Thanksgiving 2014/ The Best Is Yet To Come

I love when my family is together.
There is nothing like an almost full house.
I wake up knowing bedrooms are warm with silent breathing.

I love holidays.
I'm that mom who decorates and cooks and bakes
and enjoys every moment.

It's Thanksgiving.
Bedroom doors are opening.
Low conversations can be heard in the background.
Turkey aroma fills our house -

I am thankful.
I am thankful for my husband (who is still sleeping,)
for my children.
These are the greatest treasures in my life.

I love the memories we share -
I think about Caleb.

I smile.
I cry.
There is sweet sorrow to the memories.
He was part of years and years of Thanksgivings
and times, like -
'Mom, I'm hungry! When are we going to eat...'
when I thought the turkey was completely thawed but no, it wasn't, and it still needs to cook some more (I think we ate like at 4:30.)

Or the time when Caleb came home with the turkey he shot -
we had two turkeys that year.

All the times of sitting around the table passing the green bean casserole, and mashed potatoes....
Silent eating that would break into laughing and joking and listening to Caleb's stories.

I sigh.
I cry.
I miss him so much.
We all do.

I bought a candle in a glass container.
The inscription on it - "The Best Is Yet To Come."
I didn't really think too much about it
till this morning when I saw it on the counter.

 It was like Caleb was whispering -
Yes, Mom. Enjoy this day with the family, and tell everybody I love 'em.
Oh,
I know it's hard for you.
I know you all miss me.
But, remember -
this world isn't all there is.
You're all on this journey and one day -
yes, one day we will all be together.

Remember Mom,
the best is yet to come.

With that thought, I begin my day.

The best times here are being with my family.

We are blessed.
Today, Thanksgiving,
we will sit around the table, and pass the green bean casserole and mashed potatoes.
There will be a short silence as we pray and eat, and then we will break into conversation and laughter.
There will probably be some Caleb stories.
There will be a candle lit for Caleb because his life and light are always with us.

I baste the turkey in the roaster -
the roaster Caleb and Collen gave me for Christmas
not that long ago.

Yes.  I will enjoy today, - these are the best days here with my family.
 I will also remember -
The Best Is Yet To Come .

It helps to know -
that one day we will all be together and will have the biggest, and best Thanksgiving feast ever, forever!

Selah.

Beyond The Welcome Door

Last week I opened the
'Welcome' door and
BAM!

Ok.
I'll explain from the beginning.
Once in a while I have these bursts of energy where it's like I wake up and see things for the first time.
Of course, I've really been walking around these 'things' in a fog - not really noticing them for, let's see, how long?
There are unfinished projects, and just things I need to do, and suddenly I have energy to burn.
What brought it on?
It was the day the heater stopped working, and I was waiting for the repairman.

I went downstairs to the furnace room.
Hmmm....
Maybe I should move the totes so the guy can have more room.

That's when I got that rare burst of energy.

I started moving stuff and throwing things away.
I didn't stop with the furnace room.
I came upstairs and started working on the hall closets, the bedrooms.

After the repairman left, I went back downstairs and decided I would clean a little behind
THAT door in the tiny storage room.

The door seemed to have an invisible "Welcome" light, blinking off and on, inviting me to come in.
I used to look forward to opening that door, till Caleb.......

I can do this, I convinced myself.
Actually, I didn't think,
I just opened the door.

That's when it hit.
BAM.

I was hit with a blast so strong it nearly knocked me off my feet.
Floods of memories bombarded my being, ripping my torn heart to shreds.
I stood there for a moment, letting it all sink in.

Maybe I should've been prepared, but I wasn't.
How could I know that opening the door would release a lifetime of Christmases
all in one hurricane wind?
Who would ever understand how just peeking in a room could bring me to tears?
Memories.
So sweet.
So heartbreaking.


A lifetime of memories was inside that tiny room, in every tote.
Every Christmas craft made in school, every  homemade ornament with  a history of little faces glued to canning lids, and little Christmas wreaths....
Every Hallmark ornament.
Everything had Caleb stamped on it.
He was a part of everything in that space.
Every single thing in there cried out for the normalcy we once owned, and celebrated without fail, year after year...

I pulled out a basket full of odds and ends -
oh, and a few boxes teetering on the edge.
I re-arranged the basket.
I swept.

I left the basement.

I still have to put those things back.
But,
I can hardly bare to look at them.
They're just ornaments to anyone else.
but they are filled with our family Christmas stories.

I don't know how or why I opened that door.
It was not a good idea.

I love our memories.
There was lots of love and laughter.
It was good.
But for some reason,
right now,
the visual is just too much.
It hurts too much to see those tangible reminders.

Last year I merely glanced at that door, and that was hard enough.
No way was I venturing in there.
Why did I think it would be different this year?
Maybe I wanted to sink into what normal used to be,
only I can't.
It's not there anymore.
That hurts more than I can say.

Maybe someday.
I don't know.

I will shut that door once I put things away.
I don't know when I will open it again.
I do know, it won't be
for a while.

I hold my precious family close to my heart.
We are bound by a link of memories that only we share.
We don't have to see inside the totes.
We see in our hearts everyday -
where we were,
where we are,
and
tucked inside our hearts is our
love for Caleb,
our love for each other -
a love that goes beyond this life
to forever,
where we will be together again
in a place where memories are always now.
There will be no need for doors,
and best of all -
we will never be apart,
ever again.

Life IS Like A Box Of Chocolates

There is no way back to normal.
It simply doesn't exist anymore.
Some days it may appear "normal" because outwardly that's how it looks.
There are times when I am numb.
There are times when the waves of grief come crashing.

For a couple weeks I woke up and the pain wasn't so bad...numb.
When this happens I think -
Maybe this is it.
Maybe this is the way it's going to be now...just numbness.
A reprieve from the pain.

Then it hits again.
Just like in the beginning....
Ripping my heart out to where I have a hard time breathing - not literally - I really am breathing like 'normal.'
At times I want to double over because the heartbreak is so intense.

How can I go on?
How can I make it through another day?
How is this real?
I miss my son so much, I can hardly stand it.

I read an article not too long ago that said
life is not like a box of chocolates. You choose your life, you choose....

Not.
I understand about choices - but
I think Forrest Gump had it right.
Life is like a box of chocolates.
You never know what you're going to get.
In life, you can't spit out that piece you don't like.
You have no choice but to chew it...
You have to keep it in your mouth and swallow it.

You can't let the box just set either.
You are continually given another piece, and you take it.
The good thing is that sometimes you get a piece that is tasty....for the moment.
So you enjoy it, because you know you're going to be given another piece and that one may not be as good.
You can't pinch a piece out of the bottom to see what you're getting -
You can't put the candy back.
You have to go with what you get.

If you see me smiling it may be because I'm enjoying a caramel chocolate day....
Or I may be chewing on a mushy, sugary, tasteless chunk...
You never know.

This journey is so like that.
Today I'm crushed to pieces.
I woke up with that heartbreaking intensity that takes my breath away.
I don't know how I can make it through another moment -
Only I do know how I will make it.
If it wasn't for my living, loving, ever-present Father it would be impossible.

I would like to jump out of this body and the pain and make it all go back to the "good old days" when we were all together again.
Only I know that is not an option.
I've got to keep on keeping on.

When I get these hard to swallow pieces of candy, I have to hold tightly to my heavenly Father's hand.
He doesn't criticize and turn away from me because I'm having difficulty.
He doesn't walk away from me.
He doesn't love me less because I'm having a hard time.
I know sometimes I make faces about this candy I don't like.
I don't act sweet.
I get frustrated and want to shout (sometimes I've been known to do that.)
"I don't like this journey, God. I don't like it at all."
"I can't do this!"

Sometimes there is no one I can turn to because this is private pain....it shouts from the inside where nothing makes sense, and there are no words, no way to describe it.
I want to take the box of chocolates, dump it all out, and say, "There. I don't want another piece, thank you very much."
"Take the bad tasting candy out of the box. I would rather not have had that piece in there in the first place."

Only it's not my choice.

I have to hold it.
It's mine.
Even if at times it's hard to swallow.

Yes, this journey is hard.
Anyone who says it's not, who says just get over it, get on with it, has not walked
this road.
Be glad.

Today I don't like this box of chocolates I'm holding.
I don't have to like it, but I have to go through it.

I also know in this same box there is sweetness - there are wonderful blessings.
There are many things, people I am thankful for.

I don't forget that.
Even in the down times, there is hope.
There is a rainbow of promise in this stormy life.

I like what Jesus says. "In this world you WILL have tribulation - trials and sorrow."
He also says, "Be of good cheer. I have overcome this mess of a world."


And that makes all the difference.

Oh, and by the way -
sometimes it's ok to put the lid on the box, and just be still.
Abba Father encourages it.
"Come to me all you who are weary, and heavy laden and I will give you rest."

I think I will.
Selah

Still In The Dark

It's still dark outside, and the world is asleep.
I find solace in that.
For a while everything is still.
Peaceful, and calm.

Troubles don't exist.
Comfort is found on my pillow,
covered with my quilt of hope.

There is peace in the quiet.
No outside distractions.
Silence.

All is well.
Even in such a broken world.
For now there is tranquility.
For now.

I embrace these moments.
My mind is not cluttered.
My heart aches, as it always does,
for you.

I feel closer to you at times like this.
It's just easier
when everything is still.
There is peace with the tears.
I hug my pillow.

One day I will leave this place
and fly past the stars...

But for now, I am here,
This dark place is just for a while.
Oh, soon -
Daybreak will bring the sun, the busyness of a new day.

In the dark everything is still.
It's easier that way.
When day comes to visit,
it's another day without you,
and that is not so easy.

I won't think of that now.
I rest, broken as I am, holding you close to my heart,
uninterrupted by time,
In the stillness of
now.

When Gold Star Moms And A General Have Your Back

One of my sons recently told me, "You always have some adventure when you go somewhere."
It's true.
My life is not boring - ever.
This new life leads me on so many adventures. I always say, "Thank you Caleb." It's because of his life that I am on this different road.
I am out of any comfort zone I've ever relaxed in.
Complacency is not in my vocabulary.

This week's adventure led me to Fort Carson for a Gold Star Mother's Day luncheon. I knew my way - sort of.
With my trusty phone app I was able to find the right gate.
This was the second time I'd been to Fort Carson, and it was a high security day.
Hoods were up, and every door on every vehicle was open.
When I got closer to the entrance, I was asked for my driver's license, my vehicle registration and proof insurance.
No big deal.
Right....
I pulled out all my paperwork, and found I had an expired insurance card.
I normally replace the insurance card immediately when it comes in the mail.
Notice I said "normally." There is nothing normal about my life these days.
Nothing surprises me anymore.
I must not have put the new card in the vehicle.
Two young guards were very accommodating and said I could have my insurance company email it to me - no big deal.  I had a card.
Then, one very dead serious guard walks up and with a furrowed brow and a growl says, "You have to leave this gate. You don't have a proper insurance card. You can go to Safeway or somewhere and have a copy faxed, and then you can come back. But you have to leave." He motioned for another guard to escort me to the stop sign, leaving the base...yes, he walked in front of my vehicle carrying my identification, and I drove slowly behind him.
I pulled over and thought....should I just leave and go to the Springs? Should I try to get back in? I decided to call my insurance company.
I pulled up my email, and held the insurance information as I got back in a line that was three times longer.

I texted my friend and fellow GS mom who was at the luncheon. "I may not get in. I don't have a current insurance card."
My phone rang. It was my friend.
"Hello?"
The voice on the other end identified himself as the General. He wanted to speak to a guard.
I got out of my vehicle and walked down the line of cars to the guard.
"The phone's for you."
He looked puzzled. "For me?"
"Yes." I handed him my phone.
"Yes sir.....yes sir.....yes sir." That was all I heard.
The guard gave me my phone.
"Ma'am. We are going to get you in. You don't have to stop."
I thanked him, and started back to my vehicle.
Ma'am," the young guard said. "Are you the General's wife?"
"No," I said. "But, I'm a Gold Star Mom."
"Well, you're free to come through."

I was shocked and humbled.
Little things, big things - they all bring tears.
When I got to the Fallen Heroes Center (by the way, the General sent someone to escort me to the building since I'd never been there,) I was then met by an Army soldier in dress uniform. He gave me a single stem rose, and escorted me in.
My fellow Gold Star moms clapped and welcomed me.
"We're glad you made it! We were going to go get you. There was no way we were going to let them keep you out. We had your back."
Indeed they did - (My friend had handed her phone with my text to the General, and asked him, "Can you take care of this?")

I've never had a welcome like that.
In that room were moms and soldiers who knew of sorrow and loss.
They had my back.

In that second it was reaffirmed - once again -
I am in the company of remarkable people
and it's all because of Caleb.

His life continues to fill me with wonder.
My remarkable son has left me in the company of amazing people.
I am so grateful for this son who never settled but gave and gave...
and continues to give into my life every day.
I am humbled and blessed.
I love you Caleb.
♥

Gold Star Parents Retreat A Heavenly Treat

I was so tired when we got to our room, and here I am…wide awake.

There are so many thoughts swimming through my mind.

This is Gold Star Parents’ weekend at beautiful Steamboat Springs – a time to be with other parents whose children gave all while serving our country.

My husband and I came last year, but I don’t remember much. I do remember the hall of heroes, where hundreds of photos stand in lines on tables, with tiny candles flickering by each one. It was too much to bear. I had to walk away. “We aren’t supposed to be here. This is not our life.” But it was, and it is. Tonight it was still overwhelming, and yet so awesome to see the hundreds being honored, and remembered. Seeing my son's picture still took my breath away, but I am glad we can honor him.

Tonight while visiting the hall of heroes, a fellow GS parent asked me how I was. “You know, when everything is kind of numb? That’s where I am. Ok for now. Who knows how I’ll be later.” She understood.

This is later. As I lay in bed, tears trickled down my face, as they often do in the silence of night when everyone is sleeping. How can it be that my son is not here?

We were chatting with some moms. One said, “When will this ever end?” My reply - “When we get to heaven, and we see them again.” We all agreed and laughed that laugh of understanding. One of the moms lost her son in 1969 in Vietnam. So long ago, and yet in her heart, that longing remains.

Often, there are unanswered questions about  the casualties. After telling us about her son, a fellow GS mom said, "I guess we will find out and have answers to our  questions when we get to heaven." We chatted some more, and I said, "I always think when we get to heaven we won't care about the questions anymore. We will be with them and that'll be all that will matter."  

This journey is hard.... the separation from our children, the questions... the longing and silence.

 And yet, as I was lying in bed crying, the words to a song calmed my heart.

And greater is the One living inside of me Than he who is living in the world

Bring your doubts
Bring your fears
Bring your hurt
Bring your tears
There’ll be no condemnation here....(Mercy Me/Greater)

I feel like we are occupying a space between heaven and earth here at the retreat. We are away from our everyday lives. We can talk about heaven and our children, and about seeing them again. For this weekend, we are in a place where our children line the halls and smile. Vibrancy and youth radiate from their faces. Heroes.

My heart is torn, and I miss my son more than words can describe. I am so proud of my warrior son. Being here makes me feel like I could just reach out and touch his face. I don’t realize how much I hold back from talking about him in the “normal” world. Yet, I understand. it's different here. We are all on the same journey here. For this time we have the freedom to tell our stories. It’s ok to ask, “What happened to your son?” There are many stories of war, and loss. There are so many stories about young men and women who lived exemplary lives, who were funny, and giving and loving.

The bond we share goes beyond this world. Our hearts are tied with eternity.

We come together here for the weekend and hug each other, cry, laugh, and embrace the hope that we share.

Yes.

One day -

We will all be together again.

We will be with those we love forever.

♥

I can't wait, Caleb. 

Friday on Paradise

It was a cold, and rainy morning.
I crawled out of bed, peeking at a new day.
Like everyday-
the punch-in-the-stomach, break-your-shattered-heart feeling
reminded me of this never welcome reality.
Like everyday-
I got dressed to go for a walk.
It helps.

Since it was cold, I put a sweater on Griz
and we headed out the door.
As we walked, I noticed he was walking kind of funny.
I encouraged him.
"Come on Buddy."
He wasn't limping...just walking kind of like a weeble wobble, back and forth, and not very fast.
I stopped a couple of times.
"Come on Griz."
He continued his slow gait.
"What's wrong?"
He seemed to frown at me.
"Ok, then. Let's try this."
I pulled his paws through the sweater.
"How's that? Better?"
He shook his head, as if to say, "Sheesh."
He shook his whole body. "Free at last."
The rest of the walk was fine.
He got his point across.
He just didn't like the sweater.

Smart dog.

I like to listen to music when we walk,
whatever suits me at the moment.
This morning's moment was
The Jersey Boys and Oldies Station.

I thanked God for the day...prayed for friends and family.
I talked to God as I look at his creation.
A quiet day, except for the early morning traffic of a small town.

I don't know what happened, but Griz
got wrapped around a pole...don't ask me how, but it happened.
As we danced around the pole getting his leash unwound, I began to chuckle.
We continued on our way, and I found myself singing, and doing a little dance with Griz.
By the time we got to Paradise, I was skipping to the music - not a kid skip but more of a Caleb skip.
Of course, his was manly, mine was just a scoot...maybe it really wasn't a Caleb skip, but he was on my mind when I did it. I think that counts.

Right after I got home a friend brought me some fresh produce from her garden.
Her smile always brightens my day.

I got my new microwave installed this morning.
I really like it.
When the timer goes off, it plays a little tune.
How cool is that.

I had lunch with a wonderful friend.
We hadn't seen each other for a while.
We laughed, and caught up.
What a blessing - great visit, and great Thai food.

I was on my way home.
It was my plan.
But, I ended up downtown with road blocks everywhere.
I had a feeling I was wrong about the Homecoming parade.
I was sure it was over.
No.
It was just starting.
So, I parked.

There is something about small town parades.
Homemade floats with happy kids, laughing and talking -
and throwing candy.
There's the high school band - which, by the way, now has bagpipes.
I was impressed.
There were dirt bikes and four wheelers.
There was the familiar Hitchcock train with preschool kids,
and even the pig was in the parade - the famous 'kiss a pig' had his own float.
Queen candidates ride in a convertible, and everybody waves at everybody
-because everybody knows everybody.
It's sweet.
It's home.

I waited till I got in my vehicle.
Then the tears came.
It's just how it is.
The wave hit, like it does...totally unannounced.
Memories of  a life that has passed beyond this world.
Grief hits when it chooses.

I came home.
A friend called, and we talked about the bagpipes.

I talked to my husband.
I think we're going to the Homecoming game.
Maybe.
Sometimes I can.
We'll see.

It's like this.

I live.
I laugh.
I cry.
Every day is different,
yet the same.

I'm home now, at my desk.
Griz lies at my feet, snoring.
In the sorrow, there is peace.
Through the tears there is joy.
I'm not alone.
It's another day on Paradise.

Our Anniversary-Oh The Seasons

I pulled out our wedding album this morning.
Took a picture on my phone, and sent it to one, two, three, four, fii....I stopped.
It was a habit for so many years,
I find I still do it sometimes....
Caleb.

There are times like this.
Send one text - send it to all five.
Only...well, you know.

It's our anniversary kids!
Remember that day?
It was a crazy, fun day.

Tears streamed down my face.
I couldn't help it.
Fifteen years ago we became a wonderful family with a good dad/husband.

God brought us together - neither of us was looking.
We dated for two years.
We all fit.
He had no children, my children had no dad.
We fell in love, and joined our hearts, our lives.
What a miracle!

That day was a fun day.
It was to be an outdoor wedding.
We decorated the trees with lights, had candles and white tablecloths on all the small tables...it was beautiful.
Then it started to rain, and rain and rain and rain.
Plan B.
We went inside the old Victorian home, and had our ceremony - moving tables and chairs so there was room for the guests.
Four boys, one girl, a single parent, and a single man.
It wasn't a big wedding.
It wasn't long.
But, it was special.
Everyone had a part.
After all, it wasn't only a marriage, it was joining together as a family.

Our song was, "Turn, Turn, Turn," by the Byrds.
Maybe that's why I cry.
To everything there is a season.
Some of our seasons have been very difficult.

I celebrate this day, and I celebrate my family.
I think of Caleb.
What a gift this new life was for him.
I'm so glad he had this season...
Those years the enemy had stolen, were restored.
He enjoyed having a good daddy.
Those two had a wonderful relationship, and made lots of memories together.
Life was safe, and secure.
There was no fear, no threats for his safety.
We all felt the same way.
We were thankful for this new life, this new season.
Yes, it's been a wonderful life.

I never dreamed I'd be looking back at the seasons of my child's life.
It's supposed to be the other way around....
But, it is where it is, and since I'm looking, I can say -
The memory of the day George and I got married, when we all became one family, is outstanding.
I can see Caleb with that big smile he always wore.
I miss that young man so much.
I look at the wedding pictures, and we are complete.
It was awesome.
I see my four boys running around wearing burgundy bow ties...looking so sharp, with smiles and twinkles in their eyes.
My beautiful daughter with her brothers....

I think to myself, we were all so innocent.

I'm glad, so glad for the memories of that day.
So glad we were all together.
So glad we built our lives together.
So glad for the love, laughter, and all the good times we've shared as a family.

We celebrate fifteen years of marriage - George and I.
Not only are we celebrating our marriage, but our family.

I am thankful for my wonderful husband, our five wonderful children, and all of our seasons together.
The children will always be a part of our celebration of marriage - we are all part of a blessed package.

I love you George.
I know - let's grow old together, and love each other as long as the wind blows and the grass grows.

The Knock At The Door - Remembering

The knock at the door.
It's burned into our memories forever.

I just read a post from a fellow Gold Star mom...two years since that knock at her door that changed her life forever.
When I read her post, my heart skipped a beat.
I knew exactly what she was talking about.
It's one of the those things...

There have been nights I've been up late, working at my computer.
I'll see car lights coming down our street.
My heart will go to my throat, and I'll gasp.

I remind myself - "No. That car is not coming to your house.
That night is over."

Heaven forbid anyone would come to our door late at night.

So many of us have had that knock at the door with the news
of our loved ones in the military.

Like grief, the memory doesn't just go away because it's over now.
The knock at the door was something we were drilled about.
"If you see two men in uniform coming to your door, you will know your loved one is not coming home.
You will not hear about their death on the phone or any other way.
You will get a knock at your door."

It was something we knew.
Something we didn't want to think about.

There was one time, when Caleb was deployed....
I had been running at the track, and had walked home through the alley.
When I walked toward our driveway, I saw a vehicle parked by our house.
It was gray...and looked like a government vehicle.
My heart sank, and I can still remember that feeling of dread.
"No."
I wanted to turn and run the other way, but I kept walking...not wanting to look on our porch.
"No, God. No." I prayed.
It was a horrible feeling.
I got to our porch and no one was there.
Once inside, I stood and prayed.
"No, God....please, no."
Time ticked away, and when I looked out, the car was gone.

I never found out who it was, but that was ok.
I was so relieved...my son was ok.

Years past, and I prayed and trusted God.
Caleb deployed again...he went places for training - dangerous training...

The night we got the knock at the door, THAT was not even a thought.
When I got up and went to the door that morning at one-thirty, I still wasn't thinking it could be THAT.
When I saw the two uniformed Marines standing there, it didn't register...
When they told me there had been an accident, it still didn't hit....
My mind is blank as to exactly what was said after I told them they shouldn't be at my house.
They just didn't come to my house, that was all there was to it.

Even though I don't remember exactly what was said, that traumatic early morning
is burned in my memory.
Oh, I don't have to entertain the thought - when certain things happen, the memory is triggered.

My heart goes out to this mom who is now two years on her grief journey.
The comfort I find in all of this, is that we are there for each other.
We know the feeling....

All of our lives changed forever with that knock at the door.
Our loved one was not coming home.
Devastating heartbreak.

Our hearts/lives are forever linked in sorrow, and loss.
Not only that, but we are linked together in faith and hope.
Faith in what we don't see now, knowing that faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
Hope in a tomorrow when we will be with our loved ones again.

One day there will be a knock at the door of our lives and we will get to go home.
What a day that will be!
Sorrow, and separation will be no more.
We will be with those we love forever.

For now, we support each other.
We pray for each other.
When another gets that knock at the door
We lend a hand, a hug, an ear
and a nod that says,
"I understand.
It's tough, but you don't have to walk this journey alone.
Ever."

Lord, there are so many hurting, broken hearts and lives. Days may go by, but our broken hearts ache for our loved ones. We wake up having to realize once again, it is true. What a hard reality. Thank you for your gentle mercy. Thank you, that even though we don't understand the why, we know that You carry us through these most difficult times of our lives.
In Jesus' name.
Amen.

Grief upon Grief/My Mom

Death jumps out whenever it wants.
Shocking, and heartbreaking.
Again and again,
it snatches away those we love.
This life is temporary, and knowing there is a heaven beyond is wonderful,
but it is the here and now that is hard.
I don't think we are ever prepared for it.

Recently, my mom passed away.
Words - there are none.
Sometimes we weep in silence, in private, where the world cannot enter.

Memories are precious.
They are kept in a secret place, and help us through the tough times, taking us to a better time and place.
Today, here are a few I can share-

I remember -
The times she told me stories of growing up on their ranch near Wagon Mound, New Mexico.
She and her brother tap-dancing at local events.
The country school she attended and her teacher, Miss Lampe.
She always had a smile when she recollected those days.

The story of how she and my dad met at a roller skating rink.
Some of my fondest memories are of the two of them skating together...how they could dance on skates.
They glided and turned, and made it look so easy.

She introduced me to many things that helped mold me into the person I am today....

Music - I remember her listening to those old 45s - "Blueberry Hill," by Fats Domino, and there was, "Diana," by Paul Anka.
There were albums, like  The Tijuana Brass, Lawrence Welk, Chet Atkins - oh and the time she bought me my own 45s - Christmas carols like Frosty the Snowman, and Deck The Halls.
She and my dad got me a piano when I was probably in first grade, and my mom drove me to piano lessons for years. And when I graduated from high school - my graduation gift was a new piano.

Books - I remember times  she took me to the library when I was just a little girl. I loved the smell of the books, and all those shelves of books that seemed to reach the ceiling. Sometimes she would bring books home for me. Oh, and there were the comic books - when I was a little tot, she worked at Newberry's and would bring home the old comic books - I used to look forward to those, especially, "Little Lulu."

Theater - we would go to plays and music events at the college - those were the days of Peter, Paul, and Mary - and Camelot.

Movies - I remember when we went to see Pollyanna, Parent Trap and Gone With The Wind - still some of my favorite movies.

Current events/politics - my mom worked for the county clerk for many years, and election was always a big deal. I remember watching as they worked and counted up votes as they came in. Knowing who was running, and what they stood for was always important to know.

I am always thankful for the education she and my dad made sure I received. I attended private school for eight years. It was strict, and the education was exceptional. My close walk with God was nourished there with Bible stories and Mass every morning.

She and my dad were faithful in attending all the school functions I was a part of - and there were many. They could be counted on for rides, and support, always.
I remember prom dress shopping - we'd go out of town to a little boutique where I'd always find the perfect dress.

My thirteenth birthday,  My mom and I planned a skating party. Very fitting for our lives. What fun.
My sixteenth birthday- she and my best friend Corinne Smith were able to pull off a surprise party for me. I remember that day so well. What a wonderful surprise.

I remember so many times when I'd start laughing over something silly, and eventually she and I would both be laughing uncontrollably.
We had some fun adventures, and oh those nights when we'd stay up late and talk.

I always thought she was beautiful, and loved how she wore her hair back in the sixties and seventies - when women wrapped their hair to keep it nice till the next trip to the beauty shop.
She had beautiful nails, and I always admired how she dressed. My grandma was a talented seamstress, and made the beautiful clothes my mom (and I) wore...once my grandma made look alike dresses for us to wear to a wedding. I thought that was the coolest thing ever.

Life wasn't always easy for my mom. She went through many years battling and beating cancer.
When I was in the hospital giving birth to my daughter, she was on a different floor having a mastectomy.
Years later, when my daughter got married, she was going through chemo.

I know there were many things she didn't understand in this difficult life, but I know she always reached out to God.
She lost two children when they were infants. She lost her parents when she was just in her thirties.

Now, I know she is at peace. There is no more pain or suffering. All those knots and pieces are behind her, as she looks and can see the other side - the completed quilt of her life.
The Bible says in 1 Corinthians 13:12 -  Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.

She is with her parents, Sam and Delia Miller. She is with her two children, my younger sister, Deborah, and my youngest brother, James.

In this sorrow, there is joy in knowing she is whole now.

She is my mom. I am her daughter. There is love that goes beyond this life into eternity.

Here is a song my mom liked, a song she liked me to sing...My Heart Is Like A House.
This is for you Mom.

And on that day he shall wipe away every tear from our eyes.
Selah.

Benched

 

 

Sometimes it's like being benched.

The only difference is,

I'm still doing things.

Going through the motions of life.

When deep inside I feel like a spectator

watching all the activity going on around me.

I'm on the team,

but not really

 a participant.

 

Yet, I know

Somehow,

even in this timeout

there is purpose.

 

I've talked about brokenness.

Some don't like that word.

'I'm not broken,' they say.

It's ok if they're not.

But, some don't think I should be broken

either.

I need to bounce back up.

Get back in the race.

Put on a happy face.

 

I can have a happy face.

I can have joy in my heart.

But, the brokenness is still there

in my heart.

 

In this timeout

I am learning everyday.

 

I know

I don't know anything much

apart from my Father.

I don't have answers, but I know He does.

He doesn't always share them with me, but it's all right.

It has to be.

Even if it isn't.

 

I don't know this me.

I'm not the same person.

Friends on this same journey have shared how it is true,

and it's normal.

 

Our lives do not return to 'normal.'

Life does not resume and continue like it was before.

It can't.

There is nothing about it that is the same.

Life is seen through different eyes.

 

Timeout.

Re-establish what is important.

I don't have the option of being elusive.

I don't have the energy to pretend.

Brokenness has shown me what I can embrace, and what to let go.

 

I'm still a toddler in this race.

Sometimes I get up, think I can do this, and fall back down.

A big, strong hand is always there to pick me up.

Hold me if I need it.

Balance me so I can stand.

I can't run this race without Him.

He looks me in the eye,

and encourages me

 to keep on going.

Keep on trusting.

Keep on believing.

 

It may look like I'm benched.

But I really am running.

The race is not mine alone.

He runs with me.

He's my coach, my mentor, my everything.

He ran it before me, and knows I can do this.

I've not taken the easy road.

But,  I really didn't have a choice.

The choice I have is whether to keep going-

To continue in the race,

or to withdraw.

I choose the race.

 

When I am in timeout,

 He is right there

coaching, reassuring, giving me pointers

to help me along.

Broken as I am

 I need him every minute of

every single day.

 

Benched?

That's the crazy thing about it.

It's like the guy who goes in,

plays with all his heart,

and the next thing you know he's on the bench again.

If you weren't watching you missed him.

 

Benched?

Maybe that's what it looks like,

even to me at times.

 

It may not look like I'm on the field, on the court,

standing guard, or making the plays.

 

It may not look like much,

But it's ok.

I know I'm suited up.

 

I will follow His lead

even if it's in timeout.

 

My coach knows the score.

He has no doubt.... 

and in the end -

We

win.

It's A Crazy World

 

It is a crazy world out there.
Therefore, today I will do cartwheels.
That's right, you heard me.
I'm going to flip through the day like a kid.

No worries.
No stress.
No conflict.

Lately, I've been introduced to trouble here, and torment there.
Criticism, and tears, and people wringing their hands, tearing out their hair because of
stuff.
No need to go into detail.
It's everywhere.
Misunderstanding.
 Slammed doors, and broken windows.

Wow.
The sad thing, it seems to be worse everyday.

There are lots of forces at work, this I know.
Visible, invisible...through words, actions.
Oh, sigh.

Ultimately, we are all broken people, somehow.
That's right.
There is not a single person who is so all together that he/she is perfection personified.
Sorry, if I burst your bubble.
Everybody has problems of some sort.
Everybody has some short-coming, and is dealing with something.

We are all trying to make it in this life.
Some are hurting worse than others.
So, after much ado,
I'm going to take a break from the dysfunction of the mouth,
from the noise that I can do nothing about.


What can I do?
Not a thing, about others.

But, I can back away.
I can take my troubles to the cross, and hide in the secret place where my Savior is.
He is the burden bearer.
He is the joy giver.
He is the One who makes it all worthwhile.

Sure, things in life can be difficult.
But, hey.
Today is a nice, cool, cloudy day.
The weather is calm - for right now.
The birds are singing.
I have a glass of water, an apple and peanut butter.
My roses are blooming, and happy old melodies play through my mind.
I have a honey of a husband out working cattle, and swathing hay.
I have five children, all accounted for, the treasures of my life - I love them, and they love me.

This ol' world can be like a merry-go-round.
We can get dizzy and sick from all of its  monkeying-merry-go-around 'stuff.'
We can also get off for a while.

I'm getting off for now.

Sit on a bench.
Sip some tea.
Enjoy a momentary lapse of memory about the troubles around.

I think I'll go play Frisbee with Griz.
The grass is wet, but I'm going to do cartwheels.
And,
I think I'll listen to some old happy music, too - like one of my favorite, the Monkees, 'Daydream Believer.'

P.S. Davy Jones can always make a girl smile. :)

 

Remembering To Hope

This morning I went to the cemetery to remove the flowers......


It is like I'm watching someone else, as I approach Caleb's spot.
The spot is beautiful with an array of flowers put there by family, friends, and
I don't know who else.
A solar flag stands behind the marker with Caleb's name.

This can't be my life...this can't be my son's name...
I pick up the wreath adorned with red, white and blue flowers.
A blue ribbon from the bow with the word "Hero," flutters in the wind reminding me of my reality.
I reach down and pick up an arrangement of flowers draped with a ribbon, printed with the word, "Hero."
That's my son.
"Hero."
How can this be?

The flags lining the site, dance in the wind -
the red, white and blue he honored, and gave his life for.
There are coins dropped at his spot, letting me know that visitors have paid respects to my fallen hero.
It's all beautiful, and takes my breath away as tears stream down my face.

I think I'm still in shock,
except the pain is searing and real.
I stand for a moment, thinking of my wonderful, amazing, hilarious son.
I can see his smiling face, hear his laughter ever so  clear in my heart.
How can it be, he is not here?
I want to turn back time, hug him again, tell him I love him, look at his smiling face,
and listen to his spontaneous wit, and wisdom.

This unwelcome reality is so hard....
The pain is so great I double over....
I breathe...
I brush away the tears, and take another deep breath.

I stand alone in the silence of the moment, as the wind whistles it's song.
Then,
Out of nowhere, a butterfly flies close to my face.
It flies past, and comes again.
I smile...                                                

My sign of hope.

I drive down the lane, leaving the cemetery.
This is my life.
I'm still in a daze
about this reality.


When I get home, I want to sleep and forget my reality for a while, but -
I mow our lawn instead.
A delivery man pulls up next door.
He waves as he approaches the neighbor's house.
He lost a son years ago.
An unspoken bond.

I continue to mow, deep in thought about a jumble of things...
Then, out of nowhere, like a stunt plane, right before my face,
a butterfly zooms past -
turns and comes back.
I step back in surprise.
There it comes again.
Like it's teasing me,
challenging me.
I smile.
Ok.                                                   
A sign.

I can do this.
Thank you God.
Thank you Caleb.

Selah.

Mailboxes And Broken Taillights

I ran into the mailbox this morning.
Smacked right into it.
It's Monday, only that doesn't matter.
Where was my head?
I don't know.
That doesn't matter, either.
I made sure I wasn't going to hit my vehicle as I backed down the driveway,
and totally forgot about the mailbox.
What made it all worse?
I was driving Caleb's SUV.
Oh,
I know he wouldn't be upset about that.
Making a dent in his vehicle?
Not a big deal.
It's how he was about things like that.
However, I know
he'd be making fun of me for hitting the mailbox mounted on a huge fence post.
The mailbox has only been there, like forever.
Yup, he probably had a good laugh as he watched me...and my inital reaction.

I didn't think it was funny.
My first words were not, "Oh my goodness," either.
I drove out to our friend's auto body shop, and he looked at it.
"That's not so bad," he said.
He was right.
But, it was the idea that I damaged Caleb's vehicle - and broke the taillight.
"We'll get it taken care of. It won't take much." He smiled.
I joked, wondering if there was an ordinance about mailboxes.
Maybe I'd move ours to the middle of the yard, now that I loosened the big post.
As I laughed, I brushed tears from my face.

Sometimes it just happens that way.
I may think I'm doing ok, then tears will come.
I felt bad about hurting the vehicle, but I know it's fixable - and yet,
I cried on my way home.

A friend told me she'd been watching birds struggle against the whipping, high winds we had here last week.
They'd try to fly a certain direction, and the wind would just blow them back.
They wouldn't give up
but, would try again and again.

Thinking about those birds
fighting against the wind...

The winds of life can be that way,
knocking us down, pushing us back, making it impossible to breathe -
making a wreck out of our order of things.

Somehow we get up every morning.
We brush ourselves off, pull our hair back - because styling is out of the question anyway,
and put one foot in front of the other.
Step by step.
Head down, pushing against the wind.
No, it's not easy.
But, we do it.

It's tough everyday, as I've said before.
Missing my son, and the huge hole in our lives without him...
there are no words.
I've met so many families on this same journey-
fighting against the turbulence of life, missing loved ones.

I'm thinking we all have mailbox days, where - Smack!
We run into some wall (or mailbox.)
We have a setback.
Maybe we break or damage something special,
and the tears fall.

Here we are, whipped but not beaten.
Yes, we are sad, but not destroyed.
Pushing ahead even though it may not look like it.

Through my tears today, I can see Caleb's smile, hear his laugh and the way he'd say,
"Ahhhh."

It's going to be ok.

The love lives on.

The Mailbox and Time Difference

So, I'm backing out the of the driveway and...
SMACK.
My first words were not, "Oh, my goodness."
I thought I'd drive Caleb's vehicle,
and was making sure I wasn't going to back into my Yukon.
However, I failed to watch out for the mailbox.

Our mailbox is heavy-duty...planted in the ground with a huge fence post, better known as part of a telephone pole.
No damage to the mailbox.

I drove out our friend's auto body shop right away.
It's Caleb's vehicle, and I'm feeling so bad.
Grant looked at the damage, and said, "Oh, that's not so bad."
I was so glad he thought so.
It helped because of course, to me, it was horrible.
Caleb's vehicle, and I had to do that.
I'm glad I could go somewhere to someone we know.
I know he'll do a good job.

He explained what he'd need to do,
and tears start rolling down my face.
I thank him, joke about hoping the city doesn't have an ordinance for mailboxes because I want to move ours to the middle of our yard.
When I drive away, tears flood my face, and I'm sobbing.

It's how it is.
You just don't know how things are going to affect you.

Oh, I realize some shake their heads with wonder.
After all, it's been over a year now. 'She really should so be over it. She really needs to move on, get a life, and get out more.'

I think of my friends on the east coast. They are on a different time zone.
No big deal.
California is an hour behind. Dallas is an hour ahead. Virginia Beach is two hours ahead.
Nobody questions that.

Since February 2013, I exist in a different time zone - completely.
It is how it is.
I know I've said it before, but time as I knew it before that day, doesn't exist anymore.
That's the best explanation I have.
The calendar changes, and I know only because my phone reminds me what day it is, what month it is.
Everything passes in a fog.

Only now, in this fog there is an ice storm.
If you've ever walked in an ice storm, those jagged pieces of ice sting your face, hands or anything exposed.
The frozen season of last year is thawing a little, and pieces of raw hurt surface, making for some difficult days.

Making it through, is what we do.
Someone told a friend of mine she needed to 'suck it up.'
Oh, but we do suck it up.
Everyday.
It's a choice, a conscious decision to get out of  bed.
We suck it up by going on day by day.

My confidence is in God, and His grace.
He keeps me going.
His grace is sufficient for me.

It's Friday

 

Dear Friends,

When I woke up this morning, tears flooded my face. The pain is worst in the morning. I could hardly bear the pain of missing my son.

I sat on the edge of the bed, witnessing a new day –

The sky is blue.

The sun is shining bright.

It’s Friday.

Good Friday.

With tears in my eyes, I thought of what my Savior, Jesus Christ, went through for me, for my broken self. The horrible beatings he took – for me.

The horrible death he experienced – for me.

Then, I thought of a blog I wrote years ago….on Good Friday.

I pulled it up and read it, and it gave me hope.

So, I share an excerpt here with you, my friends with broken lives – be blessed.

~

Friday.

Yes, Friday.

I thought about this story:

Years ago, a Baptist preacher in the inner city of Philadelphia gave an unforgettable sermon on Easter.

He said, "Mary, Jesus' mother is crying her eyes out. That's her son up on that cross. He's dying an agonizing death as a criminal."

“It's only Friday...... But, Sunday's a comin'!"

The Apostles are down and depressed. Jesus, their leader is being killed by evil men.

It's only Friday.....

But, Sunday's a comin'!

Mary Magdalene is out of her mind with grief. Jesus saved her life and set her free and now He's being killed.

It's only Friday.....

But Sunday's a comin'!

The Devil thought he won....'You thought you'd outwit me, but I've got you now.'

It's only Friday......

But Sunday's a comin'!

It's Friday. Evil has triumphed over over good.

Jesus is up there on the cross. The world is turned upside down.

This shouldn't be happening.

It's only Friday.

Yes, it's only Friday....

But....

Sunday's a comin'!

Yes, it's Friday.

We've experienced tremendous loss in our lives.

Our worlds have been turned upside down.

Yes, this is Friday, a dark, difficult day….

But, friends, Sunday's a comin'!

God said so.

Jesus confirmed it.

The Holy Spirit is here to be our comfort and strength.

Sunday's a comin.

We can count on it.

He is our blessed hope.

He will carry us through the storm, the darkness and

bring us through.

He brought Life to Sunday.

He was victorious over Friday.

Yes, it's Friday.

But,

Sunday’s comin’!

~~~~~~

On this Good Friday, as we remember what Christ did for us - the excruciating beatings, and death on the cross, may we remember that he did it all for us. He died - but he also rose and overcame death and the grave! We may be heartbroken today, but Sunday's a coming, and we will see our Lord face to face - and we will see our loved ones who are waiting for us in heaven. THAT IS OUR KNOWING HOPE.  Yes, Sunday's coming!

This Journey

I've gone through all the 'firsts' now.
The first year of my son being gone.
But, you know what?
It doesn't matter.
It hurts just the same or more...
It's still a 'first' every single day.
There are no repeated days in life.

Recently, I wrote in my journal.
"This morning I liken the pain to what it must feel like to be dragged
behind a truck on a rocky, gravel road.
Bumps, turns and twists, and unbelievable pain.
All the while being turned inside out with my heart torn to shreds."

This is the journey I'm on.
It's that part of Psalm 23 -
"...Though I walk through the darkest valley."
The shadow of this life is around me.
The sinking feeling of that reality -
My son is not here.

How do you get passed that?
I'll tell you.
I don't think you ever really do.

I hear many trite answers and solutions.
"Time heals all wounds," is a good one.
I don't agree.
This is not a 'time' sensitive wound.
This wound has to do with eternity.
The hole in my heart won't be gone until we are together in heaven.


Sure - I get up every morning.
I function.
I do things.
I visit, and laugh.
I'm sincere when I do, but inside my heart is broken.
When asked how I am,
I may answer I'm ok.
But, I'm really not.
Yet, I know I have to be ok with not being ok if that makes sense.
It's how it is.

I've heard "It will get better in time."
I can't say, because I'm not ten or twenty years into this journey, yet.
But from what I've witnessed -
that isn't entirely true either.

I'm not doubting what I've been told.
I can't speak for others.
I'm not where they are on their journey.
But, I have spoken to the mom who had to say good bye to her little one before she/he was even born.
Years later this mom still aches for that little life.
I've listened to parents who had to say good bye to their babies, toddlers, fifty-some years ago.
It still hurts.
They still miss those little ones.
I've met with many military parents - some sons, daughters gave their lives years ago - it is all still fresh.
Parents of teen-agers, young adults, like mine....not so long ago.
I've seen tears fall from every single face, as I've listened to stories about the children who are no longer here in this life.
A parent doesn't just forget about a child because he/she is not here anymore - no matter how much time passes.

So, back to time making things 'better.'
Maybe 'better' isn't the right word.
Maybe adapt would be a better word, if you must have a word.
In time you adapt...
I don't know.
You adapt to the hole in your heart?
You adapt to the sorrow that is always there because that loved isn't here?

Parents have continued on in life - after all, what are you gonna do?
You have to.
These parents have lives, careers, and outwardly you'd never know.
But, once you become a part of that club no one ever wants to join,
it is a whole different world.
People feel free to speak of the children waiting for them in heaven.
Recently, a parent told me, "You never get over it. It's always there. But, in time you tuck it away in a special place. That's where it always is."
He was talking about the pain, the sweet love for his son...for the life of his son who left this world over forty years ago.

I say we have no choice but to adjust...
not overnight, but in time -
not that it is ever just right again.
It can never be the normal we knew before.
I can't even call it a new normal right now.
I can't imagine anything being any kind of normal again -
There will always be that empty chair....the place where Caleb should be in our lives.
There will always be that place in life where we miss him - I can't imagine it being any other way.

It is a tough journey to travel.
So....
When I start my day
I speak God's Word to my broken self - it is only through Christ that I'm whole.
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not lack -for strength, for comfort, for whatever I need.
Do I feel it?
A lot of times I don't -
But,
I believe his Word.

Tough?
You bet.
Everyday.
Yet, somehow I make it through another day.

There is comfort in the love of a friend.
There is closeness with those who are on this journey, too.
We're all taking a step at a time,
and everyday is one day closer
to eternity.

Yes, I'm still here.
Broken and all.
God knows and is fully aware.
He is still a good God.
He is faithful.
He has a plan.

So, broken I come.
He says when I am weak, he is strong.
I lean on his strength in these tough times.

Lord, you know the brokenness of my heart, of my life right now. You know the valley I walk through because you walk it with me. My victory is in you, and yet, right now there are many tears. You know that, too. You love me and comfort and encourage me with your great grace and mercy.
Thank you.
In all of this, I belong to you. You raise me up in your most holy love - that is how I make it through everyday.
Thank you for not judging me. Thank you for keeping me in the palm of your hand, and for carrying me through tough times.
Thank you for your gentleness.
I love you Jesus.
Amen.

March 5, 2013 Caleb's Last Flight Home

March 5, 2013
Denver International Airport
Caleb's last flight home

I don't remember the trip to Denver.
But, I remember walking through the familiar airport -
We had been there so many times - to take Caleb, or to pick him up.
This would be our last time.
I felt sick - how could this be happening?
What do you mean, his last flight home?
I argued with myself - it was like a dream.
Yet, there we were - his family
who loved this son, and brother more than anything.

We walked through crowds of people who had no idea why we were there.
They were about their destinations...some looked more lost than we did.
There were moments of anger -
Why my son?
He blessed this life.
He had purpose.
I wanted to scream -  What is your purpose?
Do you have one?
Please don't just take up space on the planet.
My son gave his life so you could have freedom.
Please don't misuse it, or waste it.

There were people who did know why we were there.
Many reached out with a handshake, a hug, condolences.
Some were military parents/spouses.


We waited on the second level of the airport where you can see
people entering the main terminal from their flights.
At one point, one of my son's said, "There's Dan!"
A group of people were gathering down below.
I knew none of them, but evidently my boys recognized some of them.
We went down the escalator to meet them.
Dan, one of Caleb's Recon brothers was in
that group....
all friends of Caleb's, traveling to be with us.
They introduced themselves and immediately
I loved each and every one.
It was like we'd known one another forever.

The next thing I remember -
Our CACO, SSgt. Miller leading the way.
Caleb's flight had landed.
My husband, my children and I
walked down
a narrow stairway that led to the tarmac.
We stood in silence, waiting for Caleb's flight to make its way down the runway...
The plane stopped near where we stood.
The hatch opened.
Slowly, the flag draped casket was lowered down the ramp.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion.
So unreal.
Like a movie - only it wasn't.
It was our life.
Marine Honor Guard, dressed in their blues carried the flag covered casket to the funeral car.
Numb, yet grief stricken, we watched.
My son was home.
Yet, I knew more than that - my son was really not there - he is in heaven.
It is burned in my spirit, and soul.
I knew that was his body, but I knew the living, laughing Caleb was already in eternity.
Did it help to know?
Yes, and no.
The separation is still unbearable, but though we grieve, it isn't like those without hope.
I can't imagine going through this and not having hope.

That day we met the two Marines who accompanied Caleb home.
Scott and Mark.
They were not just two Marines -
they had been with Caleb that day, February 26.
They knew him.
They were his friends - his brothers.

They were my heroes (and still are.)
I knew Caleb had not been alone at any time.
Scott and Mark became members of our family that day.
I could see the heartache they felt for my son.
When we hugged, I didn't want to let go -
Part of it was knowing they were heartbroken, too.
The other -
they were the closest thing to my son's life I could touch.

I remember leaving DIA.
People lined the highway with flags.
Escorts drove ahead of us with flashing lights...the funeral car, the honor guard car, our vehicle, and behind us - I had no idea the caravan that was following us till months later.
Every so often, at an exit, the escorts leading the caravan would pull off and more escorts would take over.
It was amazing, very humbling, and so appropriate.

Burlington came into view.
We were home.
My heart caught in my throat and took my breath away as we entered our community.
Cars, and people lined the streets, flags were everywhere - all the way to the funeral home.
There are no words to describe how I felt.
I was so heartbroken, and overcome with sadness, yet before us and behind us was so much support, and honor for my son and his life - for us, his family.

That day I met the family my son left us.
Our local VFW hosted a dinner for us and the Marines.
The restaurant was filled with Marines, Caleb's friends.
I was in awe.
I heard so many stories about my son....and they all had the same theme.
Funny, honorable, humble, wise, motivated, always smiling....
the same Caleb we knew -they knew.

There were tears, and laughter.
As I've said so many times, you can't talk about Caleb without smiles and laughter.
You just can't.

The Recon community surrounded us with so much love.
That night was the beginning of our new relationships...
We got to know the awesome people our awesome Caleb had in his life.
I had tears, but I was honored to be in the company of so many wonderful people.


Caleb.
He left us with the best of the best.
So like him.
♥
So thankful, and humbled by
 the love shown us all around.
♥
So honored and filled with gratitude.
A hero's welcome for a true American hero.
♥

 

*black and white photo from photo images online