Tears and Decisions The Hardest Days Of My Life/Planning Caleb's Service

March 4, 2014
My therapy is writing.
I may be sobbing, but it helps my soul to sort things.

I've been waking up with that heart-ripping feeling that my son is gone.
I don't plan it. It is just there.
Since last week, the open wound has been hit upon afresh everyday.
I don't try to think about it, it just is.
The hardest days of my life - besides that one-thirty knock at the door, have been everyday since.

Those immediate days following our one-thirty am knock at the door are unreal, yet branded in my memory.
My thoughts....
How could I meet with this Marine - this CACO (Casualty Assistance Commanding Officer,) and talk about the things that needed to be discussed?
Who contacted the funeral director? I have no recollection.
But he was there for us, to listen and help.
I'm thankful the Marine Corps took care of so many details in my broken life in those early days.
I remember the day our CACO came and sat down with a binder.
I had to pick a casket.
What?
It had to be a dream.
I got up from the table, and said, "I can't do this."
I walked away.
At that moment my phone rang.
Caleb's commanding officer.
It was a divine appointment.
He was kind, understanding, and spoke to me about the difficult time I was going through,
how I had to make all these decisions...
He was that angel God sent at just the right time.
His kindness gave me strength to go back and sit down, to discuss the service.
I'm glad there were only two types of caskets we have to choose from. I couldn't have handled any more than that.
I'm thankful I didn't have to see them in person.

Today is the fourth of March. I had already picked the casket.
We had met with the funeral director about the service.
I had prayed and prayed about the service.
I remember someone...I don't know who, had said, "It will fall into place."
It had fallen into place.
Ideas came - from above, I'm sure.
My emotions, my thinking was in a fog.

When I think of the time from February 27 to March 6, it is amazing all that had to transpire.
How do parents do the things that need to be done?
How did we go to the cemetery and pick a plot?
I can't imagine how we did it, but I remember the day.
It had to be done.
We drove out and met with the caretaker, and he told us about the available areas.
We walked - as I recall - to the area where we picked the plot.
We didn't go to every area.
Another of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life.
After we picked the plot, we met in the office.
My phone rang.
I needed to go outside for air, anyway, so it was perfect timing.
My sweet, closes friend since we were kids, called me to see how I was.
Another angel sent at just the right time.
I cried and told her where we were.

Somehow we got through that day.

Meeting with the ministers (we had five speakers, two were ministers) was difficult.
How do you plan a service for your child?
That doesn't happen. It just doesn't...that's what my brain kept saying, as I was going through all these steps.
At one point, I felt overwhelmed, claustrophobic - the walls were caving in, and I had to leave the room.
We took a break from the traditional list of the order of things, and talked about Caleb.
That helped a lot.
It worked out.

During those planning days, I had strength that was not my own.
Our home was filled with flowers, food, and our doorbell didn't stop ringing.
I don't remember who all came, but many people came and hugged us.

Sleep?
Yes.
I didn't get much the first couple days, but about the first of March instead of two hours a night, I'd sleep three, then four hours a night.
It was sufficient. I know it was God sent.
The twenty-third Psalm, the ninety-first psalm, the hundred and third psalm...
there were many my sweet husband read to me.

Prayers.
There have been many.
They continue to uphold us.
I know this to be true.
I'm still here.
It hurts beyond anything I've ever experienced.
Some days the pain is so deep I don't think I can take it.
But, somehow, and invisible salve is put over the horrible pain....

God is my rock, and my hiding place.
Right now, I don't feel it.
But, I know He's there.
I have to ride the wave.
I'm barely above water right now.
This storm is rough right now,
but I know -
He promises we will get to the other side.