March 6, 2013 - I Remember

It's been 739 days
since the last time Caleb and I chatted - his birthday, February 25, 2013.

Two years today, 730 days ago, we paid tribute to his life.
Somehow it doesn't seem like it's been two years.

It still seems like a dream.

I wake up and for a second it's like old times when we were all together.
Then, the next second, it hits again -
The rip-your-heart-out, gut-wrenching feeling...nothing is the same.
Missing Caleb so much.

Days like this, I swallow the big lump in my throat.
Tears come.
Memories.....

What I remember about two years ago -
Early in the morning, before the
'busy' started, I took Griz for a walk.
We walked to the funeral home so Griz could say farewell  to his buddy,
his master.
I stood before the flag draped casket, guarded by two Marines at all times.
Griz sat.
I put my head on the casket, covering the flag with tears.
"Thank you."
That was all I could say.
"Thank you Caleb. I love you."
"Thank you.
Thank you for being a wonderful son.
Thank you for caring about us.
Thank you for being so generous.
Thank you for the laughter.
Thank you for making us laugh.
Thank you for being in our lives.
Thank you for being so strong and brave.
Thank you for being my son....
Thank you for loving us, for loving God.
Thank you....."

All the while, Griz sat by the head of the casket.
Like he knew.
He sat at attention for Caleb.
I wish I had a picture of that.
But, it is forever in my heart.

From February 27 to March 6 there was a steady stream of visitors, phone calls,
food, flowers.
This day was just as busy.
As we were getting ready for the service, the doorbell continued to ring.

Two hours before the service we were to meet....at the funeral home?
I think so....
We followed the funeral car and honor guard to the high school where the service would be held..

When we got to the school,
students stood, lining the halls.
I will never forget.
I don't know who they all were,
but I am filled with gratitude for those who stood for
a few hours in silence, waiting for us to arrive.

It was like a dream, walking behind the flag draped casket....
a reminder of my son's sacrifice.
I'd seen this sad scene over and over in the news, in movies,
but this was not a movie - it was not someone else's life.
This was real life - my life.

I remember being back in the commons area before the service, after the casket was set in the gym.
I remember, crowds of people
coming in every door.
People coming from every direction with words of comfort - so heartfelt and sweet,
but it was too much at that time.
We needed a time away from the public.
The school secretary locked the door leading to the commons area,
so we could just 'be' for a few minutes before the service started.

I looked around, and Marines surrounded us.
What a comfort.
These were Caleb's brothers.

As we lined up,
Mark, Caleb's Recon brother, was right beside me.
The Marines walked in and sat with us.
I remember - I was firm on that.
They would sit with us.
They are family.

While waiting to walk in,
the words that poured from my heart at that time -
The joy of the Lord is my strength.
The joy of the Lord is my strength.
Over and over...it would be His strength that would get me through.

I remember Pastor Viergutz praying.
I think Psalm 23 was recited...anyway, I remember it was in my thoughts (that was the psalm my husband recited to me many times during those days and nights. He'd finish and I'd ask him to read it again and again.)

When we got to the door of the gym and I looked inside
at the flag draped casket, the flowers, the hundreds of people.
My knees turned to jello,
but just as quick, the Lord strengthened me.
My arm in Mark's, there was strength from him, from my husband, from so many prayers being said on our behalf.

The gym was filled with people standing in silence,
there to honor my son.

That was what it was about.
Honoring Caleb's life.

When we were planning the service,
we wanted  people to know Caleb.
If there was anyone there who didn't really know him,
we wanted them to leave with a knowing
about this wonderful son who lived life with purpose,
and wanted nothing less for others.

Since March 2013,
many people have told me they left the service feeling like they knew Caleb.
His life touched theirs.
He impacted and changed their lives.

I miss my son so much, and this is a difficult day,
but knowing his life lives on in all the lives he touched,
helps so much.

Yes, in the midst of the sorrow there is joy.
In a stream of tears there is a smile.

Thank you Caleb.
♥

Enduring Right On

Ok, I'm going to write this one and actually post it.
I promise.
I've written since November when I last posted a blog,
but all that writing is in my archives.
Not this one.....
You've got my word (words.)

Days go by.
Some are a little easier than others, but they all have heartbreak.
A couple of days ago I woke up with that ripping apart that was so intense
it was like it had all just happened.
It was like the earth opened up.
I cried out to God. "I can't do this."
He knows that.
Together we made it through the day.
Oh no one knew how my morning had been.
No one ever really knows - unless you're my husband,
and I know when I wake up in tears it makes him sad, too.

I don't know why it seems that I should just be over it, as one well-meaning woman said.
"Well, it's been well over a year...I'd think you'd be over it by now."
No lady.
That's not how it works.
When I said it was a rough day,
the response was, "Well, God will take care of it," and off she went.
Yes, lady, God will take care of it.
God has carried me through these hard times.
"You should just be praising God because you know where Caleb is."
I do praise God that I know I will see my son again.
But that doesn't mean it's easy being here without his smiley self in our lives.

I'm not mad at the lady.
She doesn't know.
There is no way, she could - she has all her children.
Bless her heart.

I just know where my walk is, and that is all I can handle - and actually, I can't handle that!
Not without my heavenly Father who give me strength and peace.

I don't know where this road is going.
I just follow it minute by minute.
Nothing is as it was.
Absolutely nothing.
I can't explain it, but that's where it is.
I know there is a purpose and a plan and a hope for tomorrow,
but I don't know a lot right now.
I don't know when I'll know more,
but I'll let you know.
It's not like I don't do anything -
it's that I'm getting acquainted with a whole new way of existence and
it does not conform to the twenty-four hour day we live in.
That's the best I can do for explaining.
It's as I said, a minute by minute walk - and it's unpredictable.

Today I thought I could talk about a memorial situation.
I started talking to some people and did all right for a little bit.
Then, I ended up in tears.
It just happened - they just started flowing.

Hearing Caleb's name in the same sentence as memorial
broke my heart all over again.
I left the building, got in my vehicle and started down the street.

A block later I had to pull over.
Sobbing rocked my soul.
My sweet boy....
My fun-loving son....

This is simply a most difficult road.

Not too long ago, I cried out to God
(I actually do that on a daily basis.)
There are times I get encouragement from that still small voice.
Not that time.
He was silent for a while -
like for weeks.
I kept on - hard day after hard day.
Then, one night I was watching football with my husband.
I heard that still small voice -
"Endure hardness as a good soldier of Jesus Christ (2 Timothy 2:3.)
I sighed.
It's hard all right.
But, when He put it in those words, I took a deep breath.
Those words were for me.
I could do it.
I could follow His lead.


Soldiers (Marines, Sailors, etc.) don't get entangled with the things of civilian life.
They follow the orders of their commanding officers.
They are trained for difficult situations so they can defend, protect, and stand.
They have to stay focused and continue training everyday.
They endure hardness.
It's not easy.
If it gets too easy, they will get soft, and they can't afford that.
They push themselves.
I know Caleb did.
He pushed beyond his own limits.
What an example.
My son.
He endured hardness as a good soldier of Christ.

Because of Christ, because of Caleb, because of all who have gone before,
I can.

No, it's not easy.
Some days, like today, I break down and cry.
My Commander Most High knows that, and understands.
Together we will make it.
I enlisted, and I'm in this for the long haul.
No, I had no idea this journey would mean my son would leave this world.
But, that doesn't change the plan.
Caleb got promoted to the highest of places - heaven .

I will continue
marching on -
tears and all...
enduring.

And
On that day -
I have no doubt,  he will be at the gates
waiting to greet me.

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.
♥