Trying to Understand Heartache....

My heart has been so very heavy the last 24 hours. Events of yesterday had me in a puddled mess, barely able to breathe. For those of you who know me well, know that I am not a crier. I have had to be everyone’s rock for as long as I can remember.  In my family,  I am the mediator, the peacekeeper or the emotional dumpster, if you will.  This is all I’ve known. When there is crisis, I go into rock mode and do what has to be done. I pride myself on being the unemotional level-headed one when push comes to shove. I push down whatever emotions bubble up and I take care of the nitty gritty and solve the problems. When all is said and done, I find myself a dark corner of my world to be alone and process.

Yesterday, the pain and shock of the day’s events were too much to push down and I lost control. It had me questioning the Creator’s plan and will. I still can’t wrap my head around why some families are made to endure so much pain while others are fully spared. In 2005, my friend and neighbor lost her life in a car accident, leaving her husband and four children. Staci’s death affected me like none other. It haunts me to this day. Her children have grown into beautiful, intelligent, kind and strong people, such a testament to her, her husband and their families. Yesterday, her oldest daughter was struck by a vehicle while crossing the street and left this world to be with her mother and her Lord.  This child who watched her mother die and was spared in that accident has now succumbed to another accident… This father who buried his wife is now burying his first-born child. I can’t even begin to imagine the pain….

I hadn’t heard from my best friend in a couple weeks. She lives in another state and although we talk sporadically, I know that no matter where or when, I can call her and we start right where we left off. She makes me feel strong when no one else can, she understands when no one else does and she makes me laugh at the most inappropriate times.  I am so grateful that the Creator and the military made us cross paths clear on the other side of the ocean all those years ago. Nonetheless, I called her to make sure she knew of Ashli’s death; Staci was a mutual friend. It was then that the day dealt a second blow. My best friend broke down and said she hadn’t called me or texted back recently because she’s been so ill and had to be admitted to the hospital. I knew she’d been having some health issues, she had kept me updated for the most part. However, when it took a turn for the worse, she chose not to tell me because she didn’t want me to worry. Her issues have gotten severe and they told her yesterday that it could be terminal.  She has begun to get her affairs in order and needed to tell me that she is forwarding me a copy of her will so that I am able to help her husband and children if the time comes.  I don’t even know what to do. How can I survive in a world without her? We’re supposed to be old ladies in rocking chairs on my front porch laughing about crazy things and even crazier people. I hope and pray with all that I am that the doctors are able to fix this and we can still invest in those rocking chairs.

Today, Staci’s younger daughter posted lyrics from a hymnal. Her only public acknowledgement of her sister’s passing… “Even so, it is well with my soul.” These words from this amazingly strong young lady have brought me some level of peace. Though I don’t know what the Creator has ahead of me, I should not live my life in fear of the possibilities or the chaos. I should not question why I have been so incredibly blessed in my lifetime while other must endure such incredible heartache. I should just continue to be grateful and times like this should bring life more into perspective and force us to appreciate the important things in life. Put down the electronics, put off sports practice for a night, hug your children, tell them you love them every day. You never know when it will be the last time.

So for tonight… Don’t Hand Over the Coffee, put it down and spend time with your loved ones.

Qunninipeash Michael

Qunninipeash is here! 

Qunninipeash - KUN-neh-NI-pey-ash – is Algonquin in the dialect of the southwestern region of New England; the language of my grandmother’s people. Broken down - Qunni means "long" as in qunni-tuk-ut for "the long river" (Connecticut) and Nipeash means "waters of the pond."  So technically the meaning would be "the long waters of the pond" but could be interpreted as "waters of the long pond."

Until my grandfather passed in 2009, my grandparents made their home on Long Pond near the Mashantucket Pequot reservation in Connecticut. They moved there in 1996 after spending most of my life on our reservation in northwestern Connecticut. They lived in a small 1-room cottage on the beach. It was small but all the grandchildren loved it there. 

Every morning, my grandfather would sit and have his coffee on the patio watching the sun come up over the lake. He enjoyed watching the birds dip into the water to catch fish as the morning mist would rise up around them. Grampa Dave loved it there. He loved watching the grandchildren and great-grandchildren learn to swim and jump off the deck into Long Pond. He loved the family BBQs and birthday parties there with all the kids running around. He took the kids fishing and showed us the plants that he grew; there was always tomatoes and tobacco. 

During his time at Long Pond, my grandfather fought his battle with cancer. He lost that battle on June 28, 2009. He spent his last days in the small cottage and took his last breath there surrounded by family. At one point during his fight, he had even said to my grandmother that he wanted to be cremated and spread over Long Pond so he could always be with the grandchildren. When the time came, the decision was made to bring him home to Akwesasne and it was the right decision as he won his last victory for the Mohawk people on the day of his funeral. But that is another story for another time.

A few months after Grampa Dave passed, Greg received last minute orders to deploy to Afghanistan. He and Grampa Dave shared a special bond through their military service and often had lengthy talks about Grampa Dave’s 2 tours in Vietnam as a Green Beret. This was something very rare for Grampa Dave.

While Greg was deployed, a few uncanny things happened that kept him safe and out of harm’s way. My grandmother had sent some of Grampa Dave’s tobacco with him and I prayed hard that the Creator bring him home to me. Often, when I went days without hearing from Greg, I asked Grampa Dave to please be with him and watch over him. Once, after a week of not hearing a word, I had a dream in which Grampa Dave told me in no uncertain terms to stop worrying so much, Greg was fine.

Greg came home from Afghanistan on November 23, 2010, just shy of a year away. Despite taking careful precautions, we learned I was pregnant on December 10. It was a huge shock and then the disbelief grew when we learned after 4 daughters, we were having a son.

We felt we needed to honor Grampa Dave in naming our son and that is how we came to Qunninipeash, waters of the Long Pond.  Grampa Dave loved his time there. My grandmother has since left Long Pond but the waters of the Long Pond will always be something special for our family.

His name will be Qunninipeash Michael Cason. Michael is Greg’s middle name and also the name of my uncle who recently passed away. Fittingly, Kunu & Uncle Micky now share a birthday! 

We will still call him Kunu or Quinn for short. I look forward to bringing him to Long Pond and telling him about Grampa Dave.

So Hand Over the Coffee... This Momma's in for some restless nights!

Diversity and Ignorance

With 4 children in a military family that moves every 3 years, we change schools constantly and encounter all different kinds of people from all walks of life and cultures. It is likely in our journey as a military family to encounter teachers that rub us the wrong way or with whom we disagree with teaching styles and personalities. Though I have encountered such teachers, Maggie’s 1^st grade teacher this year is the exact opposite. I absolutely adore her. She is conscientious, compassionate, patient and experienced.

As a military family, we have lived in various regions of the U.S. and Italy. I have embraced this aspect of our life to make sure our children acknowledge that there are many different cultures, religions and ways to live. I think it is important that children today be raised as citizens of the world, not just their respective countries.

With that in mind, I was thrilled when Maggie’s teacher, after I did my Native American program with her class, invited parents from other cultural backgrounds to come and share with the class. A Filipino mom came in last month and today, Maggie’s friend’s mom came in to share about India and their culture. I went to watch and learned so much. I love learning about other cultures and discovering similarities to my own. It is a principal belief in Native cultures that all things are connected. I expand this belief to cultural origins as well.

After thoroughly enjoying this mom’s presentation, I was shocked to learn that another parent had made a complaint or rather expressed concern about the presentation content. The mother contacted Maggie’s teacher saying she was not comfortable with her daughter learning about “unchristian ways” and was extremely concerned about what the other mom would be talking about. She continued that she would be pulling her daughter out of class during the presentation and the word “heathen” was even used within the conversation! My jaw dropped… Now, as an American Indian woman, I’ve had this word thrown at me throughout my life in different context, sometimes as a joke, sometimes not.

This woman’s daughter’s desk is directly next to Maggie’s and the other child and she interacts with her on a daily basis. Why the concern all of a sudden? Did she think "the other mom" was going to come in and try to convert her FIRST GRADER to Hinduism? As a parent, you should be strong enough to let your child learn about things and then come to you to ask questions. If you raise your child as a Christian and they come to you saying that their friend is a Hindu, would you tell them not to be friends with that person? Or would you say “That’s great. They’re Hindi and we’re Christians. We have different beliefs but I’m glad you’re friends.”  It may be naïve of me, but I have such trouble wrapping my head around this way of teaching your child about the world. Love, understanding and compassion start in the home…. So does ignorance.

Maggie's friend's mom (I'm choosing not to use names) spoke today of Mahatma Ghandi when talking about famous people from India. She said he led the movement towards freedom and equality; that he believed that anything could be done through love, peace and non-violence. Martin Luther King Jr. and JFK were adherents of the same belief. Wouldn’t it be nice if more people shared the same faith in humanity?

Pablo Casals was a Spanish cellist who wrote the U.N anthem for world peace. He is quoted as saying “The love of one’s country is a splendid thing. But why should love stop at the border?”  America is known as “The Melting Pot.” Our country is made up of people of all religions and cultural backgrounds. If we want to leave our children with a better world, as so many people claim, we have to teach our children to love themselves, yet celebrate diversity. There’s so much hatred and ignorance in the world. Why do we have to contaminate a first grade classroom?

So Hand Over the Coffee…. But leave the ignorance at the door.

Deployments & Motherhood

One of our primary functions as a parent is to provide our children with a moral compass – to give them an example and guidelines of right and wrong. We all want our children to grow up to be compassionate respectable contributing members of society. Or maybe you want your kid to grow up to be a serial killer. Either way, they learn their ways, their foundation, from their parents.


If we teach them to lie, deceive, swindle and just create drama in general, this is the world that we are creating for future generations. Now, as a mother of 4, I absolutely know how hard parenting is. There is no other job out there that is more draining, thankless and yet rewarding and fulfilling at the same time. And no one knows like my children how imperfect I am in that job. I’m sure it’s debatable at times whether they’d even give me a passable performance review. But like all mothers, I try and sometimes I fail.

But then I remind myself that it’s not always the big moments and milestones in life that give you the opportunity to parent your child. It is the little moments, how you treat others and interact with the world around you, especially when you think they’re not looking, that really shape their hearts and minds.

One of my proudest parenting moments was when I didn’t think any of my children were around. I was pregnant with Julia….VERY pregnant. It was actually 3 days past her due date. Katherine was 3 and she and Greg had just dropped me off for an OBGYN appointment. They were going to run a quick errand and come back. I got out of the car and they drove off. As I walked…I mean waddled… up to the building, there was an elderly woman with a walker who was struggling to get up over the curb and people were just walking around her. I walked up to her and asked if she needed help. She looked at me with such relief and grabbed my arm. I lifted her walker and helped her up the curb. I stayed with her as she shuffled down the walk and we went up the handicap ramp and into the building. She thanked me and I went on with my day, not thinking much of it.

When I got in the car an hour or so later, miserable because that stupid doctor wouldn’t induce me until I was a full week late, Katherine immediately says “Mommy, I saw you help that lady. That was very nice of you.” I hadn’t seen Greg loop the parking lot and pull out of a different exit. Katherine had been watching the whole time as I helped the elderly woman.

It was at that moment that I realized the magnitude of my role as her mother. I use that memory as my gauge for my actions as I continue on this horrifically terrifyingly amazing ride of motherhood. How would I want my children to react in this situation? What do I want my girls to learn from this? It was these questions that got me through this deployment.

What do I want to teach my daughters about the power and emotions of being a woman? I want to teach them strength, courage, love and independence. I want them to be able to face their fears and know that they can overcome any hardship. I hope this deployment has showed them those qualities in me. I hope they saw that we will have bad days – days that we are brought to tears and can barely get out of bed, days that anything that can go wrong will go wrong and days that it feels like the entire world is about to rain down on us. I hope they also saw that as long as we keep our head up and find the silver lining in everything, there are good days around the corner – days that the sun is shining and we have an adventure, days that we get a surprise letter or package in the mail from Daddy to lift our spirits and days like tomorrow when he will step off the plane and back into our arms.

This deployment has been challenging but we have gotten through alive and stronger because of it. So as this long excruciating deployment comes to an end…Forget about Handing Over the Coffee… all I want is my husband.

Why My Husband Rocks

My friend, Michelle, suggested I enter this essay contest called "Why My Husband Rocks." This is what I wrote:

My husband had been gone for a couple months, 2 of our 4 kids were sick, I had finals, I was trying to sell our house so I could move to our new duty station and I was struggling with the decision whether or not to put our elderly dog to sleep when, on the verge of tears, my cell phone “dinged” to let me know I had a new email. It was a message from my husband and all it said was “Just remember to breathe and know that I love you.” How could he know how much I needed him at that very moment? Because my husband is the most caring, romantic, sensitive man I have ever known. Essentially, he’s a total rock star!


It is expected that a wife thinks the world of her husband or what’s the point of being married, right? Well, the same rings true in my marriage. However, my husband is extra special. When I met him, I was a 20-year-old single mother who had overcome an abusive relationship and was raising an infant daughter. He came into my life as a friend but I quickly realized that he was my knight in shining armor, everything that I had ever looked for. Not only did he wholeheartedly fall in love with me, he fell in love with my daughter and has never treated her any different than our other children.

My husband is currently deployed with 1st Medical Battalion serving in Operation Enduring Freedom. He is an FMF Corpsman who takes care of not only injured Marines and Sailors but also Afghan National Army and civilians. This deployment has been rough on both of us, not to mention our four daughters. Despite the hard days that go hand-in-hand with any deployment, my husband makes an effort to make sure the girls and I know he loves us and is always thinking of us.

Before he left, unknown to me, he spent hours on the computer ordering gifts, flowers, etc. in advance to be delivered randomly every month to surprise the girls and I. When we received the first package, we hadn’t heard from him for over a week and it was one of “THOSE” days. It had a note that said “I love you all and I’ll be home soon.” Even in a warzone, he has not forgotten one birthday or our anniversary. He even bought cards for every event before he left stateside to mail at the appropriate time.

It humbles me and warms my heart that while he is doing such an important job, he still makes sure that the girls and I always know that we are his priority and always in his heart. While he is in dangerous situations, saving lives and witnessing the horror of humanity, things that I could never even fathom, he says that knowing the girls and I are at home waiting for him gets him through the darkest of moments.

Not only does he treat me like a princess, he is also an amazing attentive doting father for our daughters. To help the girls deal with this deployment, he took them to Build-a-Bear and made them each a personalized “Daddy” Bear with his voice wishing them each a Good Night and telling them that he loves them. He’s been gone for 9 months and the girls still sleep with their “Daddy” Bears.

Additionally, our 9-year-old sent her favorite Webkinz with him so “Daddy wouldn’t be lonely.” My typically shy wallflower of a husband took that stuffed tiger as an opportunity to stay connected with our children and continue to be the amazing father that he is. “Tigey” has gone on an adventure to Afghanistan with Daddy. My husband poses with Tigey every step of the way of the deployment, even risking teasing from his fellow Marines and Sailors. He often sets “Tigey” up in some silly situations just to make the girls laugh, like taking a picture of “Tigey” trying to crawl into a mailbox in Romania because “he missed his girls.” My husband sends us the pictures periodically, as he has the time and postal access. The pictures give us an idea of what he is experiencing, where he sleeps, where he eats and where he works. Most of all, it helps us stay connected as a family.

I know that we started this family together, he is my partner for life, and one far-off day when this "Crammed with Kids" stage is traded for an "Empty Nest", I still want my husband to be my best friend. Even if I’m left sleep deprived, striped by stretch marks (really, it's bad, I look like a zebra), saggy in places we won't discuss, and feeling generally undesirable, I only have to look into the eyes of my amazingly patient and loving husband to realize he is a gift of grace to me, not only through this stage but, for life.

We have spent 14 of the last 17 months apart and we still have another month to go. He will be home in November and it would be priceless to be able to surprise him with a “Mommy & Daddy” weekend fitting only for a husband who completely and utterly ROCKS MY WORLD!

(We were also asked to submit a photo with the essay. Attached is the one I included.)

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I hope you enjoyed it. I'd really love it if the Contest Judges would Hand Over The Coffee.... along with the Grand Prize!!! LOL

I'm Off to See the Wizard...

Its days like today that it sucks being a military wife. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t change being married to a military man. The military has done so many positive things for us but there are just some days that all the sacrifices that you make pile up and weigh you down.


This deployment has had its pros and cons. While I miss the hell out of my husband, the separation has taught us to appreciate each other more. In this case, absence really did make the heart grow fonder. The extra money has provided a security that we’ve been unable to achieve in the past. I have learned things about myself, my strengths and my weaknesses and I’ve had to face and overcome numerous fears. I never realized before how much I absolutely depended on my husband. I think this deployment has helped Greg and I grow as human beings separately so that we can be better together.

That being said, some days this just all out sucks moose balls. I am lonely and sad, depressed and overwhelmed. Some days I feel like I’m absolutely bi-polar; I can be happy and in control one minute then in tears and homicidal the next. I think with every deployment they need to issue Prozac to every military spouse labeled “Use as Needed on “THOSE” days”… because I know we all have them…. Days that everything breaks, the kids are sick, the dog puked on the newly shampooed carpet and you realize that you forgot to pay the mortgage.

Today, I am sitting curled up on my bed in my sweats, the windows open so I can watch the rain, LARGE cup of coffee on my bedside table and textbooks all around me. My Aunt Peggy sent an email this morning that my Uncle Micky is having some complications and is struggling with his battle with cancer. I am having flashbacks to last year when we lost my Grampa Dave to cancer and I was stuck in Missouri unable to be there for my family. Being a military wife means having to leave your roots to plant temporary ones wherever the military tells you to. It means your heart breaking because you’re family needs you and you’re hundreds or thousands miles away with a car that needs an oil change or the brakes done or whatever.

I just want to cook them a meal and bring it to the hospital or sit and have a cup of tea with my aunt. Instead, I sit in rainy Virginia thinking about all that I’ve missed in the past nearly 8 years that I’ve lived away… I couldn’t go to my Jaji Hayna’s funeral because I was in Italy and couldn’t get a flight. When my Aunt Barbara passed, I was 1200 miles away with a sick baby. I wished I had gotten home more often to spend time with her. Grampa Dave passed the morning of my open house trying to sell that damn house in Missouri. Greg was already living in Virginia and I just wanted to burn the damn thing down and pack up my car and leave. Instead, I did what I had to do and I left the next morning. I drove straight through from Missouri to Virginia… 20 hours with 4 kids and 2 dogs, only allowed the kids to stop when I needed gas… Food, potty, and gas all in one stop. I was a woman on a mission. I nearly collapsed when I finally reached Greg. Being a military wife means doing what you have to do even though your heart is breaking. That includes PCSing and having to leave the best friends you’ve ever had, watching your husband go off to war and feeling torn when all you want to do is pick up and go but you know you have to stay.

Just added up with a term paper due for a class I think I’m going to fail anyway, Julia’s eye issue, doctor’s and dentist appointments, school obligations for the kids, soccer, cheerleading, the list goes on…. It’s one of THOSE days.

I need to go see the Wizard of Oz. My brain is fried, my heart is broken, I need the Lion’s courage to face another day and I want a refund on these damn red slippers. No matter how many times I click my heels, they just won’t bring me home.

So Hand Over the Coffee... I’ll need the caffeine to fight off the Flying Monkeys and Midgets!

4th of July, 2003.....

I wrote this email to family and friends July 4, 2003. I don't think I have the emotional excess or capabilities to write about what I'm feeling this Fourth of July with Greg in Afghanistan. Because if that's not the epitome of patriotism, I don't know what is. However, I felt the need to say something, share something....

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Hello, all.

I hope everyone is celebrating the 4th healthy and happy!

It's about 11:30pm here and we just returned from the base. It was a good celebration. For me, this was the first year, since I waslittle, that I wasn't at Mashpee powwow with my family. But this whole journey is supposed to be a learning experience, right? And I have to admit today was just that. This was the first 4th of July that I actually sat back, realized what I had and was proud to be an American. I meanreally proud. It may be ignorant of me but like most Americans, I didn't think about anything else but my little world.

This 4th of July for me was not just about the barbecues, festivals, carnival rides and fireworks. I realized, finally, at 24, how much we really take for granted in the United States. We live about a 4-hour plane ride from Iraq and we're a lot closer to Liberia. If there were a bridge, it'd take 7 hours to drive there. To be an
American in a foreign country during times of terrorism and war brings things into a whole new light.

Tonight, we left our home surrounded by a perimeter of high fences and barbed wire and passed through the gate secured by armed guards. We drove 30 minutes to the main base, enclosed by several layers of fence and passed through a 2 foot thick steel gate that is designed to resist blasts and tank rams. We drove by the manned tank and stopped in front of 2 heavily armed gaurds for an ID check. We got through without a bomb check tonight.

We parked and put the girls in their jogging stroller. They were excited because they saw carnival rides. We walked around through the crowds of military families and single sailors, most decked out in red, white and blue, donning flags and sparklers...everything you would expect on the birthday of the USA. But I couldn't help but notice the stronger presence of security, walking around armed and alert.

The girls got to go on 5 rides. They were too cute. Katherine was a great big sister. She helped Julia onto rides and sat right by her and tried to help her off when it was over. Julia was mesmerized by all the lights and music. They had a great time! We got them some Cotton Candy and water. We then went to find a seat to listen to the music (they flew in some bands) and watch the fireworks.

We saw our friends, Rosa and Santiago, and sat by them to chat. Santiago was actually home for a few days. The fireworks soon started. I sat there with my girls on my lap watching the beautiful display...thinking. I was surrounded by Americans that put their lives or their hearts on the line every day for exactly what we are celebrating today...Freedom. There were sailors like Santiago who are gone more times than not, on duties they can't discuss, to places they can't tell their wives and children, to return when they're not sure. Spouses and children who accept that Daddy isn't here because he has a job to do.

I sat there watching the fireworks, listening to the songs playing in the background...Born in the USA by Bruce Springsteen, Angry American by Toby Kieth and Proud to be an American by Lee Greenwood. Rosa told me how she loved that song because they played it at the ceremony when she became an American citizen. Her family fled Cuba when she was young to be safe in America. I looked at the angelic faces of my babies who were awed by the fireworks and was thankful that they had never had to experience fleeing their country to be safe. I looked at Rosa, holding her husband's hand, thankful he was home to spend this weekend with her, but he'll be leaving again on Monday. I looked at my husband, thankful his current job didn't take him away from us for so long on such short notice, but there's always that chance. He's a Corpsman and when there's war, there's always someone getting hurt and needing his skilled hands.

I was thankful tonight to be an American. Thankful that these men and women put their lives and skills out there to keep me and my family safe. I hope tonight, while you sit on a blanket, lawn chair or your couch, watching the annual fireworks display, listening to the patriotic music, think about us over here. Think about the military communities all over the world, parents who are unable to watch their childrens' faces light up in awe at the exploding sky because they are somewhere fighting for an American cause...maybe not because they believe in the cause but because they believe in America.

Sorry to ramble on but I just wanted to share.

Take care everyone.

Until next time....

Wunnea
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I hope you enjoy your Fourth. Be safe..... and pray for the safety of our men and women in harm's way, fighting for what this holiday is all about.

I may need a little pick-me-up. So Hand Over the Coffee.... to go with my patriotism.