Dad had come to Naples for a visit - and his timing couldn't have been worse. He was supposed to arrive the day I returned from Cameroon. Instead, his flight was delayed and he was stuck in Philidelphia for two days, trying to get re-routed to Europe. He almost cancelled and returned home. Instead, he arrived on July 2. I was on my way to the airport to collect him when my boss, Brian, called me into his office, and told me about the lies that MIVD had passed along. Brian assured me that the Command already knew that these were lies, and that I had reported everything appropriately. But he told me that I wasn't allowed in the office spaces for 30 days until there was an investigation.
I had not done anything wrong. I had reported everything appropriately. But they were so fearful. "It wouldn't be an issue," said Brian. "Except there's such a scandal with the Snowden thing."
I said, "I don't need to be in the spaces to get work done. Send me back down into Africa. I can run another SAMP iteration."
He said no. What I didn't know then - what I didn't learn until months later - was that Brian had already signed my termination notice when he called me into the office. He and I were already on shaky ground. I'd rejected a pass from him the previous summer (he'd pinched my ass in a swimming pool. I politely ignored this, allowing him to back down gracefully), and I'd confronted him for giving the credit for a 52-page report I'd written to someone else. Brian liked to stand on my shoulders and get points for my work, but my intensity and dedication to the mission - and my unyielding sense of righteousness - was clashing with his more flexible morality and relaxed work ethic.
Of course, my immediate concern was the nature of the lies from MIVD. I didn't know what the Dutch had said about me - and I was concerned that their lie would affect my ability for future work. Would affect my ability to maintain a security clearance. I was very distressed. I was also worried about the projects I was supporting and juggling. The mission mattered very much to me. I was trying to support the Dutch ship, the HNLMS Rotterdam as it went into West Africa. I was supposed to board the ship in less than a month to run their assessment program. The planners were scheduled to arrive that week in order to knock out the details.
Later that day, I received a phone call from my company. They told me what Brian was too cowardly to say: that my contract had been terminated. They said that they wanted me to return to DC right away. I told them that I was happy to comply - but that I was going to spend two weeks with my father first. He'd worked so hard to come to see me and I would be damned if I didn't spend time with him.
For me, the time was hell. I tried very hard to be attentive and take care of things and show my father a good time. But I was in an anxious misery. We drove to Rome and into the Italian Alps and across the border into France. But I was so caught up in my own private misery and loss-of-control, I barely remember those days.
My father is a man with a very good soul and he is earnestly glad that he was there for me during that time. I am glad, as well. But I still feel such anger at MIVD for ruining my father's vacation.
It has been a very difficult year. I have lost so much, and I can hardly look behind me for the pain it causes. Dad said to me, "I sometimes imagine what it feels like to go through what you've experienced, and I can't believe how well you've handled it."
"I lost the most important thing first," I tell him, reminding myself. "Sjors mattered the most to me. Losing him was the greatest pain. Once I'd lost him, nothing else mattered. Every other loss was so small in comparison."
But none of the losses have been easy. I keep these things in boxes in my mind, and I try to only look at them through my peripheral. Just enough so I can bear it.
In the Mormon faith, people believe that men can receive a sacred priesthood. They believe that this endows them with a special power to bless people in the name of Jesus Christ. When I was a child, I would receive blessings of healing from men from the church when I was very sick. And when I was suffering regular seasonal flu, or on special occasions, my father would give me a "father's blessing", with a laying-on of hands.
I'm not Mormon. But I asked Dad for a blessing before I got on the plane yesterday. Whether god speaks through him or not, there is something beautiful about having my father give to me all his good intentions, unfettered by social convention. He cried while he spoke.
He told me that God would protect me in the difficult times ahead. That God would guide my steps as he had guided all of my other steps, and that my experiences had turned me into a capable tool which God would use to bless his children. That God hears my prayers even when I don't speak aloud, but only offer up the prayers of my soul.
Then I started to cry. "I don't want to fight any more," I told him. "I don't want it to be so hard anymore."
"If you are a tool in the Lord's hands..." began my father.
"He's turned me into a weapon," I told dad. "I am sharp and hard and I can fight. This is what I can do. This is what my experiences have given me. What sort of tool is a weapon if not to fight even bigger battles?"
And in a few minutes, I'm gearing up for another fight. This time, with a patent examiner who's misunderstood my work. My attorneys tell me it will cost me another $4000 to help me with the appeals. But I haven't received a paycheck since November. If there is a prayer of my soul, it is for the strength and cleverness and good intentions of the attorneys and patent office so that this fight will not last long, and will end well.
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