Thanksgiving 2014/ The Best Is Yet To Come

I love when my family is together.
There is nothing like an almost full house.
I wake up knowing bedrooms are warm with silent breathing.

I love holidays.
I'm that mom who decorates and cooks and bakes
and enjoys every moment.

It's Thanksgiving.
Bedroom doors are opening.
Low conversations can be heard in the background.
Turkey aroma fills our house -

I am thankful.
I am thankful for my husband (who is still sleeping,)
for my children.
These are the greatest treasures in my life.

I love the memories we share -
I think about Caleb.

I smile.
I cry.
There is sweet sorrow to the memories.
He was part of years and years of Thanksgivings
and times, like -
'Mom, I'm hungry! When are we going to eat...'
when I thought the turkey was completely thawed but no, it wasn't, and it still needs to cook some more (I think we ate like at 4:30.)

Or the time when Caleb came home with the turkey he shot -
we had two turkeys that year.

All the times of sitting around the table passing the green bean casserole, and mashed potatoes....
Silent eating that would break into laughing and joking and listening to Caleb's stories.

I sigh.
I cry.
I miss him so much.
We all do.

I bought a candle in a glass container.
The inscription on it - "The Best Is Yet To Come."
I didn't really think too much about it
till this morning when I saw it on the counter.

 It was like Caleb was whispering -
Yes, Mom. Enjoy this day with the family, and tell everybody I love 'em.
Oh,
I know it's hard for you.
I know you all miss me.
But, remember -
this world isn't all there is.
You're all on this journey and one day -
yes, one day we will all be together.

Remember Mom,
the best is yet to come.

With that thought, I begin my day.

The best times here are being with my family.

We are blessed.
Today, Thanksgiving,
we will sit around the table, and pass the green bean casserole and mashed potatoes.
There will be a short silence as we pray and eat, and then we will break into conversation and laughter.
There will probably be some Caleb stories.
There will be a candle lit for Caleb because his life and light are always with us.

I baste the turkey in the roaster -
the roaster Caleb and Collen gave me for Christmas
not that long ago.

Yes.  I will enjoy today, - these are the best days here with my family.
 I will also remember -
The Best Is Yet To Come .

It helps to know -
that one day we will all be together and will have the biggest, and best Thanksgiving feast ever, forever!

Selah.

Beyond The Welcome Door

Last week I opened the
'Welcome' door and
BAM!

Ok.
I'll explain from the beginning.
Once in a while I have these bursts of energy where it's like I wake up and see things for the first time.
Of course, I've really been walking around these 'things' in a fog - not really noticing them for, let's see, how long?
There are unfinished projects, and just things I need to do, and suddenly I have energy to burn.
What brought it on?
It was the day the heater stopped working, and I was waiting for the repairman.

I went downstairs to the furnace room.
Hmmm....
Maybe I should move the totes so the guy can have more room.

That's when I got that rare burst of energy.

I started moving stuff and throwing things away.
I didn't stop with the furnace room.
I came upstairs and started working on the hall closets, the bedrooms.

After the repairman left, I went back downstairs and decided I would clean a little behind
THAT door in the tiny storage room.

The door seemed to have an invisible "Welcome" light, blinking off and on, inviting me to come in.
I used to look forward to opening that door, till Caleb.......

I can do this, I convinced myself.
Actually, I didn't think,
I just opened the door.

That's when it hit.
BAM.

I was hit with a blast so strong it nearly knocked me off my feet.
Floods of memories bombarded my being, ripping my torn heart to shreds.
I stood there for a moment, letting it all sink in.

Maybe I should've been prepared, but I wasn't.
How could I know that opening the door would release a lifetime of Christmases
all in one hurricane wind?
Who would ever understand how just peeking in a room could bring me to tears?
Memories.
So sweet.
So heartbreaking.


A lifetime of memories was inside that tiny room, in every tote.
Every Christmas craft made in school, every  homemade ornament with  a history of little faces glued to canning lids, and little Christmas wreaths....
Every Hallmark ornament.
Everything had Caleb stamped on it.
He was a part of everything in that space.
Every single thing in there cried out for the normalcy we once owned, and celebrated without fail, year after year...

I pulled out a basket full of odds and ends -
oh, and a few boxes teetering on the edge.
I re-arranged the basket.
I swept.

I left the basement.

I still have to put those things back.
But,
I can hardly bare to look at them.
They're just ornaments to anyone else.
but they are filled with our family Christmas stories.

I don't know how or why I opened that door.
It was not a good idea.

I love our memories.
There was lots of love and laughter.
It was good.
But for some reason,
right now,
the visual is just too much.
It hurts too much to see those tangible reminders.

Last year I merely glanced at that door, and that was hard enough.
No way was I venturing in there.
Why did I think it would be different this year?
Maybe I wanted to sink into what normal used to be,
only I can't.
It's not there anymore.
That hurts more than I can say.

Maybe someday.
I don't know.

I will shut that door once I put things away.
I don't know when I will open it again.
I do know, it won't be
for a while.

I hold my precious family close to my heart.
We are bound by a link of memories that only we share.
We don't have to see inside the totes.
We see in our hearts everyday -
where we were,
where we are,
and
tucked inside our hearts is our
love for Caleb,
our love for each other -
a love that goes beyond this life
to forever,
where we will be together again
in a place where memories are always now.
There will be no need for doors,
and best of all -
we will never be apart,
ever again.

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.
♥

Gold Star Parents Retreat A Heavenly Treat

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.

Yes.

One day -

We will all be together again.

We will be with those we love forever.

♥

I can't wait, Caleb. 

Friday on Paradise

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.