When The Mountain Looks Too High Don't Look At The Potatoes

It's been a tough few days.
It's getting closer to Thanksgiving, and today is the nine month mark of when Caleb left this world.
My days have been in teary shambles as I've tried to keep going.
Last night I couldn't go anymore.
Everything was crashing in and the reality of the absence of my son was too evident.
I had been to the cemetery, and my insides sunk.
How could it be that the cemetery is part of my life now?
I rush out there some days, to check on things, put out new arrangements and make sure there are no tumbleweeds nesting near his spot.
I tossed some tumbleweeds away, and cleared off the pine needles. Seeing his name on the marker broke my heart.
I crumbled as I drove away.

I had told myself I could do Thanksgiving.
If I did a little bit at a time it would be all right.
My husband picked up a turkey while I was gone to Texas.
One thing out of the way.
When I got home I picked up a few things here and there.

But, yesterday did it.
It started with two bags of red potatoes, and a big bag of sweet potatoes.
I looked at them and imagined peeling and cooking all those potatoes - enough for a company of Marines is what it looked like to me at that moment.
The potatoes were as big as footballs.... a hundred pounds of them (reality-probably fifteen pounds.)

I tried not to think about them, but after I got home with a few more items (green beans that were each three feet long,) I melted.
My sweet TAPS friend called me (yes, I think of her as my friend even though we have never met. She is a gem and a godsend.) I told her I couldn't do it.
Thanksgiving was overwhelming.
The thought of all those potatoes and green beans and stuffing and bread and cranberries and pies was just too much for me to think of preparing....besides everything else.

"It's a huge mountain," I told her. "I can't climb it right now. It was those potatoes that did it...and the bags and bags of green beans."

We talked, cried and laughed (I cried, I don't think she did.)
By the time we hung up I felt better.
Still overwhelmed, but better.
I could see about getting some help...or a caterer.

This morning I woke up and thought I cannot do this.

"God, you have to be my strength. I don't have any. I am totally broken right now."

I visited with one of my sons. He may not know how much he blessed me.
We talked about Caleb, and heaven.
He talked about Jesus and all He went through for us.
It was good.

I took one step.
I made the stuffing.
Then I tackled those huge green beans.
I went to the grocery store.
Sometimes that is a major deal.
I really didn't want to go in.
I had no strength.

"I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

I got the items I needed, visited with a few people.
Difficult days, and the tears just come.
Unannounced.
The sweet lady who told me she was praying for me may not know how much those words meant to me today.

I went back home.
Before I knew it, I had the sweet potatoes done, and had baked a cake.

God intervened when I accidentally hit the pan of boiling cranberries - boiling water flew toward me,
spilling on my hand.
But, you know what?
It didn't burn.
THAT was God taking care of me.

This afternoon I had a call from a Recon mom.
I also had a call from one of Caleb's Recon brothers.
Wonderful blessings.

Yes, it's been tough.
Very, very tough.
My heart feels like it is in shreds.
But, even so -
God is faithful.

He gets me through somehow.
He sends blessings like the phone calls, the visit with my son, and saving my hand from burns.

There are blessings in the valley.
When I look at the huge mountain before me
and it looks too high ....
I know now -
I shouldn't look at the potatoes.


PS. I have to share - added blessing - my bathroom that has been in the process since April was finished today! The plumber and the tile guys may not know how they blessed me when they said, "Finished!"

Tonight I say, Good night.
Indeed, my Lord is my strength, my light and my salvation.
Even in these difficult times it is well with my soul.
Selah.

Leaning On The Everlasting Ever Ready Arms

I am always His little girl, his daughter.
I'm never too old to let Him comfort me.
I am glad for that.
Tonight I need to lean on my Lord.

Father, I'm tired. I thank you for your strength that gets me through everyday. I praise you for your constant love, and care.
I thank you that you know how I feel, and it's ok.

This road is rough. I know I couldn't make it without you.
Some days there are tons of tears.
Some days I'm numb.
Today I am spent.
There is no energy left.
I am bewildered.
It is still so beyond my comprehension that I won't see my son again in this life.
If I think too hard, I start to panic.
So, I stop, and put it all in your hands.
You don't want me to look past today.
At this point I can't. It is too much to take in.
You know that.
One minute at a time I can make it through.
One step at a time, with you holding my hand.

Tonight I curl up on your lap, and rest my head against your shoulder.
I can cry here, and I know you will hold me.
I am tired.
I know things can't ever be the way they were, and it hurts.

It's hard because I know outwardly it looks like everything is ok, but everyday it's because of you that I move and have my being.
Everyday my heart breaks all over again.
I miss my son.
And yet, I know he lives in heaven with you.
I have that hope that I will see him again.
But, for now, it is a rugged road.

Thank you for being faithful.
For assuring me that you are there for me - always.

Ok. I will rest.
I will be still and know that you are God.
I will be still and put my hope in you, my Father.
I will rest and take no thought for tomorrow for you are already there.

Re: I Drive Your Truck, And Other SUVs and Cars Left Behind

                                 Eighty nine cents in the ashtray....
                          Dog Tags hanging from the rearview mirror....

                                 People's got their ways of coping.
                                         I've got mine....

                                I burn up every back road in this town.
                I find a field and tear it up, till all the pain's a cloud of dust.
                 Yes, sometimes I drive your truck.  ~ I Drive Your Truck

Wow.
Song of the year 2013, CMA Awards.
Taken from a true story - a son KIA in Afghanistan.
The truck he left behind.
The family who drives it.

Lyrics hit home to heartbroken families who have had to say good bye too soon-

My many friends who have their children's vehicles - I know.
We understand.

Remembering the day Caleb's belongings were delivered....
The back doors of the Mayflower swung open.
The first thing I saw was Caleb's vehicle.
The driver backed it down the ramp slowly, onto our driveway.
My son's Trail Blazer....
His name was written on a sheet of white paper, left on the dashboard.
The driver handed me the keys.
Caleb's name was written on a tag attached to the key ring.

This was it.
Reality.
My son wasn't driving it - ever again.

That morning I stood in the driveway and sobbed.

He found this SUV online in a dealership in Parker.
I was going to meet with my writer friends in Parker the next day, so we went together.
I dropped him off at the dealership, and he bought it.

It took him to California.
It was his other car...he really loved driving his Harley.


It's hard to put into words all I was feeling that day.
Flashbacks to when he first started driving.
How he teased me about putting a hole in the floor where I was stepping on invisible brakes.
Memories of when he left for Iraq and how I didn't want anyone to move his vehicle - a blue Dodge Dakota.
It needed to stay where he parked it.
I cried when my husband drove it.
It needed to stay where it was.
It didn't have to make sense.
It was how I felt.

Back to the Trail Blazer, and its' last journey home in a moving van.
It had been parked in a compound on base as I understand, for months -
waiting to make its' journey home.
It was the last thing to go into the Mayflower.



I ran my hand over the black exterior.
My son's ride.
Miles and adventures.
Now,
Caleb's vehicle wasn't going anywhere with him behind the wheel.
Hard to swallow.

His vehicle sat in the driveway for a while.
I didn't want it moved.
I couldn't stand the thought of it going anywhere.

Till one day... it needed to be started since the weather had been so cold.
It started right up.
I turned the radio on.
Of course, it was set for California stations, not Colorado.
But, it was on my favorite station.
I thought - that was so Caleb.
I whispered, 'Thank you,' as tears streamed down my face.
It was a small thing, but it touched my heart.

There are times when I drive his vehicle, and I feel so close to Caleb.
Other times it is too hard to think about driving it.

It is parked in the driveway.
Receipts remain where they were.
Keys stay in the console. I don't know what they're for, but it's ok.
The workout bar is in the back.
The horseshoe stays where it was.

It's just a vehicle.
I realize that.
But, it's a part of Caleb's life.
It helps me to see it, to clean it, to drive it.
It has a distinct smell that has not left.
A clean, fresh scent.
Like a new car.

Sometimes I sit in the driver's seat.
I just sit.
I soak up the thought of Caleb sitting there, his hands on the steering wheel,
jamming to the music, windows down, trucking down the freeway - free as the breeze.

Living his life.
It's how it should be.

Only it's not how it is.

Having his vehicle helps....
There are some things that just do.
It may or may not make sense.
It's just how it is.
I'm ok with that.


In case you didn't hear the song, I Drive Your Truck, here it is.

Some of you know exactly how it feels.
Some of you don't, and that's ok.