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.
♥