I stepped into the hallway.
I wasn't expecting this....
I wanted to turn and walk away -
Maybe nobody'd notice.
It was overwhelming.
"Let's leave," I wanted to say to my husband.
I don't belong here.
We don't belong here.
No.
Rows and rows of pictures lined the tables....hundreds of pictures with small votive candles in front of each one.
Hundreds of beautiful faces, personalities beaming from each one - so many smiles - faces that said, "I love life. I love this adventure."
Faces that lived for today, and the tomorrow that never came.
Loving faces with moms, dads, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives and little children they held and kissed.
There would have been so much laughter if they would have all been standing there with us.
But, these were reminders of our fallen heroes...
Scanning the many rows of photos,
I found him.
There he was...
My son's picture.
My hero.
My fallen warrior.
It didn't seem right that his picture would be there.
It didn't seem right that any of them should...
They were all so young and full of life.
We walked into the banquet hall where many were already seated.
I really didn't want to be there either.
I felt removed from everything and everybody.
Knowing all these people were there because they had lost a son or daughter was overwhelming.
How is it that we are here?
It was a strange almost surreal feeling.
We sat down. The people were cordial and welcoming.
Yet, I couldn't engage in any kind of conversation, which is weird for me.
I listened for a little while, still surveying the huge room of parents,
got up and left.
I found a place in the hall, a tucked away place, and the tears came.
I bent over with the heartache - yes, I did belong there.
All these people hurt and were heartbroken, too.
Parents from all over Colorado - some from New Mexico and Utah.
Wow.
There was time for roll call for each hero represented.
We had a time to remember those who have been MIA/POW since the early nineteen hundreds to now...those did not/have not returned home. It all took on a different meaning.
We were blessed. We had closure.
As it turned out, I'm glad we came.
I met a facebook friend - we only knew each other through facebook, and knew we were Gold Star moms.
My husband and I met other parents with stories of their own. We shook hands, and hugged - we understood.
When I returned to the banquet hall, the speaker announced that we were ok, and were in good company. If we needed to leave the room, or cry, it was ok. If we felt overwhelmed, it was understandable.
Whew.
This journey is difficult.
No doubt about it.
All these families at this retreat are on the same journey.
This morning we ride the gondola to the top of the mountain for a prayer service.
I'm looking forward to it.
I look forward to spending time with the families we've met.
Now,
I'm not ready to leave.
My son was the most recent fallen hero represented here.
We are so new to this journey, but somehow I get the impression that this journey is always new.
Like the wonderful speaker we had last night said, "You don't get over it, but you get through it."
PS - Today is Gold Star Mother's Day - to all the moms I share this day with - you are brave and amazing. God bless you all.
