This is incredibly profound. I don't think there's any deeper or more undeniable shakeup than the experience of something like this, especially when that was the last thing you were expecting. I'm sorry for the unspeakably difficult things you've experienced, my friend, and thrilled that you're in a better place today than yesterday.
An engaging, well-written intro story regarding the quiet of the Forrest. We have some things in common - military service, exposure to military explosives trauma, viewpoints on a higher power, quiet times in deep woods and alone with my thoughts (although I was hunting), acquiring/testing AI for military applications/utilities and recovery.
I relate to the childhood viewpoints of religion and my struggles to understand what that meant or how a God (or any higher power for that matter) would help me understand what was the meaning of my life. My life took so many abrupt turns, it added to my confusion. Like you, I started to slowly better understand my purpose after I honestly began my recovery journey and when I started thinking more about helping others.
Thank you, Rick—your words mean a lot. It’s always powerful to connect with someone whose journey echoes your own in so many ways. The overlap is striking—military service, the weight of trauma, the winding search for meaning, and that quiet clarity we sometimes find in the woods.
I completely relate to what you said about abrupt turns adding to the confusion. For a long time, I believed my purpose had to be forged through control and sheer effort. Only recently am I realizing how much clarity comes through surrender—and how often that surrender begins when we start helping others.
I’m grateful we crossed paths here, and I’m honored that the piece resonated with you. Looking forward to continuing the conversation!
Violence and an answered prayer helped me find my way. I too was resistant to a higher power, and I think on some level I'm always going to struggle with it.
Violence: I saw battlefield footage from Ukraine in which a Russian tank got the drop on what looked like a Ukrainian tank. The shot, as they tend to do, over-pressured the cabin and blew the turret hatch. The footage was not naked eye or an unaided lens - I'm still not sure what it was; IR scope, night vision something - was not in color and it saw more than the spectrum we see as humans. When that hatch blew, I saw a delta-shaped ball of dust shoot straight up. Something told me that what I was seeing was not earthly. I'm convinced that it was one of those tankers' souls. Could be wrong, could be that I'm around the bend nuts.
An answered prayer: My father died this past June. He had been diagnosed with the double whammy of Parkinson's and dementia, but he was still with it into May. I tried to call him for Father's Day, no answer. Not unusual, no factor.
The following Wednesday after Father's Day, his girlfriend calls me and tells me that he's been diagnosed with leukemia and was in the hospital most of the last week. She, the doctors, and her nurse practitioner daughter are all taken by surprise: he was having quarterly blood draws and the most recent one in April was clean as could be. Prognosis is three months. Okay, I can work with that - fly down to Florida for the weekend, sit with him, etc. He died six days later, late Tuesday morning.
My family had found a church, in and of itself a small miracle given my hostility toward organized religion. My mentor growing up, a devout man of faith, had always told me that I should believe in something even if I didn't want to go to the meetings. We found a church thanks to my then 9-year-old, who insisted on finding a Vacation Bible School for the summer. Something was different...very welcoming, zero judgment vibes, and most importantly for me, no passing of a plate. That always bothered me having grown up Catholic-ish with its attendant guilt. We dropped Claire off for VBS on the first night, and I had never been so impressed with a church: clear signage, well-organized, nice people that were clearly well-rehearsed in running an event, no musty old building smell...what's the catch? What am I missing? I was impressed, but still devout in my cynicism. I even asked my wife if this church was a franchise, only half-jokingly...I'd never seen anything like it.
We start attending as a family, and the first half hour is music. Not hymns, nothing old-school. Think like a live praise rock show. No distractions because there's child care Sunday school from newborn to middle school. Everyone standing, hands in the air...except me. I used that time and that music to reflect and try my hand at prayer. I sat there and I asked God many times to make it quick if at all possible. I'm not especially close to my parents; if I'm being honest, I lost respect for both of them as a teenager. Not being all that close does not mean that pain and suffering is okay. Eyes closed, head bowed, feeling like there were eyes on me for being the only schmuck not standing, I asked God to prevent the suffering that was to come for my father. A disease then came out of nowhere (or so it's thought) and took him in six days, avoiding the worst of the neurological decline.
Wow, Mike. Thanks so much for sharing. I am so sorry for your loss, though from your writing it seems you found something greater and more valuable that will continue along with your cherished memories. Thanks for your insightful comment. I appreciate you, man. I hope you're doing well!
Same across the board - may retirement be everything you want it to be, and if I can help with anything based on my work life for you or any of your friends, ping me.
This is incredibly profound. I don't think there's any deeper or more undeniable shakeup than the experience of something like this, especially when that was the last thing you were expecting. I'm sorry for the unspeakably difficult things you've experienced, my friend, and thrilled that you're in a better place today than yesterday.
Thanks so much for your thoughtful comments, Willow! So good to hear from you! I am glad you enjoy the story. I miss our chats. I hope you are well!
An engaging, well-written intro story regarding the quiet of the Forrest. We have some things in common - military service, exposure to military explosives trauma, viewpoints on a higher power, quiet times in deep woods and alone with my thoughts (although I was hunting), acquiring/testing AI for military applications/utilities and recovery.
I relate to the childhood viewpoints of religion and my struggles to understand what that meant or how a God (or any higher power for that matter) would help me understand what was the meaning of my life. My life took so many abrupt turns, it added to my confusion. Like you, I started to slowly better understand my purpose after I honestly began my recovery journey and when I started thinking more about helping others.
I look forward to reading more. Thank you!
Rick W.
Thank you, Rick—your words mean a lot. It’s always powerful to connect with someone whose journey echoes your own in so many ways. The overlap is striking—military service, the weight of trauma, the winding search for meaning, and that quiet clarity we sometimes find in the woods.
I completely relate to what you said about abrupt turns adding to the confusion. For a long time, I believed my purpose had to be forged through control and sheer effort. Only recently am I realizing how much clarity comes through surrender—and how often that surrender begins when we start helping others.
I’m grateful we crossed paths here, and I’m honored that the piece resonated with you. Looking forward to continuing the conversation!
Violence and an answered prayer helped me find my way. I too was resistant to a higher power, and I think on some level I'm always going to struggle with it.
Violence: I saw battlefield footage from Ukraine in which a Russian tank got the drop on what looked like a Ukrainian tank. The shot, as they tend to do, over-pressured the cabin and blew the turret hatch. The footage was not naked eye or an unaided lens - I'm still not sure what it was; IR scope, night vision something - was not in color and it saw more than the spectrum we see as humans. When that hatch blew, I saw a delta-shaped ball of dust shoot straight up. Something told me that what I was seeing was not earthly. I'm convinced that it was one of those tankers' souls. Could be wrong, could be that I'm around the bend nuts.
An answered prayer: My father died this past June. He had been diagnosed with the double whammy of Parkinson's and dementia, but he was still with it into May. I tried to call him for Father's Day, no answer. Not unusual, no factor.
The following Wednesday after Father's Day, his girlfriend calls me and tells me that he's been diagnosed with leukemia and was in the hospital most of the last week. She, the doctors, and her nurse practitioner daughter are all taken by surprise: he was having quarterly blood draws and the most recent one in April was clean as could be. Prognosis is three months. Okay, I can work with that - fly down to Florida for the weekend, sit with him, etc. He died six days later, late Tuesday morning.
My family had found a church, in and of itself a small miracle given my hostility toward organized religion. My mentor growing up, a devout man of faith, had always told me that I should believe in something even if I didn't want to go to the meetings. We found a church thanks to my then 9-year-old, who insisted on finding a Vacation Bible School for the summer. Something was different...very welcoming, zero judgment vibes, and most importantly for me, no passing of a plate. That always bothered me having grown up Catholic-ish with its attendant guilt. We dropped Claire off for VBS on the first night, and I had never been so impressed with a church: clear signage, well-organized, nice people that were clearly well-rehearsed in running an event, no musty old building smell...what's the catch? What am I missing? I was impressed, but still devout in my cynicism. I even asked my wife if this church was a franchise, only half-jokingly...I'd never seen anything like it.
We start attending as a family, and the first half hour is music. Not hymns, nothing old-school. Think like a live praise rock show. No distractions because there's child care Sunday school from newborn to middle school. Everyone standing, hands in the air...except me. I used that time and that music to reflect and try my hand at prayer. I sat there and I asked God many times to make it quick if at all possible. I'm not especially close to my parents; if I'm being honest, I lost respect for both of them as a teenager. Not being all that close does not mean that pain and suffering is okay. Eyes closed, head bowed, feeling like there were eyes on me for being the only schmuck not standing, I asked God to prevent the suffering that was to come for my father. A disease then came out of nowhere (or so it's thought) and took him in six days, avoiding the worst of the neurological decline.
Violence and an answered prayer.
Wow, Mike. Thanks so much for sharing. I am so sorry for your loss, though from your writing it seems you found something greater and more valuable that will continue along with your cherished memories. Thanks for your insightful comment. I appreciate you, man. I hope you're doing well!
Same across the board - may retirement be everything you want it to be, and if I can help with anything based on my work life for you or any of your friends, ping me.