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.

Through The Darkness

It's dark.
The stillness of early morning reaches in and quiets my thoughts.

Your peace fills my heart.

I'm taken back a few months ago to March in California
That early morning darkness on base, Camp Pendleton,
when I walked to the main building, listening to the silence of a world still asleep
Then, in the distance, I heard it -
the faint call of Marine cadence.
Though the world slept, there they were,
the disciplined, the few, the proud,
running to the time of duty requiring total sacrifice.

I'll never forget the peace that washed over me.
It was a familiar sound to my son who wasn't there.
It was sad but,
I felt at home.
I felt safe.
The cadence brought back Caleb's years of serving.
The love, the loyalty, the integrity.
The commitment, dedication, perseverance.
All the obstacles he had overcome.

Quiet confidence.
Caleb had that.
In all humility, he gave his all in everything he did.

Yes, that's it.
In this darkness,
there is quiet confidence.

Even though tears fall.
Even though the days are hard.
Even though in the morning when I wake the harsh reality hits again.
Even though.....

Yes, there, deep inside is unwavering confidence - in
 knowing that my God has been faithful in
getting me through each and every moment.

This morning it's there - that feeling.
the punch-in-the-stomach, I-miss-Caleb.

I know without a doubt where my son is.
He's having the everlasting time of his life.

But, I miss him.
I miss that his time here, is over.

In the silence sadness surrounds me, but so does peace.
I'm heartbroken without him.
I know where he is, and that we will be together again - .
I know I've said it before....
it's being here without him that's hard.

And yet, every time I think of Caleb
I have to smile.
I may be crying,
but I have to smile.
He always has that effect on me.
I don't ever want to lose that.
I don't ever want his smile and humor to grow dim.
Ever.

You know, I think God knows that.
I may not be able to see Caleb, but his life is so a part of mine
he will always be here
making me smile, making me laugh.

I really think so.
I have confidence in that.

Thank you Father for your word.
In quietness and confidence shall be my strength.
I believe.
Through tears and heartache,
I believe.

Making The Drive/ For Caleb

Friday, September 27.
I had to do it.
For Caleb.

I don't like driving in the mountains and refuse to drive over mountain passes.
The tiny railings that exist on the edge of steep drop offs on the side of mountains have never given me any sense of security.
Really? Like  those little things are going to stop a car from going over the edge.

Some mountain roads are narrow, two lane.
Think about that - especially if you're not the one driving against the mountain wall.

With those thoughts not in my mind, I told my husband I'd drive.
Nothing unusual about that.
I do that sometimes when we leave home on the plains - I have no problem driving on a four lane interstate with plenty of room - no steep descents in sight.
My husband usually gets to work on some paperwork for at least an hour....or he dozes.
At the end of an hour or two, he usually drives.

Not on Friday.
I drove.
One hour, two hours, and I kept on driving.
We got up into the high country, and it was beautiful.
I thought about Caleb.
I prayed.
I can do this.
I need to insert here, there are some four lanes in the mountains, too.
That helps a little - not much, but a little.
There are still those tiny little railings on the edge.

I drove through the mountains.
I drove over two passes (most of the second one.)
I drove through fog.
I drove through rain.
I drove through snow.
I kept saying, "This is so beautiful!"
"This is so fun!"

Laugh.
It's ok.
But, I meant it.
There was no fear.
There was no reason.
My son was courageous in the face of great dangers in his life.
His example has burned in my life like never before.
He trusted God with his every breath.

We got to Rabbit Ears Pass, and the weather was worse.
It was horrible.
Snow was falling like crazy.
Ice formed on the wipers making visibility difficult.
Trying to maintain control on the icy roads was like trying to walk in stocking feet across an ice arena.

Slow....
very slowly,
I drove.

At one point,
I found a place to pull over,
and my husband drove the twenty or so remaining miles.
I closed my eyes as we swerved on the icy roads.
I was thankful.
Not afraid (well, except for my husband's driving, maybe.)

There was peace.
I did it.
Thank you Caleb, for being such a brave son.
Your life impacts mine every single day.
I don't know if you knew this, but your life has been impacting our family for years.
Since you've been gone, the impact is even greater.
We are all reaching the mountain tops through this valley we are in.
We are all experiencing the challenges of life in a more positive way.

I know you are cheering us on.
We're getting it.
We really are.

Even though it's tough, we're risking life.

Thank you.
We love you.

Gold Stars and Fallen Heroes

I stepped into the hallway.
I wasn't expecting this....
I wanted to turn and walk away -
Maybe nobody'd notice.

It was overwhelming.

"Let's leave," I wanted to say to my husband.
I don't belong here.
We don't belong here.
No.

Rows and rows of pictures lined the tables....hundreds of pictures with small votive candles in front of each one.
Hundreds of beautiful faces, personalities beaming from each one - so many smiles - faces that said, "I love life. I love this adventure."
Faces that lived for today, and the tomorrow that never came.
Loving faces with moms, dads, brothers, sisters, husbands, wives and little children they held and kissed.

There would have been so much laughter if they would have all been standing there with us.
But, these were reminders of our fallen heroes...

Scanning the many rows of photos,
I found him.
There he was...
My son's picture.
My hero.
My fallen warrior.
It didn't seem right that his picture would be there.
It didn't seem right that any of them should...
They were all so young and full of life.

We walked into the banquet hall where many were already seated.
I really didn't want to be there either.
I felt removed from everything and everybody.
Knowing all these people were there because they had lost a son or daughter was overwhelming.
How is it that we are here?
It was a strange almost surreal feeling.
We sat down. The people were cordial and welcoming.
Yet, I couldn't engage in any kind of conversation, which is weird for me.
I listened for a little while, still surveying the huge room of parents,
got up and left.

I found a place in the hall, a tucked away place, and the tears came.
I bent over with the heartache - yes, I did belong there.
All these people hurt and were heartbroken, too.
Parents from all over Colorado - some from New Mexico and Utah.
Wow.

There was time for roll call for each hero represented.
We had a time to remember those who have been MIA/POW since the early nineteen hundreds to now...those did not/have not returned home. It all took on a different meaning.
We were blessed. We had closure.

As it turned out, I'm glad we came.
I met a facebook friend - we only knew each other through facebook, and knew we were Gold Star moms.
My husband and I met other parents with stories of their own. We shook hands, and hugged - we understood.

When I returned to the banquet hall, the speaker announced that we were ok, and were in good company. If we needed to leave the room, or cry, it was ok. If we felt overwhelmed, it was understandable.
Whew.

This journey is difficult.
No doubt about it.
All these families at this retreat are on the same journey.

This morning we ride the gondola to the top of the mountain for a prayer service.
I'm looking forward to it.
I look forward to spending time with the families we've met.
Now,
I'm not ready to leave.

My son was the most recent fallen hero represented here.
We are so new to this journey, but somehow I get the impression that this journey is always new.
Like the wonderful speaker we had last night said, "You don't get over it, but you get through it."



PS - Today is Gold Star Mother's Day - to all the moms I share this day with - you are brave and amazing. God bless you all. 

A Mom's Heart

I heard recently that I needed to get over it.
I heard I only needed to think of what I have instead of what I'm missing.
I heard I just need to thank God for the things he is doing.

I heard.

I also heard some words of encouragement.
Things that made sense and were helpful.

Sue, a new friend, a military mom who lost her son,
recently told me -
We with children are all in the same boat.
When one of us loses a child, we are out of the boat.
That's it.
We can never get back in the boat of  "everybody's-here."
Because we're not in the boat anymore, we will spend the rest of our lives swimming.
Some days we will barely be keeping our heads above water.
Some days we will feel like we are drowning.
Other days we will swim along and do well.
At times we will float on our backs.

My children are a huge part of my life.
I would gladly give my life for any of them.
It just so happened God had other plans.

I've been told the devil did it. God's plans for my child were not accomplished.
I've been told our children make choices and they live or die by those choices.

I believe there is a much bigger picture than our puny minds can even begin to comprehend, but we so want to explain and have the answer, that we can put ourselves in the position of wisdom that we do not have.

I  am not in that position.
I do know that God promises to hold us in the palm of his hand and that satan cannot pluck us out.
I know that he hears our prayers...he heard my prayers for my son that very day. He hears my prayers now.

His plans are not our plans.
His thoughts are not our thoughts.
His ways are higher than ours.
That is what the Bible says.

He is God.
I am not.

All I know right now is that this journey has changed my life forever.
In brokenness I will live.
Through Christ alone am I whole in any way.

He knows my heart.
Grief, peace and  joy all fill the same heart.
On the outside it may look like I'm just fine.
Or it may seem like I'm a crying mess.

I will not 'get over it.'
There is nothing to get over.
The absence of my child will be with me all my life.
Will I go on?
Of course I will.
I'm still here in the land of the living.
But, don't think that if I just think happy thoughts it will all go away.

I look at the sunrise every morning as it peeks through clouds or through the trees, and I am in awe of my mighty Maker.
I watch as birds balance on telephone wires and marvel.
I smile as I watch little children in their innocence, run through the splash park.
I breathe in the fresh, early morning air, and thank my God for his goodness.
I praise my Lord through the tears.
I know the beauty I see here is nothing compared to the beauty my son is a part of now.

I am glad for each day, for each blessing.
There are many blessings...God sends beautiful people who bring sweet comfort and friendship.
I am mindful of all the great and wonderful things I have to be so thankful for.
The greatest of all is that I know where my son is,
and that one day the space that separates us will be no more.

Selah.

Caleb's Hiking Boots

Today I opened one of your boxes.
There they were.
Your
hiking boots, headgear.
Signs of your life,
things you enjoyed doing.
Those hiking boots had seen lots of wear.

I remember you talking to me about some of your adventures.
Rappelling,
Climbing in the desert.
I saw videos of some of your journeys.
Steep, narrow crevices.
High, vertical rocks and cliffs.
And there you were...
Big smile on your face.
You loved your life.

Seeing your boots
broke my heart.
All those miles of living...
Now
empty, silent soles
in a box.

Yet, as I looked at them
I could hear your voice as you trekked up mountains with your buddies, laughing, joking, giving each other a hard time.
I could feel your hands, rough and torn from grabbing hold of branches or jagged edges.
I could see your strength as you pulled yourself up, muscles strained and strong.
So many scenarios of your active life crossed my mind.

Sigh....
Those boots
told your stories.
Now they rest.
I'm sad.

I shut the box, and ran upstairs.
Sobs escaped
again.

It doesn't seem right.
Nothing makes sense right now.
Although I know that I know God's Word is true,
everything has changed in this life.
Nothing is certain.
I have no control over much, really....probably the way it should be.
I don't feel lost - I know where I'm bound in the end.
But right now, everything seems amiss.

Life goes on and I am a spectator....going and doing, yet feeling disconnected.

I thought I had direction, but right now I see flashing red lights, hear sirens
and I stand still, wanting to run, but knowing this is where I am.
There is a detour, a huge roadblock.
Where to go from here?

Life does go on.
There has to be purpose through all this.
God holds my life in his hands.
The little time allotted is hazy right now.

Maybe one day I'll look at Caleb's hiking boots, think of the miles he covered, and I'll be able to smile.
Right now it breaks my heart that those boots won't climb with his feet marking their steps.

Like the psalmist, I cry out in the depths, and I know my God is there.
Oh how Caleb's miles of living has testified of a life well lived.

I look at my Father and say, my life is in your hands.
I don't understand too much....except that you are God and I am not.
I know that your Word is true and you have to be carrying me.

I cry out, Abba.
Carry on Father.
You say this present suffering is nothing compared to the riches of the glory to come.
I believe.
Even now -
Yes, Father.
I believe.

Christmas in July/Christmases When You Were Mine

I can hear it now,
What? Christmas in July?
It's not even close to December.
This commercialism has gone too far!

I have a confession to make.
My children will testify.

When they were growing up, I thought it would be fun to play Christmas carols in July.
That was long ago, before it was the cool thing to do in the middle of summer - get it? Cool?
Ok.
There were no advertisements for Christmas in July back then.
Imagine my surprise when it became a media frenzy years later.
Pshaw.
I'd been celebrating Christmas in July for years....without the
decorations and gifts.
Just the music,
and thoughts of the meaning.

I always thought Christmas should be celebrated all year long.
Why try to cram everything nice in one month or one day?
I thought we should bake for our neighbors one month.
Send cards another month.
Visit and spread cheer everyday.
You know, spread the love of Christmas all year.
I don't know how well that would catch on, but I think it would be great to get Christmas cards in August.
Then, December wouldn't be such a stressful month of goodness.
Don't try to give me the 'I don't get caught up in all that stuff,' or 'I don't get stressed.'
Bah humbug if you don't.

I love Christmas - that was why I played carols in July.
I remember one day when the children were fairly small,
I loaded up a picnic basket, and we piled in the car to go to Bonnie Dam (rest her dry soul).
On the way, I put in a Christmas cassette (long ago, yes).
Windows were down, and "Joy To The World" and "Rocking Around The Christmas Tree"
filled the summer air.

Those were the days.
We were all together, laughing, and having a good time.
I'm thinking we (at least some of us) were singing along.
It was great.

Caleb loved Christmas.
July twenty-fifth I came across a radio station playing Christmas carols all day.
I listened, sang, thought of Caleb and yes, a tear or more (ok, more) fell down my cheeks.

I could see his smile and hear him singing.
I'm not sure where I'll be in December...whether I'll be able to write about Christmas or not,
but yesterday it warmed my heart because I knew Caleb so enjoyed Christmas - and if you knew him you know he also liked
Taylor Swift.

So, Merry Christmas in July.
This song is for you my son -

Christmases When You Were Mine - Taylor Swift.