The Andersons, still in bed, listening with the phone between them, heard gunfire.

    "I'm going to stay down here," he told them. "I'll just belly-crawl down the hallway so I can talk to you."

    In one mortar attack, he was blown across a room, bruising him. Not long afterward, after another attack, he was in the back of a Humvee, his hands covered with his sergeant's blood, speeding toward a field hospital, tying tourniquets and offering encouragement.

    "The sergeant told him, 'Tell my wife and kids I love them.' He told him he wouldn't need to do that, while he was pinching off an artery because the tourniquet came loose," his father said.
    That sergeant is now recovering at Walter Reed Army Hospital, the family said, and plans to attend Anderson's burial at Arlington National Cemetery on Dec. 21.

    Before he left, Christopher and his father talked about the possibility that he wouldn't return, and Christopher had asked for a burial at Arlington.

    He had only one other request:

    "If something happens," he told his father, "I want John there."

    Word spreads through plane

    At 31,000 feet, the word slowly slipped through the plane about the sailor in first class — and his mission.

    When the passengers found out, their emotions spanned the debate that continues to split the country. Some cursed President Bush by name. Others cursed anyone who says they support the troops without supporting the war. Despite their political leanings, they all said they appreciated the sailor that most of them called "the kid" in the front of the plane — and, even more, the one in the cargo hold beneath them.

    Seat 33F, Patrick Mondile, Philadelphia:

    "I look at my own situation — I'm 24 years old. I think about, it very well could have been me, if I'd chosen that path. I have friends over there right now," Mondile said. "I don't understand why we're there (in Iraq), but I feel for the families — not just for this soldier, but the thousands who have died."

    Seat 14A, Pam Anderson, New Jersey:

    "God bless him. God bless him," she said of the sailor in first class. "If he wants any free hugs, just send him back here," the 62 year-old said. "I'm serious. I'm completely serious. I joined the Air Force as a flight nurse, and my squadron is taking a lot of men and women out of the field right now."

    Seats 8D, 8E, Dave and Lindy Powell, Monument:

    "To me, it's a sense of honor. We didn't know him, but he's part of the Colorado family. We're from Monument. So he's part of our family, too," Dave Powell said.

    "Our nephew is a C-130 pilot who's flying into Iraq and Afghanistan. Kids in my Scout troop joined the Marines and went right to Baghdad."

    His voice broke.

    "They all came home safely."

    Seat 22D, Terry Musgrove, Ontario, Ore.:

    "If we don't support them, then it's going to embolden the terrorists," he said, fuming as he spoke about a new poll indicating that support for the war is declining. Before the flight took off, he was the only passenger to shake the skinny sailor's hand at the terminal.

    "It breaks my heart to know that he's on the plane. I had no idea," he said, as he began to cry.

    "But I'm proud to tell you, I'm proud."

    Seat 16F, Michael Lipkin, Aspen

    "I think it's extremely sobering. This is a war where few of us have family and friends over there, and despite the fact that it dominates the media, I think most of us don't feel the cost, the real cost of this war. And we're going to be paying it for a long time," Lipkin said.

    "I'm just chilled that that body is on here."

    Inside the cabin, flight attendant Christine Sullivan walked back after visiting with the sailor again.

    "It just makes it real," she said. "It's separated from politics at this point. It's just about the humanity."

    Airline pilot pays tribute

    As the plane began its initial descent, Captain George Gil's voice crackled over the intercom.
    "Ladies and gentlemen, pardon the interruption, but if I could have your attention," he said, and then paused.

    "The great song from Francis Scott Key says that to live in the land of the free, it must also be the home of the brave. Today, we're bringing home two brave men: Petty Officer 3rd Class John Dragneff, and, in great sadness, a fallen hero, Hospitalman Christopher Anderson."

    He asked the passengers to let Dragneff off first to meet the casket, then addressed the escort:
    "Please know that our prayers and blessings are with you and the family. Thank you for your courage."

    A phalanx of pallbearers

    As the plane taxied to the gate at Denver International Airport on Tuesday evening, the passengers saw the flashing lights of the police cars, the hearse parked on the tarmac, and they spoke in hushed whispers.

    As Dragneff left the plane, a phalanx of pallbearers — three Marines and three sailors — walked toward the plane, for the sailor who died saving Marines.

    Inside the belly of the plane, ramp workers removed the cardboard box protecting the casket, while sailors arranged the American flag.

    The family embraced as the casket was lowered on the conveyor belt. Some of the plane's passengers watched from their windows. Some watched from the windows inside the terminal.
    The pallbearers loaded the casket into the hearse, and Dragneff hugged the family before climbing into the passenger's seat.

    As the motorcade made its way toward Longmont, the three sailors who served as pallbearers jumped into a white van, which pulled in behind the limousines.

    As they left the airport, police officers and firemen stood in salutes, bathed in the flashing emergency lights.

    "This is so cool that they do this," said Storekeeper 3rd Class Ben Engelman. "This is so amazing."

    At the Erie and Dacono exit, firetrucks and ambulances, lights flashing, were parked on the overpass. As the procession turned toward Longmont, the lights burned even brighter.
    "He deserves this. He was doing good," said Petty Officer Rick Lopez.

    On Colorado 66, cars pulled over, along with firefighters, who continued to salute.
    Then there was Longmont's Main Street.

    At 20th Avenue and Main, the flags began. Kids holding plastic flags, Korean War veterans holding worn American flags, bandana-clad Vietnam veterans holding POW/MIA flags.

    At 18th and Main, groups held candles and signs. "God Bless Your Son. Thank You." A boy held his candle to his mother's to light it, as the hearse passed.

    At 17th and Main, hands over hearts. Hats over hearts.

    "Dude, this is giving me chicken skin," Lopez said, shivering. "I've never seen anything like this."
    At 15th and Main, people came out of a restaurant to watch the procession. Police cars with blue lights and medical cars with red lights shone on the Christmas decorations wrapping the trees of downtown.

    Outside, it was about 40 degrees. Still, the crowds continued to line the streets. More children with wobbly salutes. A woman in a walker. A couple that embraced in a hug as soon as the hearse passed.

    They drove in silence for a few minutes, then Lopez spoke again.

    "You know," he said, "sometimes I wish they would do this for us when we come home alive."

    A 'smile in his voice'

    Inside the funeral home, a few feet from her son's flag-draped casket, Debra Anderson held tight to a single photo.

    "I had to have my picture of my smiling Christopher," she said, staring at it, then at the casket.
    While Christopher was deployed, his parents talked with him at least once a week — mostly for only a few minutes. The last time they spoke, the day before he died, he ended his conversation the way he always did, telling his parents, "I love you."

    "You could hear his smile in his voice, you could hear it on the phone," his father said. "He was going back to work, back to do his job, back to doing what he wanted to do."

    Inside the funeral home, Debra Anderson leaned into her husband of 26 years, wiping her face with a tissue.

    "My boy, my boy," she said. "Christopher said he'd be OK. He promised he'd be safe, Rick — he PROMISED me. I miss him. I miss the phone calls. I miss him terribly. I want to talk to him."

    "Hey," Rick Anderson said softly, "now we can talk to him anytime we want."

    "Ooooh," she moaned. "My heart hurts. My heart hurts. It was my job to take care of him. I shouldn't have let him go. I shouldn't have let him go."

    "You were going to stop Christopher?" his father asked. "Since when?"

    They both managed a smile, and their eyes again fell on the casket.

    As the family told Christopher stories from chairs in a corner of the room, Kyle Anderson stood at the foot of the casket, refusing to leave his place, patting his hand on the rough, wrinkled flag.
    The brothers had grown up as opposites — Christopher the well-dressed go-getter, Kyle the rebel who shopped at thrift stores. They fought like most brothers fight. Sometimes, they fought worse than most brothers fight.

    Since his brother's death, Kyle now says, they talk all the time.

    As the family continued to share stories, sniffling and laughing, Kyle Anderson refused to move from the casket.

    "Why don't you come over here with us?" Rick Anderson asked him. "Why are you standing there all alone?"

    Kyle looked at his father, his eyes red, and patted the casket again.

    "I'm not alone," he said.

    More than 16 hours after John Dragneff's day began, the skinny sailor walked into the room, after finishing his final paperwork, and handed Christopher's parents a condolence card.

    "Instead of saying, 'I'm sorry for your loss,' I wanted to say 'thank you' for Christopher. We claimed each other as brothers."

    "You did good, John," Rick Anderson said. "You did good."

    As they sat together in the quiet room dominated by the casket, Debra Anderson grasped the young man's hand and looked into his eyes.

    "I'm glad you came with him. It's what he wanted. You did a good job. You got him home," she said, gripping his hand even tighter.

    "Thank you for bringing him home."

    sheelerj@RockyMountainNews.com or 303-954-2561.

    posted by dyzgoneby at 12/23/2006 08:50:00 AM 4 comments

    A U.S. Marine Christmas

    'Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone
    In a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone
    I had come down the chimney with presents to give
    And to see whom in this house did live

    As I looked all around, a strange sight I did see
    No tinsel, no presents, not even a tree
    No stockings by the fire, just boots full of sand
    On the wall hung a picture of a far away land

    With medals and badges, awards of all kinds
    A sobering thought soon came to my mind
    For this house was different, unlike any I'd seen
    This was the home of a U.S. Marine

    I heard stories about them so I had to see more
    I walked down the hallway and pushed open the door
    And there he lay sleeping- Silent. Alone.
    Curled up on the floor of his one bedroom home

    He seemed so gentle, his face so serene
    Not how I pictured a U.S. Marine
    Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?
    Curled up on his poncho, a floor for his bed?

    His head was clean shaven, his face weathered tan
    I soon understood this was more than a man.
    For I realized the families that I saw tonight
    Owed their lives to these men who were willing to fight

    Soon around the nation the children would play
    And grown-ups would celebrate a bright Christmas day
    They enjoyed freedom each day and all year
    Because of Marines like the one lying here

    I couldn't help wonder how many lay alone
    On a cold Christmas Eve in a land far from home
    Just the very thought brought a tear to my eye
    I dropped to my knees and I started to cry

    He must have awoken for I heard a rough voice
    "Santa don't cry. This life is my choice.
    I fight for freedom, I don't ask more.
    My life is my God, my country, my Corps."

    With that he rolled over, drifted off into sleep
    I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
    I watched him for hours. So silent and still
    noticed he shivered from the cold nights chill

    So, I took off my jacket, the one made of red
    To cover this Marine from his toes to his head
    Then I put on his T-shirt of scarlet and gold
    With the eagle, globe, and anchor emblazoned so bold

    Although it barely fit me. I began to swell with pride
    For one shining moment I was Marine Corps deep inside
    I didn't want to leave him, so quite in the night
    This guardian of honor so willing to fight

    But half asleep he rolled over and in a voice clean and pure
    Said, "Carry on Santa, it's Christmas Day, all is secure!"
    One look at my watch and I knew he was right
    Merry Christmas my friend, Semper Fi, and good night

    ~Author Unknown

    posted by dyzgoneby at 12/23/2006 08:43:00 AM 0 comments

    Tuesday, December 05, 2006

    More on the wedding.....

    I was searching on the internet last night for invitations. I didn't realize how many options and designs are out there. Then you have to start thinking of the wording. Wow....a little overwhelmed, but hey that is where I am supposed to be. I found some I like and can't wait to share them with Sniper this weekend. Yep he will be home for the weekend....YEAH!!!!

    As I was searching, something else popped up in my head that I started to think about.....the wedding night and what to wear. Don't worry I am not going to give you any specifics. Sniper reads this and I can't let him in on anything.

    As I was looking at all that is out there, my mind started to wander on what is transpiring in a few months. I started crying tears of happiness. I don't know how to express or articulate how I am feeling inside. It is hard to describe or even put into words.

    Every time I think about him or am around him, I get butterflies in the bottom of my stomach and a warm feeling comes over me. I feel the love we have for each other, with a tingling sensation from my toes all the way to the top of my head. A smile comes across my face.

    It is sinking in, this is really happening and I haven't been dreaming the last year and a half. I am marrying the man of my dreams. I have dreamed about this for the last 16 years and until last year, I thought it would always be just that a dream. Now that dream is finally coming true.

    I know we have talked about it since we reunited and discuss it all the time. But, as we start to plan and put together everything for the wedding reality has really sunken in. It really is a fairy-tale come true. It's been a long road traveled and a lot of hard work to get where we are today, but we are here, together.

    The next 5 plus months aren't going to come quick enough. I want to wake-up and it be April 21st. What is the chance of that happening? That's what I thought. I have to have patient (we all know that is not one of my strong qualities) and take one day at a time and enjoy this process together.

    He really has been a doll (did I just call him that). He has been trying to take all the stress of the wedding away from me (I really don't stress as much as I he thinks I do.....maybe I do). This week he has taken care of so much and we have paid for it all. He has made so many decisions and just taken care of it. With the nature and man he is, he has even made a timeline of what will happen when and at what time. Who is doing what and going where. Even the night before and day of, what and where I will be doing or should I say what I won't be doing. You know, helping. It's not in my vocabulary with him. He won't have it. He wants me to sit back and relax. It's a little hard, because I don't want him to stress out (we know he will anyways).

    At the rate he is going, the wedding should be dialed in in the next few weeks. Then we can sit back and count the minutes until the big day.


    Dyzgoneby
    Counting down the days, hours and minutes.......

    posted by dyzgoneby at 12/05/2006 10:28:00 PM 8 comments

    Saturday, December 02, 2006

    Happy Thoughts......

    I want to write something happy.....this place needs something positive. I need to keep thinking positive instead of dwelling on the negatives.

    Thanksgiving weekend, Sniper couldn't come up for the holiday. He was house sitting for some friends of ours. We spent it apart....again. I am trying not to dwell on it, it is what it is.

    So, the day after, after I got off of work (first time in 10 years I have had to work the day after Thanksgiving and it sucked ass), I flew down to spend four days with him. We had a beautiful time with just the two of us. No stress, no errands to run, no roommates around, no kids.....just us.

    At night we sat in the backyard, sipping on wine, sitting next to a fire Sniper built for us, cuddling up together, having great conversations. Sniper took very good care of me the whole time. He spoiled me rotten (he always does). He even made a wonderful dinner. Salmon on a bed of rice, with a cheese sauce and asparagus. It was so good. My mouth is watering just thinking of it.

    The place we stayed at (house sitting) is the place we are getting married. Hopefully if all goes well it will be April 21, 2007. We have named the place "Paradise." It is just that. The backyard is beautiful. Palm trees, pool, hottub, rock bar with all the amneities, waterfall, tv, surround sound music. What more could you ask for.

    Most of the weekend it revolved around planning "Our Wedding." We started with our guest list. We have very limited space, so this was important to tackle for us. We ended up deciding to have 2 receptions besides the day of. One up here where I am currently residing for those who can't make it down to San Diego and one down there for our friends.

    On Saturday, we had our florist come out and picked out all of our flowers. They are so beautiful. We picked stargazer lilies, calililies, tropical flowers.......I am getting more excited as the days go on (it's not coming soon enough).

    Sniper is the one who is doing most of the planning and work. Now before you go getting all silly on me and wonder why I would let a man plan something like this by his self. I have to tell you Sniper is not your typical man. He knows how to plan, organize and complete missions. Remember he is a Marine after all. And a wedding is no different than a mission. Besides, he has a truly romantic side to him and him and I have the same tastes. Shhhh, just don't tell anyone he can be mushy. Again, he is a Marine and has a reputation to live up to. LOL.

    Here is our lists.....see who has it easy:

    Dyz, my dress and accessories; Bridesmaids dresses; Buy his ring; Photographer (done, it's my dad); Show up for the wedding

    Sniper, Caterer and food (done); Table, chair and linen rentals (done); Order Cake (done); Flowers (done, we did this one together); Invitations; Tuxedos for the boys; Hire clean-up detail; Bartendar; Hotel Room (already picked it out); Organize Arch Saber detail

    I guess I do.......Ohhhhh, I so can't wait. Less than 6 months and I will be Mrs. Sniper.


    Dyzgoneby

    posted by dyzgoneby at 12/02/2006 10:08:00 PM 6 comments

    Some people spend an entire lifetime wondering if they made a difference. The Marines do not have that problem. President Ronald Reagan