Mike Martin, my late husband, came of age (18) during the Selective Service draft for the Viet Nam war. Mike told me he’d drawn a low number, so he’d made the decision to enlist– preferring to be proactive rather than anxiously waiting to learn when or if his number would be called up.

Mike was always a go-getter, working since he was 16 and leaving home and supporting himself at a relatively young age. He’d attended high school near Holloman Air Force Base (and was a champion pole vaulter in H.S. of all things!) Given his familiarity with that military branch living in La Luz, NM just down the road from Alamogordo, home of Holloman, he chose to enlist in the Air Force.

Mike didn’t care for risk, ambiguity, uncertainty. He preferred having control over the direction of his life so he appreciated that, by enlisting, he would have some input into the type of training he’d receive and what areas he could specialize in. He chose several medical specialties. He learned everything from phlebotomy and autopsy to pathology and medical laboratory work. He also utilized those skills at the University of Arizona Hospital and when he lived in San Antonio. Mike’s last civilian job in the medical field was at Marion Merrell Dow in Kansas City. He held that position until shortly before we met each other in college. He’d gone back to school to future-proof his employability by earning a degree in computer programming because he saw that more and more of the work he did in clean rooms and other laboratory settings was becoming computerized.

While in the Air Force, he told me that he was grateful he wasn’t sent overseas as so many men of that era were, including his very best lifelong friend, Bear, who also grew up in La Luz, NM. Bear was sent to Germany. Mike was stationed stateside with duty assignments at Davis-Monthan AFB (Arizona), McChord AFB (Washington), and training at Keesler AFB in Biloxi, MS. After his regular AF enlistment, he joined the Texas Air National Guard (Kelly AFB) and the Arizona National Guard (Tucson). Mike served a total of 10 years, 9 months.

I hope that posting these memories will honor Mike today, on Veterans Day, by sharing a little bit about his years of service to our country.

P.S. Remember Mike’s friend, Bear? Bear tells the story that when he was discharged and came home from Germany back to La Luz, NM, Mike’s house (where his parents used to live) was the very first place he went. He was so sad to learn that his best buddy wasn’t there, not realizing that Mike was still serving in the Air Force. Years and years later, Mike and I went to La Luz. Mike pointed to a small property and said, “that’s where Bear used to live”. Mike talked about Bear quite often, so I knew who he meant. Between that trip and the following year, out of the blue, they found each other on Facebook. We drove back to La Luz that next year, and lo and behold, that same house Mike had pointed out to me before was exactly where Bear was still living!

Spring of 2020, Bear and his significant other, Sharon, were in their camper visiting Bear’s sister in Arizona when they heard the news announcing the lockdowns. Immediately, Sharon said, “we have to go to Mike and Kim’s”. They pulled that camper from Arizona to Missouri, finding no place to even grab a bit to eat en route because of the lockdowns, arriving in March 2020.

Bear lived here, on our property, until October 2020. It was such a blessing! Mike and Bear relished that time with each other, playing guitars and singing together in the evenings, sharing memories, and telling stories. And Bear felt useful, too, lending a hand on the big construction project Mike was doing to build a duplex for our adult kids.

Bear is a little older than Mike and looked a bit frailer as he aged, so my thought at the time was how wonderful that Mike could spend so much time with Bear before Bear would die someday back in New Mexico. Little did we know, less than a year after Bear’s camper was pulled back to La Luz, Mike was the one who died. Because of COVID, that awful Delta variant that took Mike’s life. Both men served our nation, and both were brothers, the best of friends. I am grateful that the two of them were reunited after many years of thinking of each other but not knowing where they were, and I am especially grateful that they were able to share those 8 months, together, during the first year of the pandemic.

Growing up, Disney was a way of life in our household. I grew up going every year, especially during the week of Halloween. My Dad gave me the best memories there. To this day, I still remember riding the monorail with him, our late night bakery visits while staying at the Contemporary Resort and pulling his hand as we went on adventures searching for every pressed penny and pin kiosk there. Every trip was unique and fostered a forever love for all things Disney. These were the best memories and experiences of my life. They left a lasting impression on my heart. These trips were so exquisite, so priceless and so special to me. So much so, I wanted to carry on the tradition with my Husband and Son.

We decided to set forth on our Disney adventure the week of Halloween. We had not been since Pop passed away so I knew this fun adventure would be unique and bittersweet for me. When you spend your entire life being used to sharing these experiences with your hero and then have that ripped from you suddenly, there is bound to be a rollercoaster of emotions flooding your brain. Sure enough, the day came to ride Space Mountain over and over again at the Magic Kingdom. Recovered memories weighed on me heavily. Pop and I rode this on Halloween nearly 14 times in a row during Mickey’s Not So Scary Halloween Party. As my Husband, Son, and myself entered the first lighted tunnel of this ride, we all threw up our hands and said “Hey Pop, this one’s for you”. Then as the ride came to an end, tears streamed down my face. That was when it hit me I didn’t have my Dad here to share this with. I couldn’t call him to hear the excitement in his voice when he heard of our fun adventures at the park.

Our next day was to head to Epcot and join Figment in the land of imagination. This ride was so fun for me as a child and still fun for me as an adult. As Figment is singing all about sparking your imagination, I’m watching him pop up covered in rainbows and thinking of Pop. He loved this ride because he would always say with a big grin “Ah, to feel the air conditioner and be able to sit down for a few minutes not being blinded by the Orlando heat is simply amazing.” The human brain fascinates me. It’s amazing to me how being on certain rides brought back so many fun memories.

Unexpected plot twist: Upon joining the virtual que to ride Epcot’s newest ride “Guardian’s of the Galaxy: Cosmic Rewind,” there was a 4.5 hour wait. Since I had never experienced this ride before, and I have an autonomic nervous system disorder called Dysautonomia, I knew I needed to do research. The only information I could find revealed a family of four sitting on this rollercoaster moving forward slowly and smiling. We asked a park employee who compared it to Space Mountain which all three of us absolutely love.

What they didn’t inform riders of was the fact that this rollercoaster was an Omni coaster. Simply put, this ride is one that is in the dark, goes incredibly fast backwards and spins you 360 degrees with high drops and fast spins for one minute. AKA a total nightmare for someone with Dysautonomia. My husband is so sweet, he said he knew when our car turned around, that we were going to go backwards and I was going to be in trouble. He was correct. As I cried and screamed out loud to stop the ride, the music blaring was too loud that no one could hear me. By the time the ride came to an end, I was trembling, my head was spinning, and I had temporarily lost my hearing. Immediately I bolted out to try to find the exit and a restroom. As soon as I found it, I began vomiting. I was shaking, freezing cold, clammy hands. I was in my own personal nightmare. As I slid down the stall’s restroom wall sobbing uncontrollably, I couldn’t understand why at that very moment, my Dad’s face popped into my head.

It’s as if he was there with me holding my hand, guiding me to safety, letting me know I was stronger than I give myself credit for. I imagined what advice he would have given me at that very moment. He would tell me not to let one bad experience ruin my trip. He would want me to be happy and to continue hunting for pressed pennies and pins with my family. It was then that my whole life flashed in front of my eyes and it hit me: My Dad my whole life was preparing me for his loss one day. He wanted me to have all of these amazing Disney memories so that I could remember and cherish the times I did have with him, rather than focus on the times I would never get to have with him. My Disney adventure of finding my Dad, healing my heart, and making new magical memories with my own family proved to be a success. To which I will say “Thanks Pop, this one’s for you”.

Gerry started as a dream, long before his birth,
Created by the Lord above he brought both love and mirth.
He’ll always be a son who cared, a brother who stood true,

An uncle, friend and in-law who was always there for you.
He was protector to his sons, so proud as he stood by

And watched them play and learn and grow, both apples of his eye.
As a Grandpa Gerry soared, with Cam and Dax he’d play,

He’d make up games and fix their toys and kiss their tears away.
Gerry’s home, his pride and joy, a yellow house so grand,

Was built by vision, faith and toil by his strong, callused hands.
What man could do all that you ask, how could one be so right?

I know beyond a doubt because he was my shining knight.
He left too soon, we’ll never know the reason or the rhyme,

Gerry gave so much, you see, but got too little time.
In days to come, when thinking of him causes tears to stream,

We must remember he’s the man who started as a dream.

My baby brother died of Covid in February of 2022. He had gone to a dark place and despite having underlying conditions, he adamantly refused to be vaccinated. It was three weeks of hell from the day he went into the hospital until he died and I was afraid the whole time. Initially, he was alert and we talked and texted. Knowing how distrustful he was of the medical establishment, I walked on eggshells as I gently encouraged him not to dismiss their treatment recommendations. He blustered but accepted them and was “holding his own” during the first week. But the inevitable happened. His breathing worsened and his kidneys started to fail. Before being intubated, his last text message to me was saying he was scared and then a big red heart emoji.

Then came two weeks of ICU hell: days where staff did not think he would make it through their shift, fleeting moments of hope but always dread and fear. So many people prayed for him but he was the sickest person they had ever seen. I watched this little boy, now 57, who was adored from the day he arrived on the planet, die on Zoom. I used to tell people that when I was eleven years old, I had “ordered” my brother. I clearly remember being in the car with my mother and telling her that I was sick of my sister. “Why don’t you have another baby?” I pleaded. So, the “accident” baby, my brother, George M. Gregorian was born and instantly became the shining light of our nuclear and extended family. Everyone has a presence, an essence of course, but George’s was always louder, larger, and impossible to ignore. Outgoing, curious, annoying, kind, generous, smart, and up for anything, including allowing my sister and me to dress him up in girl’s clothing and send him to return Christmas trees we had deemed too skinny.

My mother worked outside the home so I took care of him. People sometimes thought he was my child. I was just a teenager and in the late 60’s that was quite scandalous. I didn’t mind taking care of him. I did all the things for him and with him that maybe I felt my mother didn’t do with me and later on, I realized that nurturing him was healing for me.
Christmas was so much fun when he was little and even as we aged. One memory I will cherish is of him walking into my home on a Christmas day about five years ago, with his Santa hat on, his arms full of gifts and a huge smile on his face. He was late, as usual, but how could I be mad? He was known for last minute shopping and buying gifts no one ever knew they needed or wanted.

Stuffing stockings with useless or kooky things was sort of our “thing” and George had a total of 5 stockings to hold all his loot. Some are labeled with his many nicknames, Georgie, Bad Georgie and Mazod (which means “hairy”) in Armenian. I can’t throw the stockings away and yet; my heart aches at the thought of Christmas morning without my brother.

One Christmas memory that I will cherish began rather tensely due to a family disagreement. I was enjoying an adult beverage to ease my nerves and somehow started to dance and sing to “Party Rockets in the House Tonight.” I am NOT a good dancer nor singer. Georgie took his phone out and started filming. You can hear him egging me on and giggling like a little boy until we both crumple to the floor in hysterics. I loved that we liked to bring out the fool in each other. Now that he’s gone, there is no one left to laugh with me and at me in quite the same way. I will miss you forever, Georgie.

My dad was a man of few words. He didn’t talk about his feelings and if he did it was only to my mother. She had the key to that box and she kept it close to the vest. He was a man of action and showed his love through his many labors. He was always willing to lend a hand on any project and then eventually take over the entire project himself. He would not stop until the job was completed and was a true perfectionist. As a father he was hard to read. He was silent and proud. He seemed intimidating because of his mysterious nature, but I loved him immensely. He was always home by 4 pm at the latest and if he wasn’t going to be home at that time we would know days in advance. Every day, I would wait outside shooting baskets after school waiting for him to arrive. He was never late. He was tired, he was dirty, but he would still play horse or around the world with me. He never said no. He taught me much. He taught me how to ride a bike, he taught me how to catch, he taught me how to fish and he tried to teach me how to golf. As my mother took care of our needs emotionally, my dad was steadfast as a teacher, not knowing at the time that he was providing me knowledge that would last me a lifetime. That was most of my childhood. Much of what he did went unnoticed. He never wanted the credit, he was content in letting others shine as he stood back and watched with pride.

As I grew older, I grew fonder of my father. I started to understand his sacrifices. My mother would take care of our wounds and emotions but my dad was the one who took care of her. I would notice his callused hands from being in the field, which were permanently dirty from his days working. I started to notice the sacrifices of providing even at times working in different states so we could stay in our home. I started to notice that his love was without word, but as I have mentioned his actions and caring for us was his language of love. In my adult life he stood by me, answered every call, literally and figuratively and as I mentioned he never said no. He was consistent to say the least. He was unrelenting. He was like the Greek God Atlas, out of sight with the world on his back. The old adage says that for every great man there is a great woman behind him. To my father that is an untrue statement. For my dad, it says there is a great man behind a happy family in front of him. We came first and I couldn’t have asked for a better father.
This showed as a grandfather as well, as he showed me how to be a father at a young age. I was lost when I had Camden. I struggled with his autism, not knowing how to parent a child with a disability. I would consistently go to my parent’s house and my dad would jump right in. Camden wasn’t different to him. He treated him as he treated me as a child. He challenged him, cuddled him, loved him unconditionally. They would make pancakes in the morning. They would go visit family. They would go on walks. They would watch TV. He taught him how to ride a bike, he taught him how to catch, they shared laughter and my dad would chase him everywhere he went. He never left his side nor missed an opportunity to be with him as he did with me. He was as good as a grandfather as he was as a father. Even before Melissa and I got married, Dax was his grandchild. They would play games for hours on end as my dad would teach him. They would ride on the lawnmower together circling the yard. He was the favorite grandparent, the tireless one, and they knew that. They both dragged him every which way as he followed, he never complained. He never said when. He would eventually tire them out, knowing his job was complete. He will be remembered by them as the perfect grandfather and I take comfort knowing the there isn’t a smudge on his resume as one. My father was an example of what family was about. He had a sense of duty never ignoring it and always fulfilling it. He was routine. He never missed an event. He always showed up. The examples set above were in place long before I was born. He was that man from day one. From his brothers and sister to his stepbrothers, to his in-laws, nieces and nephews; if you needed something he was there. He is the meaning of family and unconditional love. He is a role model to all of us. If you weren’t blood related or married into the family, to my dad you were family anyway. He would treat you as his own. This was not fake or forced, he wanted you to feel a part of it. My dad always had this presence about him. He was 5’11”, 190 lbs. and built like a brick house. I wanted to say 200 but my mom said he’d be mad. I used to tell my friends and co-workers no matter their size that my father would make them feel small. He seemed larger than life. He had a way of making me feel safe when I was in danger, sheltered with no home, happy when I was sad and loved when I was alone. His aura and presence always gave me the assurance that if I had him things were going to be okay. He was my security blanket.