Which makes this news all the more painful and disturbing.  From Yahoo News.  (addl at LGF)

MANILA, Philippines – A bomb made from high-grade explosives — and likely set off by terrorists — caused the blast that killed at least nine people and wounded more than 100 at a mall in Manila’s financial district, officials said Saturday.

The bomb exploded near a mall I had been to and also dangerously close to the church I attended while I was there.

The strong explosion ripped through three floors of the Glorietta 2 shopping mall in Makati city on Friday, hurling slabs of concrete, twisting steel reinforcements, and shattering glass panels. Earlier police reports had said a fuel tank caused the blast.

And of course you have the people who would get along really well with the 9-11 truthers on this side of the pond.

Several opposition politicians and Arroyo critics had suggested the government may be responsible for the bombing to divert attention from scandals plaguing her administration, over alleged overpriced projects and bribes to lawmakers to defeat an impeachment movement.

Seriously people.  If this was Iran, Syria, Lebanon, China or some other country I might believe you.  But this is the Philippines.  A country striving for freedom from the shackles of the Spanish and American rule they experienced for so long.  A country trying to find a place in the world and the economy.  A country struggling for hope.  Arroyo has done many stupid things (several during my time there that made me smack my head with my hand) but this is accusation is beyond the normal brain functions of a normal human being.

I can only hope and pray that those who were murdered were not among those that I know and that the families who have lost will be supported in this time.  My prayers for the injured and affected.  The only thing is that at least it wasn’t worse.  Malls in the Phils are crowded, jammed and packed to the hilt.

It was very hard walking out of work today.  I nearly cried.  I was an emotional wreck.  I tried to say goodbye to everyone, but that didn’t work out.  I still have an empty feeling in my stomach although that may be connected to my hunger.  Just kiddin’.

I miss the guys and gals back in the Philippines already and I know I’m going to miss Quezon City more and more each day.  I also know I’ve missed seeing Denver, The Rocky Mountains and the world around the city itself.  I’m pumped to get back and live life again.

As for the fact that it seems like Asian airports (at least Manila and Narita) have this thing with using chaos and disorder as a manner to board the planes…that’s something entirely different.  For me I’m used to it.  I’ve made this long journey several times and have my best practices already in place.  I’m wearing loose clothes and I have all my necessary docs bound together perfectly so I can merely flip them open and get through security.  I have stored all my stuff in my pockets of the bags so all I need in my pants pockets are the wallet and cell phone.

The path from gate to gate is mapped in my mind.  I’ve made the Ngoya trip (and Narita) enough that I know where to go and how to go.  This time there is a difference.  I’m flying into San Fransisco instead of Detroit.  There’s were the trouble can begin.  I know Detroit’s airport by now.  I know where to go, what to do and how long it might take me.  I know what line to take to avoid getting strip searched and walking around like I just got off a eight hour horse ride.

This is not the case with SF.  The other trouble I’m told by my manager is the fog likes to play with planes and arrivals and departures like Denver changes weather.  Meaning I could be delayed (oh the puns with my last name!) and have a little bit o’ rough time getting home.  I’m not terribly worried.  I’ve made it this far and survived.  As long as I get back on US soil, I’m content with whatever you throw at me.

No more watermelons though.  Those hurt.

So, the clock above reads 14 hours right now.  I have two or so hours before this plane leaves.  9 hours until San Fran.  And then three hours until Denver.  That’s about 14 hours.

I do however need some sleep.  I mistakenly offered my hand in marriage to a lady that I thought was Natalie Portman and was promptly slapped back to coach.  It was a sad sad moment.

San Fran here we cooooome!

The silence of the moment surprised him. The hours had passed quickly at a breakneck pace. The sun was nearing the horizon as the darkness anxiously waited in the wings. The room was empty and cleansed of the memories from the past year. The room was at it had been when he had walked in the door that warm day in March. Hot and sticky with sweat on his brow he had found relief in what he saw.

Now he looks around feeling the pang of emptiness gnawing at the corners of his heart. The clothes have been neatly arranged in the bags and stuffed in preparation for the long flight across the globe. The belongings, reminders and personal affects are all zipped up in the luggage he stares at now.

It is in this silence he reflects on the time he has spent in this small corner of this world. The moments lazily wondering when he would be leaving once and for all. How fleeting and unconcerned he had been at the time. Now the avalanche of feelings threatens to break the dam of tears that seem to well up in his eyes. He has said the word “goodbye” more than he ever wanted to in his lifetime. He has bitten his lip several times to hide the overwhelming feelings of loss that wash over him every so often.

Visited by these emotions he had long hoped to avoid he cannot help but reflect on the things he’s learned, gained and lost. Standing there alone in his apartment as the air conditioning unit wheezes on he hopes he won’t cry tonight when he walks out the doors of his job one last time.

He knows that won’t be possible.

Breaking his focus he walks to the whispering air conditioner and clicks it off, the sound bouncing off the walls of silence. He once more walks from room to room, wall to wall and runs his eyes over the familiar paint and plaster that has been his home.

Memories of friends seem to fade in and out as ghosts of the moments shared appear and vanish at random. The apartment remains in silence as the world continues on unabated outside. He returns to the living room as he clicks the lights off one by one. The sound clangs through his mind as the sense of finality begins to settle into his heart.

With the last light out there is only the path of bright cast from the open door. With a gruff grumble he moves his bags outside where they are slung over the shoulder of his driver. A few minutes later the driver appears again and takes a second load. All this time the man remains staring through the open door into the darkness of what had once been his daily life.

What memories. What times had been shared here. What stories had been woven in between friends. What a year can do to a man.

The driver returns. He is ready. “I’ll be there soon. Give me a moment, ok?’ The driver nods his assent as he walks away and follows the steps downstairs whistling some jazzical tune through his teeth. He does not recognize the emotions swirling about his master.

Silence returns to the hallway as the lone man remains. The light begins to fade in the hallway as the sun slowly gives in to the demands of nature. Darkness will soon fill the hallway. The overhead lights will flicker on and the night will march onwards in the endless cycle of life.

The man remains, hoping to push the sun back up in the sky one more day. It is a meaningless request. He knows this is the end. There is no turning back.

His hands reach out and grasp the handle of the door. He closes his eyes and mutters a prayer. He slams the door shut suddenly and quickly locks the deadbolt and backs away to the point where he is against the wall.

It is done.

A deep breath as he turns and haltingly walks away until he reaches the stairs. He turns to look once more at the door. His cheeks are wet with sadness. The dream is over. The new adventure must now begin. A long glance is held between man and door.

And then he is gone, down the spiraling stairs as if the wind was at his back.

A moment later the sound of a car pushing down the street is heard through the corridors. The lights above soon flicker and spark until a bright blaze burns in the hallways.

As the countdown continues towards departure I’m nearly complete in my packing, cleaning and readying for leaving. I’ve said goodbye to my young adults group (it was just about as hard as saying goodbye to my kids in Children’s Ministry) and made my final trip out of Makati back home. It was a small moment for me driving out of the city knowing I wouldn’t be back.

I’ve come to realize that Christian ladies (girls, women, dames, whatever you wanna call them) are the women I want to spend my time with because they’re operating (for the most part) on the same modus operandi as I do. I’ve probably excluded now a good portion of the dating population that is out there but I’m starting to decide how it’s all going to work when I get back to Denver. I do want to start dating and all that stuff but there are more questions than answers at this point. Who knows what the future holds in that department.

My radio show (Rocky Mountain Ride & Rocky Mountain Political Ride) will start back up when I return. I’m going to reconsider posting about politics here and strictly focus on it with my radio show. My friend Pat raised an interesting (and valid) point that this blog thing is all over the board with the focus. When I land in Denver the replanning, redrafting and reworking continues. More to come on that sooner or later.

As for the future of this blog there are a few things that won’t change. I’m still going to talk about life, love, liberty and whatever else comes to mind. Every Monday I’ll post something to help us all get through that ugly day. Every Thursday my humor filled radio show will broadcast at 10pm Eastern. Every Friday I’ll declare from the mountaintops “THANK GOD IT’S FRIDAAAAAY!” with a post celebrating the end of the week and the start of the weekend. And every Saturday at 2pm Eastern the political radio show will reach into the online airwaves.

For now, sit back and check out archives. Expect maybe one more post or so before departure as I start closing up the bags and saddling up the horses for my last ride into the sunset. We’re riding on to Denver.

Tally ho!

There are days where I wonder if I’m really human anymore. Like if my muscles and nerves have suddenly transformed into a cybernetic robotic machine that drones through the workday, eyes glowing red with maniacal focus. Working the graveyard can do this to you.

Those that work it know the pain. You try to sleep through the day but your brain refuses to shut off for one reason or another. The sounds outside your apartment hammer into your brain, jarring it wide open every so often. You just can’t sleep. You know you’re tired. You know you’re exhausted. You can feel it in your arms and legs as you sluggishly thud up the stairs. A quiet soreness invades your eyes as you look in the mirror and wonder if red is your natural eye color. You just can’t get your brain to close down for the day and embrace the wonders the Sandman is offering.

Another thing that people who work the graveyard will tell you is that you sometimes (or most of the time) feel a little crazy. It’s a weird experience the first time and it doesn’t stop being oddly upsetting when you experience it. The truth is your body clock is used to the sun being out when you’re awake and the moon being above when you sleep. God set it up this way to keep peace and harmony in the world. Messing with that delicate and intricate balance can bring that sense of slight insanity.

You feel slightly off. You feel stir crazy maybe. You might get the sudden urge to just bolt and run. Describe it any way you want but working the graveyard shift requires people with hardened abilities. And I was one of them for a year and a half. But now the invasion of slight vertigo, the constant threat of sickness and the sleepless days leading to zombie nights has become just about too much to take.

This is just a small part of what it’s been like to walk in my shoes for the last year and some change.

It’s time to come home. With four days left (and one of those is today, Sunday) I’m starting to really feel the feelings of leaving and never coming back. It’s a bittersweet feeling that has been with me for the last few days. Today was the hardest so far and it’s not going to get easier I get on the plane and soar above the ocean on the way home. You see, today I had to say goodbye to my kids.

I’ve been working at children’s ministry for ten years now and have loved every minute of it. When I came out here I had to say goodbye to my kids at my old church and that was hard. I had been there for ten years doing God’s work and loving the kids. To leave them for a year and a half was hard.

It’s harder when you know them for shorter because I know what this could have been if I had stayed. I could have done so much more with them. I could have made worship time so much cooler. I could have led them towards a stronger Christian walk. I coulda’ shoulda’ woulda’. It doesn’t help that each of these kids has affected me in some way since the moment I left them.

And so today was the hardest because I had to say goodbye to the kids who had kept me going in the darkest and most stressful times of my life. These are the kids I showed up on Sunday for and they are the ones who kept me smiling in the middle of the hurricane-esque chaos of work. I had their words and antics to fuel my hope in the midst of the darkness. And I knew I would be back on Sunday to smile and laugh right along with them.

I’m not an emotional guy. I rarely cry. Anger is not something I experience on a regular basis. I’m a pretty easygoing guy who doesn’t get affected by much. Saying goodbye to these kids made me cry today. Looking into the faces of the Filipino, Korean, Japanese, Mongolian, African, American and Australian kids and knowing that the antics and adventures we had shared were ending hurt.

People who have never done Children’s Ministry or don’t have kids (even those who have kids might) don’t understand what it’s like as a Sunday School teacher. You don’t understand the friendships you build with students and parents. You don’t understand how you suddenly being to care about how their week was and what happened to them at school. You may not realize how much you will worry, fret and pray for these kids during the week. It suddenly becomes important to you after spending a few Sundays’ with them.

And so I had to say goodbye to them. I didn’t want to. I had a hard time forming the words. I have never been at a loss for words (those that know me will say ‘Amen!’ to that) but today was one of those rare moments where I struggled to put together the words to say farewell because I simply didn’t want to speak them.

I wanted to stay today, more than anything. One more Sunday. One more Worship session. One more teaching session. Push the sun back up in the sky for just one more chance to do what I love in the here and now. But it’s wasn’t to be. I am headed home and in four days I will start to decide where I will end up for Children’s Ministry.

They all gave me cards, pictures and notes. When I get my camera back in Denver I’ll post them for you here. I intend to frame them and hang them up on the walls to remember each of them and the incredible gift of life, love and hope they’ve given me.

I’m even getting choked up writing this. I will miss them something fierce. Some people play sports and get a kick from the adrenaline. Others dance across a dance floor with a smile wide. Friends of mine go on stage and act or run the show from backstage as their drug of choice.

My drug of choice is Children’s Ministry and hanging out with God’s kids and loving each and every moment.

I’m gonna miss ‘em so very much.

The Outsourcing world can be a unforgiving mistress at times. She doesn’t give much of an inch and usually shoves back with the strength of a few rhinos. To say she is tempestuous is understating the simple facts of the case. She can (and usually does) exact a terrible toll on both your mind and body in the time you spend at her side.

It’s not unusual to have a case of flashing vertigo. It comes around usually every hour and lasts for fifteen seconds bursts. It doesn’t send you to your knees but it does make your world wobble a bit to the side. It’s not unusual to gain weight. The stress, the emotional pieces it exacts from your heart and the general fun that goes along with working outside your home country can lead you to stress eat to relieve the giant monkey on your back.

You can also have days like we did today. I’m a trainer. That means I prepare classes for working on the “floor” (aka the desks the agents sit at and take calls) in the best manner possible. This class we’re working with now has been beset with amazing and never before experienced delays, slip ups and massive failures on the part of getting everyone on the same page.

Funny thing it’s not my fault. Everything can be traced back to the insane amount of people that are responsible for getting us the things we need. New procedures came out for this class that we somehow didn’t know about (I blame Canada) and we didn’t follow them. Strike one. We then had to teach without examples. We did our best with training systems. Eventually we were spinning our wheels. The students were feeling frustrated. I was feeling frustrated.

Strike two.

We then were able to pick up the scattered pieces of this mildly annoying and head smacking disaster this week and finally get rolling. We were on our way to getting them trained in how to do the job. There was a light at the end of the tunnel. My fellow trainer was taking over the class and I was able to think through the next few days. It looked like we just might get these guys prepared and without too much more stress.

There is one nemesis in our world that we shudder at the mere mention of the name. It’s almost like Harry Potter and “He Who Must Not Be Named” in how much fear it can strike into the hearts of men and women on our floor. The word is “Bill Drop”. Enter strike three.
Combine that with a small shortage of staff today and you have The Perfect Storm. The calls were coming in at the pace of an apocalyptic deluge of cats and dogs from the sky. We had thirty calls on hold at one point when we usually never break ten on really bad days. Agents were scrambling. We threw supervisors on the phones. We threw team leads on the phones.
The numbers didn’t drop. The digital board that displays the people signed on, on call and the amount waiting refused to budge, almost as if to stick it’s digital tongue at us and blow a raspberry tinged with bits and bytes. My Spidey-Sense began to tingle. I could see the fourth horseman mounting up on his terrifying steed. The rain began to fall. Someone screamed and took a flaming flying leap off of Minas Tirith(ref). Oh, wait. Scratch that last one. I was only seeing that image flash before my eyes as the calls on queue refusing to budge.

My manager came up beside me as we both eyed blasted display. She looked at me and smiled grimly. “All hands on deck.” I blinked, not wanting to hear the words she had just spoken. Not to worry, she repeated them again. “All hands on deck.” She shrugged and patted me on the shoulder.

I may have actually blacked out when she first said it so the whole pat on the shoulder may have been imagined. I came back to reality knowing the rookies were being called up. If you can imagine any very bad word that I did use in my mind and did allow (though I prayed for forgiveness later) to slip, imagine it. I cursed to myself out loud.

It was time.

I walked into the training room and informed the very green and still not ready for prime time players we had a situation and we were needed. We had to respond. Gondor was calling for aid. At least that’s what popped into my mind. We didn’t have any fires or signal flares. Big ole’ fire danger from what I hear.

We hit the floor. I don’t remember much except running around and putting up bulletins as we started to figure out we were getting calls for something we hadn’t been warned about in advance. This is typical in call centers. Information flows through thin pipe and in this case it got stuck somewhere between send and receive.

The fires were lit, the swords were polished and shields at the ready. Battle was had. Sweat poured down our backs as we frantically took the calls as images of the Orc army seemed to haunt us as the phones just kept ringing. The stress began to take its tole. The calls just kept coming. I looked around and realized something must be done.

And so I grabbed my sword of power, jumped on a chair and screamed “FOR FRODO!” and charged the reader board that had been menacing us all night.

Inspired by my act of bravery (and possible stupidity) the agents kicked it into fourth gear and brought the calls holding to zero where it stayed for the rest of the day.

How was your day?

With just over a week left before I say goodbye to this country I’m in between emotions of celebration and mourning.  I’m filled with sadness at having to walk away from some good friends and amazing people.  The bittersweet taste of knowing I may never see Manila or the Philippines again fills my mouth every day as I walk through my normal frenetic rhythm.

People ask me if I’ll ever come back.  I have to force a smile knowing that the money will be the biggest factor keeping me away from this beautiful dream.  I tell them I will if I can afford it and that I would love to see this place again sometime soon.  It is the truth.  Manila and the Philippines will be etched in my heart for a very long time to come.

I also have to realize that the time has come.  People ask me why I’m leaving.  They theorize that someone made me mad, ticked me off in the wrong way or didn’t offer me enough money.  They try to find any other reason than the real truth that I’ve been telling everyone since the day I made the decision.  It’s simply time.  I’ve grown more than I would have ever have imagined.  I’ve learned more than I would have in Denver in the time I’ve been here.

Simply put the parking meter has expired and I have no coins left to stay.  I’m spent.  I’m tired.  The graveyard shift has pushed me and my body to a point I don’t want to be anymore.  Working a year and a half in a time in which the body does not normally operate has taken a toll.  My chaotic schedule has brought me to a place where I’m overweight and out of shape.  The times of social interaction are cluttered into the weekend which is already booked with much needed relaxation time.  The ability to have a normal life is hampered by so many factors.

The ability to be independant can destroy a person like me.  I’m fanatically independent.  I want to make my own food.  I want to wash my own clothes.  I want to make my own bed.  I want to clean my own place.  I want to do it all on my own.  If I don’t I fear I’m weak.  I think I’ve fell back into the middle school days when everything was done for me by my parents.  I don’t want to be irresponsible.  I want to take charge of the things that are mine and need my attention.

Paying someone else to do my dirty work?  In Manila it’s almost required when you work in a call center because of how punishing the schedule and life can be over a long period of time.  You just have to keep slogging through it taking the small victories while working as hard as you can to get the job done while feeling distracted by all the stress of knowing you need to get food but the time to make it is limited by well, time and equipment.

In my apartment I have a hot plate that was furnished to me.  A microwave.  That’s it.  I would have to buy one or two more hotplates to cook a good dinner.  I don’t want to spent money on something that’ll be no fun to try and sell and that I cannot take home with me.

You might be reading this and thinking I’m complaining about things and whining.  And maybe I am.  I challenge you to do what I’ve done here since October of 2005 and say you’re not affected in the same manner.  People assail the call center industry overseas as the devil for taking American jobs and all that blah blah blah.  I hear them and I don’t know if I agree with them.  But I do know that I as an American work twelve hour days and weekends at the most abnormal times of the day and sweat bullets hoping that I do a good job.

So this whole outsourcing thing is never black and white. There are shades of gray in everything.  And I’m part of that grand painting.

At least for another ten days.

Living in Manila (aka living in Quezon City, a city in “Metro Manila”) you have to deal with something you experience in the United States. Beggers. Children who say, “sir, sir money please.” and simply give you the most heartbreaking looks any small child could find deep in the skin they live in. But the difference is that here in this place it’s much more prevalent and at times overwhelming you simply have to adopt the unfortunate stance of “No” to everyone asking you for money. It’s hard, but you can’t save everyone.

This whole poverty thing cannot be understated. People who come here and live in the Shangri La Hotel (like I did for four months) and the Discovery Suites (as I did for a month) don’t see any of what I see every day I walk to work. They might see it out the window of the ride into the city (Quezon city is about a half hour away from Manila where there are cities such as Ortigas, Pasig City and Makati which are primo rich money places) or on their walk out of the building to the car that takes them back to the hotel.

You need to understand just how bad it can be at times. There are people who have literally lived on the sidewalk next to my apartment complex for the last week or so. They’ve burned wood to boil water and cook what little they may have. I wish that I could give them something to help but the harsh reality is that it may help them for a day but that’s all that will happen. The next day is going to be the same story.

There are even guys who will have their own group of kids that they send out to collect money. Do the kids see any of that money or the goods bought by it? Usually not. When you start to dig a little deeper into this world around you it begins to feel somewhat sickening to think about all the people living in nothing and collecting junk to sell to shops and maybe make some pesos this week for food.

It is in all of this that I have become numb to seeing people who are in these situations. I’ve waded through the begger children without a thought. I’ve looked straight ahead and not at the soiled baby in her mothers hand as they stare me down. I can only imagine the thoughts going through their mind as I walk on without breaking my stride.

What they must think of the uncaring American (or white person depending if they know my nationality) is a mystery and I can’t begin to imagine what it makes them think about people of my skin color. There are many a program here to help those in need but the trouble is there is so much it is simply one word.

Overwhelming.

And yet when you talk to people they are ok with these things. There is a Filipino expression, “What will be will be.” Most students express the same feeling. Some used to be in those positions and finally got tired of being where they were and fought to move upwards and beyond that place. They express frustration with the people who seem to accept their fate and do little to change.

Yet (I love that word because it is the one word keeping me from making this a very biased article) there is also the challenge of where do those people go once they want to move forward? Regular day jobs have a low pay expectation. Call Center jobs require a certain level of English proficiency. And passing requirements (much like the application process in the States but so much more painful and involved with way too much paperwork for any human being) can be taxing and so much work you wonder if it’s just easier not to try and move up in life.

Again, it’s a interesting challenge here. As a “white boy” I have my perspective that runs very counter to most peoples ideas. There are Filipinos who believe along what I’ve talked about but those are the ones living in houses that are even bigger than anything I’ve lived in myself. Heck, my apartment is pretty spartan compared to some of these houses.

The other troubling item on the horizon in the Philippine Peso. The exchange rate has gone from 55 to 48 in the time I’ve been here since October of 2005. I asked a Filipino friend about that because I figured you’d want your money strong no matter what, even if it made my life a little harder. His response floored me because I hadn’t heard it explained in such a way before.

He said the government itself would force it back up to 50 when elections came back around. I asked why, being the dumb American that I am. He patiently explained that if the Peso does get stronger against the dollar that imports such as Call Centers will find it harder to do cheap business here. Additionally trades and exports would suffer the consequences. He explained it in a way that confirmed what I had long expected.

The Call Center industry is both a healthy habit and a life threatening addiction. While it helps put jobs in the Filipino’s hands it forces the Peso to remain weak because the exchange rate is so useful to offshore operations. I came to realize the future of the Philippines and the Call Center Industry are very much intertwined and separating the two may come at a very painful and ugly price for both sides. Who really knows what the future holds here.
Again, you have to take what I say with a grain of salt. I don’t know much. I’ve only lived this life since October of 2005. If I had stayed longer I suspect that I would have some deeper thoughts and more fleshed out opinions. Since I’m leaving in about two weeks…this is all you get.

More to come as we get closer to departure day.

I don’t think I’ve honestly talked enough about my cousin Seth and how cool he is.  Seth was born twenty days after me (same year and everything) and we grew up as cousins.  There is an incident that I will never be able to forget.  I don’t actually totally remember it, but my mom and his mom remind us every so often.

We were like six or some young age in the car on our way to something.  We passed a river (or was it a lake, heck if I remember) and I (or Seth) remarked, “It’s a lake!”.  Then Seth (or I) said, “No, it’s a river!”.  The arguement continued all the way up to wherever we were going.  On the way back we once more took up the issue only this time we argued opposite of our original position on the ride up.

We were cute kids according to our parents.  Now we’re just crazy boys or some such.  I grew up as a computer geek and shy kid that did mostly nerdy stuff.  Seth grew up as the athletic and more physically active member of the family.  TIme passed and we would hang out at reunions and all.  We were still close even if our interests were different.

Then Seth did something I never expected him to do and when he did I felt so proud and honored of him that words cannot express even today the feelings and emotions that ran through my heart and mind.  Seth joined the Montana State National Guard and ended up serving for a year in Iraq doing work with Operation Iraqi Freedom.  When I talked with him before he left I felt tears staining my face.  It was a very real thing happening at that very moment to us as a family.

During that year we as a family (Seth is part of the Dahl side of my family, not the DeLay side) feared the moments when the news came on about deaths in Iraq.  We would wonder if the today was the day we would get the call that we had lost family.  It was hard for us (my mother, father and brother) because we are seperated by nearly 12 hours from Montana where Seth and his family lives.  We wanted to be near in case the terrifying reality hit us.  We would all need to be close if it did come to pass.

We prayed every day for his safety.  I cringed when I would open up Yahoo news.  I would fear to read his name or hear about a Montana unit losing a son.  But when I would send letters and hear from him it was always, “We’re doing the job we need to do.  We’re here for a purpose.”  He always kept his focus on doing the right thing.

After his year he returned home.  I talked to him on the phone a little since then and have found it hard to express how exactly I felt.  Talking to a loved one on the phone is hard when all you want to do is reach out and hug them as hard as you can for as long as time would allow.  I wanted so badly to see my cousin in the flesh and just be around him as we all used to do so many years ago.

And yet as life goes on, it gets harder to get together.  With me in the Philippines for the last year I’ve missed Christmas and Thanksgiving with the family and the chance to see him again.  With my return to Denver about two weeks away I’m hoping to make a trip to see him sometime soon.  Then I can shake his hand and give him the biggest hug a cousin can give.  It’s hard to build a friendship and a family relationship when you’re eight thousand miles away.

In that time I’ve come to respect and honor my cousin Seth Dahl. I’ve come to look up to him for his struggles and his courage.  I’m thankful to have someone like him in my life and I’m hopeful someday he’ll understand what that means.

He’s listed on the Montana Government website as a Hero.  To me, he’s so much more than that in my eyes.  He’s the greatest guy cousin I could ask for.

Someday I’ll tell you about my cousin who can dance a pretty mean Tango that’d make even Antonio Banderas bow at her feet.