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.
♥
I was so tired when we got to our room, and here I
am…wide awake.
There are so many thoughts swimming
through my mind.
This is Gold Star Parents’ weekend at beautiful
Steamboat Springs – a time to be with other parents whose children gave all while
serving our country.
My husband and I came last year, but I don’t
remember much. I do remember the hall of heroes, where hundreds of photos stand
in lines on tables, with tiny candles flickering by each one. It was too much
to bear. I had to walk away. “We aren’t supposed to be here. This is not
our life.” But it was, and it is. Tonight it was still overwhelming, and yet so awesome to see the hundreds being honored, and remembered. Seeing my son's picture still took my breath away, but I am glad we can honor him.
Tonight while visiting the hall of heroes, a fellow GS parent asked me how I was. “You
know, when everything is kind of numb? That’s where I am. Ok for now.
Who knows how I’ll be later.” She understood.
This is later. As I lay in bed, tears trickled down
my face, as they often do in the silence of night when everyone is sleeping.
How can it be that my son is not here?
We were chatting with some moms. One said, “When will this ever end?” My reply - “When we get to heaven, and we
see them again.” We all agreed and laughed that laugh of understanding. One of the moms lost her son in 1969 in Vietnam. So long
ago, and yet in her heart, that longing remains.
Often, there are unanswered questions about the casualties. After telling us about her son, a fellow GS mom said, "I guess we will find out and have answers to our questions when we get to heaven." We chatted some more, and I said, "I always think when we get to heaven we won't care about the questions anymore. We will be with them and that'll be all that will matter."
This journey is hard.... the separation from our children, the questions... the longing and silence.
And yet, as I was lying in bed crying, the words to a song calmed my heart.
And greater is the One living inside of me Than he who is living in the world
Bring your doubts Bring your fears Bring your hurt Bring your tears There’ll be no condemnation here....(Mercy Me/Greater)
I feel like we are occupying a space between
heaven and earth here at the retreat. We are away from our everyday lives. We can talk about heaven and our children, and about seeing them again. For this weekend, we are
in a place where our children line the halls and smile. Vibrancy and youth
radiate from their faces. Heroes.
My heart is torn, and I miss my son more than words
can describe. I am so proud of my warrior son. Being here makes me
feel like I could just reach out and touch his face. I don’t realize how much I
hold back from talking about him in the “normal” world. Yet, I understand. it's different here. We are all on the same journey here. For this time we have the
freedom to tell our stories. It’s ok to ask, “What happened to your son?” There
are many stories of war, and loss. There are so many stories about young men and women who lived exemplary lives, who were funny, and giving and loving.
The bond we share goes beyond this world. Our hearts
are tied with eternity.
We come together here for the weekend and hug each
other, cry, laugh, and embrace the hope that we share.
It was a cold, and rainy morning.
I crawled out of bed, peeking at a new day.
Like everyday-
the punch-in-the-stomach, break-your-shattered-heart feeling
reminded me of this never welcome reality.
Like everyday-
I got dressed to go for a walk.
It helps.
Since it was cold, I put a sweater on Griz
and we headed out the door.
As we walked, I noticed he was walking kind of funny.
I encouraged him.
"Come on Buddy."
He wasn't limping...just walking kind of like a weeble wobble, back and forth, and not very fast.
I stopped a couple of times.
"Come on Griz."
He continued his slow gait.
"What's wrong?"
He seemed to frown at me.
"Ok, then. Let's try this."
I pulled his paws through the sweater.
"How's that? Better?"
He shook his head, as if to say, "Sheesh."
He shook his whole body. "Free at last."
The rest of the walk was fine.
He got his point across.
He just didn't like the sweater.
Smart dog.
I like to listen to music when we walk,
whatever suits me at the moment.
This morning's moment was
The Jersey Boys and Oldies Station.
I thanked God for the day...prayed for friends and family.
I talked to God as I look at his creation.
A quiet day, except for the early morning traffic of a small town.
I don't know what happened, but Griz
got wrapped around a pole...don't ask me how, but it happened.
As we danced around the pole getting his leash unwound, I began to chuckle.
We continued on our way, and I found myself singing, and doing a little dance with Griz.
By the time we got to Paradise, I was skipping to the music - not a kid skip but more of a Caleb skip.
Of course, his was manly, mine was just a scoot...maybe it really wasn't a Caleb skip, but he was on my mind when I did it. I think that counts.
Right after I got home a friend brought me some fresh produce from her garden.
Her smile always brightens my day.
I got my new microwave installed this morning.
I really like it.
When the timer goes off, it plays a little tune.
How cool is that.
I had lunch with a wonderful friend.
We hadn't seen each other for a while.
We laughed, and caught up.
What a blessing - great visit, and great Thai food.
I was on my way home.
It was my plan.
But, I ended up downtown with road blocks everywhere.
I had a feeling I was wrong about the Homecoming parade.
I was sure it was over.
No.
It was just starting.
So, I parked.
There is something about small town parades.
Homemade floats with happy kids, laughing and talking -
and throwing candy.
There's the high school band - which, by the way, now has bagpipes.
I was impressed.
There were dirt bikes and four wheelers.
There was the familiar Hitchcock train with preschool kids,
and even the pig was in the parade - the famous 'kiss a pig' had his own float.
Queen candidates ride in a convertible, and everybody waves at everybody
-because everybody knows everybody.
It's sweet.
It's home.
I waited till I got in my vehicle.
Then the tears came.
It's just how it is.
The wave hit, like it does...totally unannounced.
Memories of a life that has passed beyond this world.
Grief hits when it chooses.
I came home.
A friend called, and we talked about the bagpipes.
I talked to my husband.
I think we're going to the Homecoming game.
Maybe.
Sometimes I can.
We'll see.
It's like this.
I live.
I laugh.
I cry.
Every day is different,
yet the same.
I'm home now, at my desk.
Griz lies at my feet, snoring.
In the sorrow, there is peace.
Through the tears there is joy.
I'm not alone.
It's another day on Paradise.
I pulled out our wedding album this morning.
Took a picture on my phone, and sent it to one, two, three, four, fii....I stopped.
It was a habit for so many years,
I find I still do it sometimes....
Caleb.
There are times like this.
Send one text - send it to all five.
Only...well, you know.
It's our anniversary kids!
Remember that day?
It was a crazy, fun day.
Tears streamed down my face.
I couldn't help it.
Fifteen years ago we became a wonderful family with a good dad/husband.
God brought us together - neither of us was looking.
We dated for two years.
We all fit.
He had no children, my children had no dad.
We fell in love, and joined our hearts, our lives.
What a miracle!
That day was a fun day.
It was to be an outdoor wedding.
We decorated the trees with lights, had candles and white tablecloths on all the small tables...it was beautiful.
Then it started to rain, and rain and rain and rain.
Plan B.
We went inside the old Victorian home, and had our ceremony - moving tables and chairs so there was room for the guests.
Four boys, one girl, a single parent, and a single man.
It wasn't a big wedding.
It wasn't long.
But, it was special.
Everyone had a part.
After all, it wasn't only a marriage, it was joining together as a family.
Our song was, "Turn, Turn, Turn," by the Byrds.
Maybe that's why I cry.
To everything there is a season.
Some of our seasons have been very difficult.
I celebrate this day, and I celebrate my family.
I think of Caleb.
What a gift this new life was for him.
I'm so glad he had this season...
Those years the enemy had stolen, were restored.
He enjoyed having a good daddy.
Those two had a wonderful relationship, and made lots of memories together.
Life was safe, and secure.
There was no fear, no threats for his safety.
We all felt the same way.
We were thankful for this new life, this new season.
Yes, it's been a wonderful life.
I never dreamed I'd be looking back at the seasons of my child's life.
It's supposed to be the other way around....
But, it is where it is, and since I'm looking, I can say -
The memory of the day George and I got married, when we all became one family, is outstanding.
I can see Caleb with that big smile he always wore.
I miss that young man so much.
I look at the wedding pictures, and we are complete.
It was awesome.
I see my four boys running around wearing burgundy bow ties...looking so sharp, with smiles and twinkles in their eyes.
My beautiful daughter with her brothers....
I think to myself, we were all so innocent.
I'm glad, so glad for the memories of that day.
So glad we were all together.
So glad we built our lives together.
So glad for the love, laughter, and all the good times we've shared as a family.
We celebrate fifteen years of marriage - George and I.
Not only are we celebrating our marriage, but our family.
I am thankful for my wonderful husband, our five wonderful children, and all of our seasons together.
The children will always be a part of our celebration of marriage - we are all part of a blessed package.
I love you George.
I know - let's grow old together, and love each other as long as the wind blows and the grass grows.
The knock at the door.
It's burned into our memories forever.
I just read a post from a fellow Gold Star mom...two years since that knock at her door that changed her life forever.
When I read her post, my heart skipped a beat.
I knew exactly what she was talking about.
It's one of the those things...
There have been nights I've been up late, working at my computer.
I'll see car lights coming down our street.
My heart will go to my throat, and I'll gasp.
I remind myself - "No. That car is not coming to your house.
That night is over."
Heaven forbid anyone would come to our door late at night.
So many of us have had that knock at the door with the news
of our loved ones in the military.
Like grief, the memory doesn't just go away because it's over now.
The knock at the door was something we were drilled about.
"If you see two men in uniform coming to your door, you will know your loved one is not coming home.
You will not hear about their death on the phone or any other way.
You will get a knock at your door."
It was something we knew.
Something we didn't want to think about.
There was one time, when Caleb was deployed....
I had been running at the track, and had walked home through the alley.
When I walked toward our driveway, I saw a vehicle parked by our house.
It was gray...and looked like a government vehicle.
My heart sank, and I can still remember that feeling of dread.
"No."
I wanted to turn and run the other way, but I kept walking...not wanting to look on our porch.
"No, God. No." I prayed.
It was a horrible feeling.
I got to our porch and no one was there.
Once inside, I stood and prayed.
"No, God....please, no."
Time ticked away, and when I looked out, the car was gone.
I never found out who it was, but that was ok.
I was so relieved...my son was ok.
Years past, and I prayed and trusted God.
Caleb deployed again...he went places for training - dangerous training...
The night we got the knock at the door, THAT was not even a thought.
When I got up and went to the door that morning at one-thirty, I still wasn't thinking it could be THAT.
When I saw the two uniformed Marines standing there, it didn't register...
When they told me there had been an accident, it still didn't hit....
My mind is blank as to exactly what was said after I told them they shouldn't be at my house.
They just didn't come to my house, that was all there was to it.
Even though I don't remember exactly what was said, that traumatic early morning
is burned in my memory.
Oh, I don't have to entertain the thought - when certain things happen, the memory is triggered.
My heart goes out to this mom who is now two years on her grief journey.
The comfort I find in all of this, is that we are there for each other.
We know the feeling....
All of our lives changed forever with that knock at the door.
Our loved one was not coming home.
Devastating heartbreak.
Our hearts/lives are forever linked in sorrow, and loss.
Not only that, but we are linked together in faith and hope.
Faith in what we don't see now, knowing that faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.
Hope in a tomorrow when we will be with our loved ones again.
One day there will be a knock at the door of our lives and we will get to go home.
What a day that will be!
Sorrow, and separation will be no more.
We will be with those we love forever.
For now, we support each other.
We pray for each other.
When another gets that knock at the door
We lend a hand, a hug, an ear
and a nod that says,
"I understand.
It's tough, but you don't have to walk this journey alone.
Ever."
Lord, there are so many hurting, broken hearts and lives. Days may go by, but our broken hearts ache for our loved ones. We wake up having to realize once again, it is true. What a hard reality. Thank you for your gentle mercy. Thank you, that even though we don't understand the why, we know that You carry us through these most difficult times of our lives.
In Jesus' name.
Amen.
Death jumps out whenever it wants.
Shocking, and heartbreaking.
Again and again,
it snatches away those we love.
This life is temporary, and knowing there is a heaven beyond is wonderful,
but it is the here and now that is hard.
I don't think we are ever prepared for it.
Recently, my mom passed away.
Words - there are none.
Sometimes we weep in silence, in private, where the world cannot enter.
Memories are precious.
They are kept in a secret place, and help us through the tough times, taking us to a better time and place.
Today, here are a few I can share-
I remember -
The times she told me stories of growing up on their ranch near Wagon Mound, New Mexico.
She and her brother tap-dancing at local events.
The country school she attended and her teacher, Miss Lampe.
She always had a smile when she recollected those days.
The story of how she and my dad met at a roller skating rink.
Some of my fondest memories are of the two of them skating together...how they could dance on skates.
They glided and turned, and made it look so easy.
She introduced me to many things that helped mold me into the person I am today....
Music - I remember her listening to those old 45s - "Blueberry Hill," by Fats Domino, and there was, "Diana," by Paul Anka.
There were albums, like The Tijuana Brass, Lawrence Welk, Chet Atkins - oh and the time she bought me my own 45s - Christmas carols like Frosty the Snowman, and Deck The Halls.
She and my dad got me a piano when I was probably in first grade, and my mom drove me to piano lessons for years. And when I graduated from high school - my graduation gift was a new piano.
Books - I remember times she took me to the library when I was just a little girl. I loved the smell of the books, and all those shelves of books that seemed to reach the ceiling. Sometimes she would bring books home for me. Oh, and there were the comic books - when I was a little tot, she worked at Newberry's and would bring home the old comic books - I used to look forward to those, especially, "Little Lulu."
Theater - we would go to plays and music events at the college - those were the days of Peter, Paul, and Mary - and Camelot.
Movies - I remember when we went to see Pollyanna, Parent Trap and Gone With The Wind - still some of my favorite movies.
Current events/politics - my mom worked for the county clerk for many years, and election was always a big deal. I remember watching as they worked and counted up votes as they came in. Knowing who was running, and what they stood for was always important to know.
I am always thankful for the education she and my dad made sure I received. I attended private school for eight years. It was strict, and the education was exceptional. My close walk with God was nourished there with Bible stories and Mass every morning.
She and my dad were faithful in attending all the school functions I was a part of - and there were many. They could be counted on for rides, and support, always.
I remember prom dress shopping - we'd go out of town to a little boutique where I'd always find the perfect dress.
My thirteenth birthday, My mom and I planned a skating party. Very fitting for our lives. What fun.
My sixteenth birthday- she and my best friend Corinne Smith were able to pull off a surprise party for me. I remember that day so well. What a wonderful surprise.
I remember so many times when I'd start laughing over something silly, and eventually she and I would both be laughing uncontrollably.
We had some fun adventures, and oh those nights when we'd stay up late and talk.
I always thought she was beautiful, and loved how she wore her hair back in the sixties and seventies - when women wrapped their hair to keep it nice till the next trip to the beauty shop.
She had beautiful nails, and I always admired how she dressed. My grandma was a talented seamstress, and made the beautiful clothes my mom (and I) wore...once my grandma made look alike dresses for us to wear to a wedding. I thought that was the coolest thing ever.
Life wasn't always easy for my mom. She went through many years battling and beating cancer.
When I was in the hospital giving birth to my daughter, she was on a different floor having a mastectomy.
Years later, when my daughter got married, she was going through chemo.
I know there were many things she didn't understand in this difficult life, but I know she always reached out to God.
She lost two children when they were infants. She lost her parents when she was just in her thirties.
Now, I know she is at peace. There is no more pain or suffering. All those knots and pieces are behind her, as she looks and can see the other side - the completed quilt of her life.
The Bible says in 1 Corinthians 13:12 - Now we see things imperfectly, like puzzling reflections in a mirror, but then we will see everything with perfect clarity. All that I know now is partial and incomplete, but then I will know everything completely, just as God now knows me completely.
She is with her parents, Sam and Delia Miller. She is with her two children, my younger sister, Deborah, and my youngest brother, James.
In this sorrow, there is joy in knowing she is whole now.
She is my mom. I am her daughter. There is love that goes beyond this life into eternity.
Here is a song my mom liked, a song she liked me to sing...My Heart Is Like A House.
This is for you Mom.
And on that day he shall wipe away every tear from our eyes.
Selah.
