Faith is defined as the complete confidence, or firm belief in something for which there is no proof. I have to admit, that I have had a complete shake up of my faith. Or so I thought until another Gold Star Mother said to me, "You haven't lost your Faith, it's only been bruised" That statement made sense to me, although it made me think of a very large, very dark purple bruise that you can't touch because it's so tender, and you know it will turn that awful shade of yellow green before it finally heals.
I have Faith that I will someday be reunited with Curtis and my loved ones again. I pray that God will protect Emily and Katie, and let them lead long and happy lives. I pray that Dave and I will get though this tragedy intact. I pray that I can find peace and happiness again. I pray that every Marine and Soldier comes home to their family safe. Is this what Faith is? Believing, even though some of those prayers may never be answered? Or answered, just not in the way I'd like?
I have had a tough time returning to church services. Listening to how Jesus loves me hurts me to the core. Being around that many people puts me into a state of panic. I really feel bad about this, because our church and it's members have been so good to us. But here again, is my participation in church a measure of my Faith? I really don't think so. I believe Curtis is in a better place, it just hurts that it isn't here with me. I believe I will someday be there too. I just wish I could be like some of those people you see that seem so sound and have that unshakable faith through the most difficult times. I hope someday I can return to church and feel calm and at peace, but for now I have to work things my own way, bruises and all.
Friday, December 31, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
Christmas Eve
Dave and I try not to anticipate how we are going to feel on certain dates. We know it's going to be rough, but we need to go into it with a positive attitude as possible and ride the wave when it hits. For me Christmas Eve has one extra blow, my father died eleven years ago today.
He was a funny, hard working man with a great business sense. He still cracks our family up with all the "Bud-isms" he left us. I credit him with my strong work ethic, he had all his children working at the bar in some capacity at a young age. On the little time he had off, he loved to travel and would tow as many as 5 of us at a time across country in the station wagon. He was a date man, the last thing he was looking forward to was the turn of the century, but he never made it, I have always felt bad for that. But he made the date of his death memorable. When a friend of mine went through the receiving line at the wake he told my mother that he was sorry it had to be on Christmas, in a time of sorrow, my mother replied that she was actually not sorry for it, "I will never be alone on the anniversary of his death!" I find that powerful.
Curtis had a bit of a knack with dates too. He died on Good Friday, this year it was also my in laws anniversary, and married Katie on our anniversary.
For Christmas eve this year we will be with my family. We have two new babies to celebrate. If that wave comes I will face it and continue on.
He was a funny, hard working man with a great business sense. He still cracks our family up with all the "Bud-isms" he left us. I credit him with my strong work ethic, he had all his children working at the bar in some capacity at a young age. On the little time he had off, he loved to travel and would tow as many as 5 of us at a time across country in the station wagon. He was a date man, the last thing he was looking forward to was the turn of the century, but he never made it, I have always felt bad for that. But he made the date of his death memorable. When a friend of mine went through the receiving line at the wake he told my mother that he was sorry it had to be on Christmas, in a time of sorrow, my mother replied that she was actually not sorry for it, "I will never be alone on the anniversary of his death!" I find that powerful.
Curtis had a bit of a knack with dates too. He died on Good Friday, this year it was also my in laws anniversary, and married Katie on our anniversary.
For Christmas eve this year we will be with my family. We have two new babies to celebrate. If that wave comes I will face it and continue on.
Monday, December 20, 2010
3 Marines and a Soldier
It was a huge price, but Curtis has brought so many wonderful people into our lives over the last eight months. World War II, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan vets, currently serving military, members of Partiot Guard and Tribute to the Troops, as well as so many citizens that just care and have reached out to us. I just wanted to take the time to single out a few men that I consider heros and thank them, although if you were to ask them, they would humbly say they don't deserve it.
The first is my nephew Alan. OK, so I've known him a bit longer than 8 months, but he is on my list anyway. Alan joined the Marines after high school in 2002. After initial training, he joined his unit in Iraq already on the road to Baghdad. I can't imagine how an eighteen year old mind can even processes that. He then served 2 more deployments to Iraq over the next 3 years before being discharged. Alan came home, and although he seemed fine, he struggled with what he saw and did. After some self destructive behavior, he finally sought help at the VA. I'm so happy he did, because so many don't seek the help they need. He was doing pretty well until Curtis was killed. Memories came flooding back, and he fell back to some past behavior. Thankfully a friend and fellow Marine got him back to the VA, and got things back on track again. I want to thank you for your service and the support you showed me even though you were struggling with your own demons. You are the true meaning of Semper Fi....always faithful.
The next is Phil Brown. A Marine we met last summer at an event. Phil did multiple tours to Iraq, and has a traumatic brain injury from a road side bomb. Phil is a soft spoken guy with a big heart. He grew up in Oceanside, CA, because his father was a career Marine. He ended up in this area because he has a bit of family here, but really doesn't know anyone in Rochester, so he is basically alone. He really wanted to remain in the military, but was discharged because of PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). I find it interesting that they can be discharged for something that their work created. I'm glad that we found Phil and could introduce him to other Marines that he can talk to. Thank you Phil.
The third Marine is a young man we met only last week. Kyle Mirehouse did tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. He too was injured by a road side bomb. Thankfully the bomb was turned away from his patrol group and the injuries were kept at a minimum. It did send him the Germany to recover. Then when it came time for him to be released from the hospital, he had a choice to go home or return to his unit, without hesitation, he went back to his unit and served out his time. He was discharged in March of this year. He too is a humble, soft spoken man, and I'm glad I got to meet him and help present a check from Tim Pawlenty and the Patriot Guard. Thank you Kyle.
Even though he's not a Marine, just kidding Patrick, SSgt Ziegler is on my list as well. Patrick had just returned from his second deployment to Iraq and was in line to get some paper work completed for OCS on the fateful day at Fort Hood on November 5, 2009. Shot 4 times, in the head, back and arm, Patrick has gone threw a tough year of surgeries, set backs and recovery. His then girlfriend, soon fiance, now wife, was by his side and was a wonderful advocate for him. When things seemed dire, she got him transferred to Mayo Clinic for a second opinion. He had some great improvement while here. Dave and I had the opportunity to get to know them well. His great sense of humor and desire to continue to serve his country despite paralysis in his left arm and other limitations, are wonderful. He is now back at Fort Hood still serving. Thank you Patrick.
Not all injuries are physical, or rewarded with a purple heart. There are so many stories of Wounded Warriors. I thank them all, these are only the few I know personally, and I am a better person for it. I don't look at them and wonder why did they survive and Curtis didn't, that was in Gods hands. I look at them and genuinely think, I'm so glad they are home and with their family and friends.
The first is my nephew Alan. OK, so I've known him a bit longer than 8 months, but he is on my list anyway. Alan joined the Marines after high school in 2002. After initial training, he joined his unit in Iraq already on the road to Baghdad. I can't imagine how an eighteen year old mind can even processes that. He then served 2 more deployments to Iraq over the next 3 years before being discharged. Alan came home, and although he seemed fine, he struggled with what he saw and did. After some self destructive behavior, he finally sought help at the VA. I'm so happy he did, because so many don't seek the help they need. He was doing pretty well until Curtis was killed. Memories came flooding back, and he fell back to some past behavior. Thankfully a friend and fellow Marine got him back to the VA, and got things back on track again. I want to thank you for your service and the support you showed me even though you were struggling with your own demons. You are the true meaning of Semper Fi....always faithful.
The next is Phil Brown. A Marine we met last summer at an event. Phil did multiple tours to Iraq, and has a traumatic brain injury from a road side bomb. Phil is a soft spoken guy with a big heart. He grew up in Oceanside, CA, because his father was a career Marine. He ended up in this area because he has a bit of family here, but really doesn't know anyone in Rochester, so he is basically alone. He really wanted to remain in the military, but was discharged because of PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder). I find it interesting that they can be discharged for something that their work created. I'm glad that we found Phil and could introduce him to other Marines that he can talk to. Thank you Phil.
The third Marine is a young man we met only last week. Kyle Mirehouse did tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. He too was injured by a road side bomb. Thankfully the bomb was turned away from his patrol group and the injuries were kept at a minimum. It did send him the Germany to recover. Then when it came time for him to be released from the hospital, he had a choice to go home or return to his unit, without hesitation, he went back to his unit and served out his time. He was discharged in March of this year. He too is a humble, soft spoken man, and I'm glad I got to meet him and help present a check from Tim Pawlenty and the Patriot Guard. Thank you Kyle.
Even though he's not a Marine, just kidding Patrick, SSgt Ziegler is on my list as well. Patrick had just returned from his second deployment to Iraq and was in line to get some paper work completed for OCS on the fateful day at Fort Hood on November 5, 2009. Shot 4 times, in the head, back and arm, Patrick has gone threw a tough year of surgeries, set backs and recovery. His then girlfriend, soon fiance, now wife, was by his side and was a wonderful advocate for him. When things seemed dire, she got him transferred to Mayo Clinic for a second opinion. He had some great improvement while here. Dave and I had the opportunity to get to know them well. His great sense of humor and desire to continue to serve his country despite paralysis in his left arm and other limitations, are wonderful. He is now back at Fort Hood still serving. Thank you Patrick.
Not all injuries are physical, or rewarded with a purple heart. There are so many stories of Wounded Warriors. I thank them all, these are only the few I know personally, and I am a better person for it. I don't look at them and wonder why did they survive and Curtis didn't, that was in Gods hands. I look at them and genuinely think, I'm so glad they are home and with their family and friends.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Work
For those who don't know, I am a dental hygienist. Getting back to work has been a long exhausting process for me. I see an average of nine different patients everyday, not all know that it was my son killed in April, or even know that a Marine from Rochester was killed for that matter. In October Dave, Emily and I went to a Gold Star Retreat, during our small group session, we were asked what was something we are still struggling with, among so many things this is what I shared.
I have the "Don't ask, don't tell" policy at work. If you don't ask the right question, we won't discuss the subject. But if you ask the right question, you will hear about it. So on any given hour I'll get, "How is your son doing?" or "How are the kids?" After my heart makes it's way back to my chest from my knees, I have the task of telling my patient that my son was killed in Afghanistan. The range of responses is staggering! Some only say "Oh" and that will be the end of conversation for a very long hour. Some are shocked and give a condolence, while some will break down in front of me. Now tell me, what do I do with that? I"m at work and need to be professional. I sometimes come across as cold and unemotional, depending on how well I know the patient. I don't want to take away from the wonderful patients who know and are willing to talk and let me talk their ear off, thank you to them. So, my days are sometimes very long.
Not long ago a tragic incident happened in downtown Rochester. A drunk driver hit two separate groups of pedestrians, killing one young man. Shortly after, I had a patient in that was telling me she and her husband had gone to the wake, and they waited in line for over 3 hours. She was seemingly so concerned for the family. So, being that it was in the context of the conversation, I told her that when we were preparing for our sons wake, the funeral director actually discouraged us from standing in line. Because of the age of our son and the sheer amount of people that we were anticipating, it would be better to mingle and people would find us. Her only response to this was "Those poor people!" Really? She did not hear one word I said! No wonder I can't get her to floss! I think she was looking for a pat on the back for a job well done, or at least that is how I took it. I really didn't feel anger over this, maybe pity is a better word. I feel bad for people who are so busy trying to be heard, that they don't stop to listen. You can learn so much by it.
I have heard many of my patients open up to me, telling me tragic stories of their lives that I never knew. A "don't ask, don't tell" policy of their own. We all have burdens to live with.
I have the "Don't ask, don't tell" policy at work. If you don't ask the right question, we won't discuss the subject. But if you ask the right question, you will hear about it. So on any given hour I'll get, "How is your son doing?" or "How are the kids?" After my heart makes it's way back to my chest from my knees, I have the task of telling my patient that my son was killed in Afghanistan. The range of responses is staggering! Some only say "Oh" and that will be the end of conversation for a very long hour. Some are shocked and give a condolence, while some will break down in front of me. Now tell me, what do I do with that? I"m at work and need to be professional. I sometimes come across as cold and unemotional, depending on how well I know the patient. I don't want to take away from the wonderful patients who know and are willing to talk and let me talk their ear off, thank you to them. So, my days are sometimes very long.
Not long ago a tragic incident happened in downtown Rochester. A drunk driver hit two separate groups of pedestrians, killing one young man. Shortly after, I had a patient in that was telling me she and her husband had gone to the wake, and they waited in line for over 3 hours. She was seemingly so concerned for the family. So, being that it was in the context of the conversation, I told her that when we were preparing for our sons wake, the funeral director actually discouraged us from standing in line. Because of the age of our son and the sheer amount of people that we were anticipating, it would be better to mingle and people would find us. Her only response to this was "Those poor people!" Really? She did not hear one word I said! No wonder I can't get her to floss! I think she was looking for a pat on the back for a job well done, or at least that is how I took it. I really didn't feel anger over this, maybe pity is a better word. I feel bad for people who are so busy trying to be heard, that they don't stop to listen. You can learn so much by it.
I have heard many of my patients open up to me, telling me tragic stories of their lives that I never knew. A "don't ask, don't tell" policy of their own. We all have burdens to live with.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Dreams
Last week we spent a nice evening with Bob and Cindy Dunham. Bob is a Vietnam vet who started the Tee it up for the Troops in Rochester. He runs a wonderful event, and we wanted to pick his brain for advice for a golf benefit we are starting for Curtis. It ended up being the cheapest happy hour in town!!
In our conversation, Cindy asked me if I had many dreams about Curtis. This took me back, because it is a subject that had been bothering me. I have not had one dream about him.
On December 11, 1983, my sister Dee Dee died after a year long battle with colon cancer, she had turned 22 only 6 days earlier. It was a long, hard year for our family. She was so sick and in pain by the time she passed, she was a shell of her former self. After her death, I would dream of her often. She was always healthy and vibrant and her beautiful self. At the time I took it as a sign that she was in a better place, and was happy and healthy again.
Why then don't I dream of Curtis? Is it that my 19 year old self could accept something that my 46 year old self cannot? Sometimes this feels like a dream! Maybe Dee Dee had suffered so much on earth that she was free to come to me and tell me she was fine, and Curtis has some business to finish, such as keeping his brothers safe, the 3/5 unit has suffered some tremendous losses while in Afghanistan. Either way, I wish he would stop by and bug me just one more time. I'm sure he will in his own time.
In our conversation, Cindy asked me if I had many dreams about Curtis. This took me back, because it is a subject that had been bothering me. I have not had one dream about him.
On December 11, 1983, my sister Dee Dee died after a year long battle with colon cancer, she had turned 22 only 6 days earlier. It was a long, hard year for our family. She was so sick and in pain by the time she passed, she was a shell of her former self. After her death, I would dream of her often. She was always healthy and vibrant and her beautiful self. At the time I took it as a sign that she was in a better place, and was happy and healthy again.
Why then don't I dream of Curtis? Is it that my 19 year old self could accept something that my 46 year old self cannot? Sometimes this feels like a dream! Maybe Dee Dee had suffered so much on earth that she was free to come to me and tell me she was fine, and Curtis has some business to finish, such as keeping his brothers safe, the 3/5 unit has suffered some tremendous losses while in Afghanistan. Either way, I wish he would stop by and bug me just one more time. I'm sure he will in his own time.
Friday, December 10, 2010
What's in a word?
I read recently that a person suffers a close loss every 7 years. That isn't very often to feel comfortable in dealing with death, and actually, I feel that number is too low. Many of the things that we are taught to say somehow fall short of comforting. Remember before I start, I firmly believe that it is better to say something than to ignore the elephant in the room, and I too have probably said these things because I didn't know what else to say.
The first is "Moving on". Dave and I agree that there is no moving on from this. We prefer Moving forward. We move forward one second, one hour, one day, one week at a time. Any parent knows that your children are a part of who you are. They are a part of your identity. We haven't just had to morn him, but any grandchildren he and Katie may have had. This may not be a healthy thought, but it is what I need to do to move forward.
The second is "Closure". I read an article on John Ritter's widow and I think she said it best. "It's more about opening. Opening my mind to accept and my heart to live and laugh and love again." Closure sounds so final, like we could lock our memories away and forget about it. I prefer to open my heart to new friends and old to help me though these trying times.
No matter what though, another thing Dave and I agree on, an "I'm so sorry" or "I don't know what to say" are always accepted, because when it comes down to it, sometimes there are no words, but it's honest.
The first is "Moving on". Dave and I agree that there is no moving on from this. We prefer Moving forward. We move forward one second, one hour, one day, one week at a time. Any parent knows that your children are a part of who you are. They are a part of your identity. We haven't just had to morn him, but any grandchildren he and Katie may have had. This may not be a healthy thought, but it is what I need to do to move forward.
The second is "Closure". I read an article on John Ritter's widow and I think she said it best. "It's more about opening. Opening my mind to accept and my heart to live and laugh and love again." Closure sounds so final, like we could lock our memories away and forget about it. I prefer to open my heart to new friends and old to help me though these trying times.
No matter what though, another thing Dave and I agree on, an "I'm so sorry" or "I don't know what to say" are always accepted, because when it comes down to it, sometimes there are no words, but it's honest.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Make a Joyful noise? Maybe Next Year
I used to love to sing. Now, songs get caught in my throat and tears come to my eyes. I have known this for some time, but now that the Christmas season is in full swing, the reality of this fact is even more pronounced.
Last night Dave and I went to an appreciation dinner at the Ironwood Springs Christian Ranch. We had a nice dinner and conversation with Jerry, Mike and Paul from the Stillwater area. After dinner the group was invited into the chapel for a short program. As we walked into the chapel, there was a group on stage singing Christmas songs. We found a place to sit, and even though I wasn't feeling particularly emotional about the songs, I just couldn't sing them out loud. As I sat, looking like a mute, my neighbor, who was singing loudly and happily off key, jabbed me jokingly in the ribs. I just smiled and continued to sing in my head.
This made me think of a "Wish List" that another parent had written and sent to me. "I wish you could see beyond my smile and see the pain in my heart." I know many of you do, and I thank you for that. I also want to thank Bob Bardwell, the owner of the ranch who is a great supporter of the military.
Last night Dave and I went to an appreciation dinner at the Ironwood Springs Christian Ranch. We had a nice dinner and conversation with Jerry, Mike and Paul from the Stillwater area. After dinner the group was invited into the chapel for a short program. As we walked into the chapel, there was a group on stage singing Christmas songs. We found a place to sit, and even though I wasn't feeling particularly emotional about the songs, I just couldn't sing them out loud. As I sat, looking like a mute, my neighbor, who was singing loudly and happily off key, jabbed me jokingly in the ribs. I just smiled and continued to sing in my head.
This made me think of a "Wish List" that another parent had written and sent to me. "I wish you could see beyond my smile and see the pain in my heart." I know many of you do, and I thank you for that. I also want to thank Bob Bardwell, the owner of the ranch who is a great supporter of the military.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Marine Corps Ball
In early November we went to the Marine Corps Ball in Ames. This is the same Ball we spent our last weekend with Curtis last year. On the drive down I felt calm and at peace, it was going to be a good weekend. We actually didn't think we were going to go to this particualar event. We had been invited to the one in Minneapolis by our case officer as well. Unfortunatley, they were both on the same night. Do we go to the one in which we knew many of the Marines that were involved in Curtis' funeral, and which we have become close to? Or go where our nephew is in his last year of school for OCS? The debate was ended when Emily pointed out, "Travis (our case officer) is LIKE family, but Mike (our nephew) IS family", and we don't know where he will be next year. Either way, we wanted to be together as a family.
Getting ready for the Ball was a comedy of errors. After meeting at Mike's house, we headed to the hotel to get ready. Right off the bat, Craig had forgotten to put his suit in the car, so back to the house he went to retrieve it. Mark and his date came in and even before introductions were made, she was looking for a safety pin to fix a strap. Katie had brought a dress that she had previously worn, and although she had made sure it fit, as soon as Emily zipped up the zipper, it split in two! We tried for at least a half an hour to pull it up or down to no avail. She was neither in nor out of the dress. Our only option was to break the zipper totally, but then she had no dress! After another trip to the house to check out Molly's stash of dresses, Katie came out with a beautiful red dress that she looked stunning in. I blame the zipper on Curtis, he didn't want to see his girl in black that night.
Finally we were ready to present ourselves! Marine Corps Balls always start with the presentation of the colors and a ceremony. There is always a lone table to represent the soldier who could not be there. Everything on the table is a symbol. We knew it was coming, but it always hits hard. As the tissues went flying around the table, and Becca started pulling booze out of her "man purse", the entire ball room of about 250 people all turned toward us to watch the big sceen placed behind our table for the Birthday messages! I guess that ball room got a true representation of what is is like to be part of the military.
The meal and dance that followed were nice, we really enjoyed our evening. We sang the same karokee song as last year, "Sister Christian", and our same last dance to "Macho Man". It didn't have the same joy as last year, but it made me believe that things will be OK. We will move forward and have good times, but we will never forget.
Getting ready for the Ball was a comedy of errors. After meeting at Mike's house, we headed to the hotel to get ready. Right off the bat, Craig had forgotten to put his suit in the car, so back to the house he went to retrieve it. Mark and his date came in and even before introductions were made, she was looking for a safety pin to fix a strap. Katie had brought a dress that she had previously worn, and although she had made sure it fit, as soon as Emily zipped up the zipper, it split in two! We tried for at least a half an hour to pull it up or down to no avail. She was neither in nor out of the dress. Our only option was to break the zipper totally, but then she had no dress! After another trip to the house to check out Molly's stash of dresses, Katie came out with a beautiful red dress that she looked stunning in. I blame the zipper on Curtis, he didn't want to see his girl in black that night.
Finally we were ready to present ourselves! Marine Corps Balls always start with the presentation of the colors and a ceremony. There is always a lone table to represent the soldier who could not be there. Everything on the table is a symbol. We knew it was coming, but it always hits hard. As the tissues went flying around the table, and Becca started pulling booze out of her "man purse", the entire ball room of about 250 people all turned toward us to watch the big sceen placed behind our table for the Birthday messages! I guess that ball room got a true representation of what is is like to be part of the military.
The meal and dance that followed were nice, we really enjoyed our evening. We sang the same karokee song as last year, "Sister Christian", and our same last dance to "Macho Man". It didn't have the same joy as last year, but it made me believe that things will be OK. We will move forward and have good times, but we will never forget.
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