Tag: military

Flying and Letting Go

January 4th, 2026

I sometimes dream about flying. I guess a lot of people do that. I have heard that it is a common type of dream. It might be a different situation in my case in that there was a time when I actually did fly. I was an U.S. Army aviator back in the day. For five years I flew helicopters, initially Hueys (think of the movie Apocalypse Now) and later Black Hawks (the film Black Hawk Down comes to mind). I was never in combat, but I flew. It was often fun, and occasionally terrifying. I stopped being a pilot back in August of 1986. That was a long time ago, but apparently that role is still part of my life, or at least of my history.

My flying dreams are usually frustrating. I never actually get to fly. I am always preparing for a flight, sometimes on the verge of takeoff, but I never quite get into the air. Apparently, the problem is that the current version of myself is trying to be who I was forty years ago. In my dream I have a long beard, which I do now, but obviously did not have as an Army officer. In the dream I am not in uniform but should be. In the dream, somebody is giving me orders that I have no intention of following. It just never works out. I stay on the ground.

People ask me, “Do you miss flying?” the answer is: “Of course.” However, I know in my mind and my heart that flying is no longer part of life. That part of my story is done. It was wonderful while it lasted, but it’s over now, and I have many other things to do. I have other responsibilities. I am no longer a pilot. I can’t return to that identity. Even in my dreams, I know that I can’t go back.

I had a conversation yesterday, via Zoom, with a woman who is the guiding teacher for the Zen sangha to which I belong. She asked me questions about my life and I babbled on for a while. Then she spoke briefly about detachment and letting go. Zen is all about that. Zen is about being in the moment and not hanging on to things that are either lost in the past or hidden in the future. All there that exists is the present. The past is dead and the future a mystery.

The teacher gave me a subject on which to meditate. I am not very good at letting go of things, especially relationships. It is hard for me to stay in the moment, although our young grandson, Asher, does his best to keep me in the here and now. Caring fulltime for the little guy does not allow me much time to wallow in the past. That is a very good thing. In that respect, Asher is an excellent spiritual guide, and one who loves me, as I love him.

I write about Asher frequently. At this point, my life revolves around the boy. I have a friend, who reads my blog, and he once asked me what I will do when Asher is no longer in my life. The guiding teacher from the Zen sangha also touched on that. Will I be able to let go of Asher when he no longer needs my full attention? I don’t know. I will not know the answer to that question until the moment when he slips away from me (or I from him).

It is clear that someday Asher and I will separate. That is inevitable. That will hurt. The only question is how I will accept it.

He will be always in my dreams.

The First to Leave

August 3rd, 2025

Mike died on the evening of July 25th. That’s what I was told anyway. I have been thinking about Mike since I heard about his passing. We weren’t close friends, and I last saw him in 1980 or maybe in ’81. During the intervening forty-five years, I have connected with him three or four times, and all of those interactions were relatively recent and brief. They consisted of a couple emails, a snail mail letter, and an aborted attempt at a phone call. We haven’t had an actual conversation in decades. I have no idea what he looked like in the last months of his life.

Mike was in my West Point class. We graduated together in June of 1980. We were in the same company at United States Military Academy. The Corps of Cadets at USMA consists of four brigades, and each brigade has nine companies. Mike and I were in the same company, B-4 (B Company of the 4th Brigade). We joined that unit in the fall of 1976 as plebes (freshmen) and stayed there until we graduated and became 2nd lieutenants. We spent nearly four years in the same barracks, day in and day out. Upon graduation, our paths diverged, and they never really crossed again.

B-4, like the other companies, was in many ways a fraternity (even though there were a few women in each unit). Over time, a cadet gets to know his or her classmates. You make friends. Some people are close, and others not so much. Eventually, a common bond is formed, and in some cases that bond remains intact for years, even decades. I’ve maintained contact with maybe half a dozen of my comrades from B-4. Mike wasn’t one of them. Once we graduated, we separated and stayed that way, that is until I learned that Mike had cancer.

Mike was a stranger to me when he left this world a week ago. I know nothing of his time in the Army or of his career in the civilian world or of his family. That’s why I grieve. I missed out on most of his life. He only died a few days ago, but he has been missing from my life for a long, long time.

I have never gone to a class reunion. Now that I am the legal guardian and a primary caregiver for a four-year-old, I doubt that I will ever go to one. I know that some of my classmates want to attend one of these events, because people are starting to check out of the net. If we don’t reunite now, we might never do so. I don’t know if Mike was the first to go. However, his passing is a wakeup call.