Who knew you could travel to the lower peninsula of Michigan and travel the world? As we rode, I could see the high mountain valleys with the old barns of the Colorado Rocky Mountains, the marina's reminded me of San Diego, some of the rolling hills and winding roads felt like Missouri, and, if it was only 50 degrees warmer, the panoramic view we got as we approached Lake Huron could have been the Caribbean Sea near Cancun. It amazes me how the mind can take you back in time in a second.
Our mission was to ride much of the northern shore, eat some good local food, and visit winery's. We had ridden the weekend before, visiting families of the fallen with the Tribute to the Troops. Add the 10th anniversary of 9/11, and it was an emotional time and we wanted to get away to regroup.
We stopped at a winery to have a taste, and started a conversation with the woman behind the counter easily because she too was a bike rider. We told her of a couple we knew that had hit a deer on their bike one morning the past weekend. The bike was badly damaged, somehow he was able to keep the bike upright and fortunately neither of them was injured. The woman's response was "Thank God, it's your worst nightmare!" It stopped both Dave and I in our tracks. It took me back in time, the moment I saw the two Marines approaching my house. I didn't know where it took Dave, but I knew he was somewhere else too.
After a few seconds, in unison, we said under our breath, "It's not OUR worst nightmare." We both know it is just a statement made in a conversation, and it was not meant literally, but we have such a different reaction than we would have only 18 months ago. I don't want people to think they have to be overly careful of what they say around me, I just view things so differently. It is my job to try and deal with these everyday statements, not make people feel uncomfortable talking about Curtis, or anything around me. It can be a daily battle. Someone said to me lately, 'It's not that you have to come to terms that Curtis is dead, (I've done that) you have to come to terms that you will have to deal with this the rest of your life.'
Our trip was wonderful, relaxing and refreshing. I am looking forward to the next time we can travel the world.
Friday, September 23, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
I've Met An Angel
A few weeks ago I was going through a particularly low period. One morning late in the week I woke up crying, I cried through yoga, I cried in the shower, I cried on the way to work, I cried between patients... and so went my day. Small talk was beyond me, it's difficult to be interested in someones vacation in that kind of mood.
As I neared the end of the work day I was running out of steam, and was to the point of counting minutes. I went to bring the next patient back, one I had never met. She was a regal elderly woman with short cropped white hair, but her main feature that struck me was her crystal blue eyes, the kind you could see right through, almost like a husky's. I remember thinking she reminded me of an angel. While waiting for the doctor at the end of the appointment, she asked about the marine's picture on the wall. I told her of my son, and she told me of hers. Her son had passed away 8 years ago of prostate cancer, again I cried. We only had a few minutes to chat, but she said so much. It didn't change my mood totally, but it helped.
The following week, I recieved a letter from my angel. I have always thought of my grief as a wave and what she sent describes it the way I couldn't. "Real grief is not easily comforted. It comes like ocean waves rushing up the sand, subsiding back, only to roll in again. These waves vary in size, frequency, and intensity. Some are small, lapping up around the feet. Others are stonger, they foam the water around you and cause you to stagger. Then there are the overwhelming waves with an undertow that can turn your world upside down and drag you out into deep water." She found this in "From Grief to Glory" by James W Bruce III. It described me perfectly at the time, and I did find comfort in it.
I want to thank my angel, you rescued me from going out to sea.
As I neared the end of the work day I was running out of steam, and was to the point of counting minutes. I went to bring the next patient back, one I had never met. She was a regal elderly woman with short cropped white hair, but her main feature that struck me was her crystal blue eyes, the kind you could see right through, almost like a husky's. I remember thinking she reminded me of an angel. While waiting for the doctor at the end of the appointment, she asked about the marine's picture on the wall. I told her of my son, and she told me of hers. Her son had passed away 8 years ago of prostate cancer, again I cried. We only had a few minutes to chat, but she said so much. It didn't change my mood totally, but it helped.
The following week, I recieved a letter from my angel. I have always thought of my grief as a wave and what she sent describes it the way I couldn't. "Real grief is not easily comforted. It comes like ocean waves rushing up the sand, subsiding back, only to roll in again. These waves vary in size, frequency, and intensity. Some are small, lapping up around the feet. Others are stonger, they foam the water around you and cause you to stagger. Then there are the overwhelming waves with an undertow that can turn your world upside down and drag you out into deep water." She found this in "From Grief to Glory" by James W Bruce III. It described me perfectly at the time, and I did find comfort in it.
I want to thank my angel, you rescued me from going out to sea.
Friday, September 2, 2011
Welcome Home
Last weekend Dave and I attended the first Tune it up for the Troops event in Mankato. For a first time event, they had a great turnout. While chatting with a couple other ladies, a woman approached us and joined our conversation. She then told us her father was coming home after 67 years.
She was only 3 months old during WWII when her father's airplane went down with 9 other men. One man managed to jump and survive, the remaining men were listed as MIA the following year. The wreckage had never been recovered in the dense and hostile area, until recently. On September 18th, she will travel to Arlington to lay the men to rest, one casket for all 9 men. The tradition is to lay out the uniform of the highest ranking man, usually the pilot, and circle it with the head wear of the others. The story gave me goosebumps.
The thought of not knowing where your loved one was, or not having them return to you has always haunted me. Knowing the pain of my loss, I cannot imagine what other emotions could come along with that added complication. The strength and faith I see is inspiring.
This woman's mother remarried and she was raised by a wonderful man, but she never forgot a father she never met. The joy and pride of her father's return was written on her face. I wish her well, and I will think of a hero named Christopherson, as well as the others on the 18th. Welcome home.
She was only 3 months old during WWII when her father's airplane went down with 9 other men. One man managed to jump and survive, the remaining men were listed as MIA the following year. The wreckage had never been recovered in the dense and hostile area, until recently. On September 18th, she will travel to Arlington to lay the men to rest, one casket for all 9 men. The tradition is to lay out the uniform of the highest ranking man, usually the pilot, and circle it with the head wear of the others. The story gave me goosebumps.
The thought of not knowing where your loved one was, or not having them return to you has always haunted me. Knowing the pain of my loss, I cannot imagine what other emotions could come along with that added complication. The strength and faith I see is inspiring.
This woman's mother remarried and she was raised by a wonderful man, but she never forgot a father she never met. The joy and pride of her father's return was written on her face. I wish her well, and I will think of a hero named Christopherson, as well as the others on the 18th. Welcome home.
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