Wednesday, June 28, 2017

Eating My Words




In my last blog I said the road isn't necessarily lonely, even though there are times we feel alone.
Let me quote -
"It's a private road, this road.
The only people on it are those who have no choice.
I'd say lonely, but it's not.
Not really.
Yet feeling alone is part of it, because sometimes the feelings are hard to express.
It hurts - a lot."




This morning I know lonely.


It is when there is a letter in the mail, an email, or a phone call pertaining to our child who is no longer with us.


When you feel your whole self being turned inside out, while it's being ripped apart -
when it seems the earth is opening up and the world is spinning.




One definition of lonely is - Sad because one has no friends or company
Another definition is - without companions, solitary. 
Yet another definition is - (of a place) unfrequented and remote.
I'm not lonely because I have no friends.
I'm not lonely because I'm in a remote area (although I am in a remote area geographically.)




The lonely I am experiencing is the last one - solitary, existing alone, and without companions.


It is a place where you want to cry out and call someone, have someone there, but even if you did you'd be alone in this place where life shakes you up.


It's where the pain you feel is yours alone to bear for the time.
There is no place to take it.
It's yours.


Well, today it's mine.
I don't even know if I can talk about it right now.
But, if you're on this road maybe you understand.
Just when you think you know all you can know, you have everything that is yours now,
you get a surprise.
And maybe it's not bad - what can be worse than the knock at the door, right?
It's just something else, something new.


Recently, someone who probably meant well (they all do, don't they?) said, "I would think you would have made peace with the situation by now."
I told this person there are days when it's just hard.
With the military it continues - it's never easy.
When another family is going to get that knock at the door, you dread it for them.
When you hear of another casualty, another young life gone, it hits your heart.
Sometimes there are just things that come up.
To that I was told, "That's just the devil."


When I am confounded by what people say, I'm slow to respond.
It takes me hours to think of what I should've said.
Instead, I say nothing.


Peace? There is peace knowing where my child is.
Other than that, I am not ok with him being gone.
The peace that I have goes beyond my understanding, and it's not something
I can conjure up and say, "Oh, it's ok. I'm fine with Caleb not being here."
No. That's not how it is.
But, again - there is peace that I don't understand.


Oh, and
things come up.
It's not the devil.
There may be something
in the mail. Or maybe it's a phone call or
a message. It's on the news or maybe it's something else.
It's something that takes you by surprise and scrapes against the
open, gaping wound.
It brings you to your knees and tears flow.


Times like this, when you'd like someone to just be there -
it wouldn't help, anyway.
It's just a hard spot on this road.


Maybe you have been there, or are there.
Maybe you'd like to share.
I'm open to listen.


It's tough, but what are you going to do?
There is no salve to put on this jab to an open wound.
It is painful, and yet -
I pray in the hardness, there is some comfort.


The hard part, is no matter what else there is to say about the death,
no matter what -
nothing will bring back our loved ones.
Nothing will bring back my son.


As hard as 'news' is, somehow it is welcome.
It has to do with my son.
It has something to do with his life.
It's crazy - and that's why 'lonely' is the isolated place.
There are no words.
It just is.
There are tears, and yet there are hugs to my heart.


Later, when I know more, I'll see how I respond.


Right now, the person I am thinks I should be strong, but it isn't working.
I am in  a  quiet whirlwind of thought, anticipation, and sadness all at the same time.
I am still.
I am waiting in the lonely, solitary place -
for now.









Sunday, June 25, 2017

Till I See You Again





I see your face.
I see your smile.
I miss you more than I am able to express.
There are no words for this kind of missing.
Nothing can explain or compare to how missing you feels.


I still stop and gasp when the thought hits.
You're not here.
You're not coming home to us on this earth at any time.
I can't take that thought in.
It's too excruciating.
"Not ever again," is too final.


As much as I miss you,
as low as I can sink when it gets unbearable,
as much as I cry at times,
Still, I know.


I know I will see you again - face to face.
I know I will hear your laugh again with pure joy.
I know I will get to listen to your voice again.
I know that I know that I know.


Sure, I can hardly stand those times when the missing you punches me in the stomach.
This earth is not the same, and never will be, since you're not here in person.
It's dreadful hard.
No mistake about it.


I feel like I just have to see you - and I know I can't.
I feel like I just have to hear your voice again - and I know I won't.
I feel like I just have to hug you again - and I know my arms will reach into empty air.
I want to call you - and I know, yes I know.....
There are times I so much want to see you walk through the door, or have you lean on the kitchen counter and talk to me like you used to....


I tell you, it's the most painful thing to experience -
knowing that little baby you carried in your tummy,
that little boy whose life you bore, nurtured, loved and followed, that adult whose life was so amazing,
is just not here in this world, and you still are.


It's crazy and lopsided, inside out and backwards
that I, or any parent should be forced to accept this awful outcome of a child's life here, this unreal separation
because, don't you know - observing and being part of your children's lives is
the greatest of all gifts this life has to offer.


How does a parent find acceptance and resolution with such cacophony?


I have no answers.
It hurts.
And how would you expect someone to pack it all away and go on the merry-go-round of
life in a lackadaisical frenzy of meaningless guffaws, and song?
As far as I'm concerned, it doesn't happen that way.
All the pursuance of well-meaning,empty, good ol-boy slaps on the back
won't make it true.


So, I hang up my hat, and sit.
I sigh and fold my arms.
It's a private road, this road.
The only people on it are those who have no choice.
I'd say lonely, but it's not.
Not really.
Yet feeling alone is part of it, because sometimes the feelings are hard to express.
It hurts - a lot.
It's heartbreaking,
and yet somehow there is strength, a moment at a time.
"Somehow" is that inner strength that comes from heaven,
that comes from knowing every day is a day closer to the day when this road diverges and meets eternity.


Oh, Caleb -
because of your character, because of your life,
I look up.
I do.
As hard as it is now,
I know one day there will be only Sonshine, and the hardness of this time will melt away.


I'm proud of you.
I'm strengthened by the Love we share that lasts beyond this life.




I so look forward to see your smiling face again.
You know,
I will give you the biggest mom hug ever.
I can't wait!




I love you Caleb, my son.


Forever.

Monday, June 5, 2017

On Gilligan's Island.
That's where I'd like to go.
Get away from it all -
visit the wacky world of the island
only without the people.


Leave me with perfect weather, a well-stocked kitchen, a comfortable bed,
no bugs, and plenty of nature - with no dangerous animals....
days of sunshine, cool breezes and dips in the ocean
nights of sitting outside, listening to the ocean, star-gazing and relaxing
in quiet solitude.


I'd need some music - of course, but just uplifting lyrics please.
And a helicopter that would know when to come pick me up.
No, I don't want to stay there always, but for a time, it would be nice.


Social media, people in general (not my people, of course) can be draining.
I think I'm doing so much better on this journey and inevitably that is when I run into a surprise visit of words that shock and dismay, and totally take me off guard.


The cliché "I thought you'd be over it by now," has changed to "I'd think you'd have found peace by now...I'd think you'd have had closure by now- after  all, it's been four years."
Don't ask a Gold Star mom at the birthdate, the death date, or anytime in that time frame how we are doing.
Don't ask how we are during a patriotic event....Veteran's Day, the 4th of July, Memorial Day. Such days are hard.
Recently I was told if such days are difficult, then that's just the devil. Military deaths, disrespect for our flag, our freedoms - well, those shouldn't bother us either - that's just the devil.


Deep breath.


I always think if these people were handed that folded flag, sitting close to that loved one lying in a casket, for the last time - maybe words of pious wisdom wouldn't come flying out.