Christmas Card

I was actually going to do it this year.  I have not sent a Christmas card out for two years and today I decided this would be the year to get back to a tradition I liked. 

For many years I would make Dave and the kids have a photo op in our living room.   At the time cameras were not digital, and  I would make them sit through a whole roll of film, or at least until I was satisfied we got one good picture.  This was never an easy time in our house.  Dave would grumble that I would make him change into something decent, one year I even gave into his Zuba's for the picture!  Curtis hated having his picture taken at any time, so true to his unpleasant nature when he was made to do something he thought was stupid, we fought.  Emily was totally into it, with her poses and smiles throughout the chaos, she should have been a model.

Our last photo for the card was a professional picture taken the last time Curtis was home.  Other than Proex, this was the first time we had ever gone to a photo studio for a family picture.  I love the picture and treasure it, but the memories of the other photo shoots are priceless. 

So I sat down this morning to make a card online.  It didn't go well.  I hated every message, they were way too happy and perky for my mood.  The pictures I uploaded were not cropping well.  And, the one I wanted most for the card, the one that inspired it in the first place, would have been fuzzy.  Needless to say, I do not have a card to send, nor do I have the interest to try again.

It's one more thing I have discovered you can't rush.  I found humor in my inept ability to make a simple card because the memories that floated back were humorous.  Maybe next year will go better.  Until then, I hope everyone I would have sent a card will believe it's the thought that counts.

Happy For You

Recently my niece finished the School of Music and got her orders.  After a long difficult road to complete the course, she is on her way.  I wrote on her facebook page that I was happy for her.  It is what she wanted and was so anxious to get started on the career path that she had been working on for so long.  But it made me start thinking, dangerous, I know. 

As I was raising my children, many times I would think that I just wanted them to be happy with the path their lives took, this applies to others as well.  Their happiness would make me happy.  For the most part this is true.  I am happy Emily and Nic are in love and doing so well.  I am happy for Beckie that her military career is finally on the move.  I am happy for Katie that she found a career that she can share her beautiful heart.  This is where I started thinking, shouldn't I apply this same theory to Curtis? 

It is easy to be happy for someone when their happiness is also something that is good for you.  Even if it sometimes starts with a pang of unhappiness, such as a move far away, meaning a small loss for you.  You can still find it in your heart to feel joyful for them.  But when their happiness means such a tremendous loss for you, it is not as easy. 

Curtis is where there is no pain or sorrow.  He is forever young.  He has eternal life.  Shouldn't I be glad for this ultimate happiness?  As I was thinking this thought, the tears flowing, a smile came across my face, which in turn brought on more tears.  I guess it was a "laughing through tears" moment.  I am happy for Curtis, just really sad for me.  The work of grief is getting to the moment when I can say "I am happy for you" and truly feel happy at the same time.  Apparently I have some work to do.

All Gave Some, Some Gave All

Veterans Day has come and gone again.  Just another date of reminder.  It was three years ago that we spent our last day with Curtis and said our goodbye's before he left for his deployment to Afghanistan.  This year we were invited to many of the events around town, and what a big weekend it was.

Starting with Wednesday night.  The DAV had organized a deer hunt for several veterans and we were invited to attend the meet and greet.  It is a great time to meet old friends and new people.  The Blue Star Mothers were also a part of this event and I was able to put faces to some of the signatures on the cards I receive so often from them.

Thursday was a dinner at the Legion.  I was unable to attend, but Dave did the representation for us. 

Saturday was the big day, not because of Veterans Day, but it was the 237th Birthday of the Marine Corps.  If you don't know any Marines, this is a big deal!  We started the day with breakfast with some Marines that are very special to us.  Al, Dave's nephew.  Jamison, who was a poole with Curtis, and Iraq vet.  Zach, the vehicle commander at the time of the incident.  And Phil, a five time Iraq Vet.  We were heading to a veterans pheasant hunt for the morning.  I haven't done much hunting, but know how to handle a gun.  After some clay shooting, we were split in different groups to hunt.  I couldn't hit the side of a barn, but a few feathers were ruffled and I had a great time.  Later that evening, we headed to the VFW for the Birthday bash.

Sunday was the 11th day of the 11th month, Veterans Day.  I was honored to be asked to speak at the members dinner at the VFW.  I haven't done any public speaking since high school forensics, so I was a bit nervous.  I pulled myself together after dinner and actually found it pleasant to be telling my family history of service and what I felt about the 70 or so combat veterans and guests in front of me.

Monday, the day that the holiday was observed.  We went to the Veterans program at the Event Center in town.  One of the speakers, a Vietnam vet and triple amputee, was inspiring.  The other, a local veteran supporter, was emotionally driven.  What a great breakfast and ceremony.

I am exhausted just writing it all.  A weekend that was filled with emotional highs and lows, as it should be.  May we never forget the sacrifices that all our Veterans have paid. 

All gave some, some gave all.

Found

I feel like someone has come back from the dead.  I have spoken of the child I gave up for adoption, he has found me.  I am thrilled, this is something I have wanted for so long.  Now that it has happened, I am filled with emotions I didn't expect.

When I gave him a new life, I had to go through a period of what I would describe as mourning.  I had to come to terms with my loss even though I knew I was doing the right thing.  Like a death, I would never forget, but I had to move forward and make a life of my own without him in it.  It is strange that in my mind all these years he would find me in his late twenties, I shouldn't be surprised.

I am suddenly thrown back to a painful time of the loss of my sister, an unexpected pregnancy and abandonment.  This, added to my recent loss has placed me back into the bipolar ups and downs of recent years. 

I am excited to talk with him and learn of his childhood.  I treasure getting to know him as the adult he has become.  It places me on a high to hear from him almost daily since we have connected.  But then I think of what I am missing with Curtis and I can spiral down to that low place again.  It is a unique situation that no books are written to help me through.

Dave and Emily are so supportive.  Like Katie and Nic, they are ready to accept him with open arms, unconditionally.  I guess that's just how our family operates.  I hope he is ready for us. 

Thankfully these tumultuous emotions will end with a good thing.  Hopefully we can have a  life long friendship.  Thank you Jon for finding me, I have loved you all your life.

Honor Flight

Saturday was a big day for some Veterans out of the Twin Cities.  One hundred men and woman from WWII traveled to Washington DC for one day to visit their memorial.  This memorial was only dedicated in 2004, and with 1000 WWII veterans dying each day, it was urgent that the remaining veterans get the opportunity to experience the gratitude of the nation.  The honor was all mine, as I got the pleasure of travel with them.

The morning starts at five greeting our men and women at the airport and then we are off and running, not an easy feat with most in their late 80's and 90's.  The organization is incredible.  One hundred vets, 60 guardians and 70 wheelchairs is not an easy task to transport anywhere, but we managed to visit seven monuments or memorials, with a bus tour of DC as well. 

The gentlemen in my care were two Navy veterans who have been friends for over seventy years.  John joined the Navy right after school at 17, while Jack waited to be drafted.  They then went on to raise families always remaining friends.  Neither saw combat and I was told they felt guilty about that for a long time, but they came to the realization that they went where they were told to do their duty.  They still did their part.  They were funny and quick to get the jabs in with each other, I was fair game as well.  I sometimes wondered who was watching out for whom?  We made a great team.

It was my first trip to Washington DC.  Asked what I liked the best about it I struggled to answer, the memorials are so different from each other.  The iconic Iwo Jima holds a special place in my heart, the Air Force spears are beautiful, the Korean and Vietnam walls are haunting and sobering and the WWII memorial was grand and experiencing it with some of our finest was so special.   So my answer was that, I couldn't imagine a greater first time trip to DC than to travel with some of our greatest generation and experience it through their eyes.

POW/MIA

The third Friday of September is set aside as POW/MIA recognition day.  The Rochester chapter of the POW/MIA riders held a ceremony at the Soldiers Field Veterans Memorial to remember our heroes that never came home.  Competing with football games is tough, but a crowd of about 50 gathered on a chilly evening at seven as the sun was setting, it seemed fitting for the topic at hand.

It was a nice ceremony filled with emotion.  Colors posted, pledge of allegiance, prayer, explaination of the POW/MIA table for one and a speaker who spoke of never forgetting the over 83,000 men and women from the wars in the last century that are still considered as POW/MIA.  That is almost the size of a Rochester!  "We will never forget, we must never forget."

It made me think of how thankful I am that I was not one of the families that never knew what happened to their loved ones.  Curtis came home.  As difficult as it is to have lost him, I know what his fate was.  I know he did not suffer.  How horrible to never know where your child may have suffered and died, if in fact they came to that fate, are they still living?  Not having the opportunity to bury them would be more heart wrenching. 

Although the date has passed, I hope that everyone notes this date for next year.  It's OK to go to the football game, it is those freedoms that these men and women fought for.   Just take the time to say a prayer for them and their families.  Pray for their return, pray for the family to have some peace and closure.

We must never forget, we will never forget.

Angel Flight

An Angel Flight is the dignified transfer of our fallen men and woman from overseas to their final destination, home.  As the body is transfered work is halted and a silence is cast over the area.  Military personnel stand at attention from privates to Generals.   Engines of helicopters and airplanes are shut down and all other flights are delayed.  No one speaks, only salutes are given to the fallen heroes. 

Shortly after Curtis was killed we were sent a copy of an e-mail written by an officer who had witnessed this for the first time.  He told of how powerful this experience was.  He later was told that one of the fallen that day was a fellow Marine from his home state, Minnesota.  His father sent us the e-mail because his son was part of Curtis' journey home. 

Last week while on the TTTT ride one of our stops was the Tee it up for the Troops event in Mendakota.  It is the original tournament that has gone nationwide.  A man approached us stating he had been thinking of us and our son for two and half years.  It was the father of the Marine who wrote the letter.  After tears and hugs, we talked about our sons.

It continually amazes me how many are touched by Curtis.  He was an ordinary kid never wanting to be in the spotlight, he would have hated the attention paid.  I am thankful that so many think of him, the fact that he will not be forgotten helps us to continue on. 

Two Pins

Dave and I have just returned from the weekend we have looked forward to all year.  Tribute to the Troops riders visited seven Gold Star families across Minnesota.  Although this weekend is full of emotion, not all of it is bad.  The support and love we give and receive goes a long way in our healing. 

It was only two years ago this great group came into our lives, standing on our front lawn, proclaiming, "We will never forget Curtis."  They keep that promise to us and to all the families they have touched.  This year, we visited a family on the same block we live on.  How strange that two visits not only in one city, but on the very same street.  As I was packing for the trip, I wanted to place our Honor and Remember flag on our front window so that the riders who found the neighborhood familiar could pick out our home. 

Backing up a few weeks, I need to explain that I had finally decided to go through some of Curtis' things.  For some reason the time felt right and I found it actually very pleasant.  Many of the things were organized before he moved out of the house, and the remaining items were things he could have used when he was ready.  It brought back memories of the pack rat collector he was, who needs a gallon size bag of rubber bands?  

So I was looking for the flag, and in the drawer I found two pins I had not given any thought to when I found them among the scads of trinkets in Curtis' stash.  Two eagle pins.  One larger and more masculine looking, and the other half the size and dainty.  It's as if they were meant for Dave and I to wear on this years ride, he would be with us. 

Unfortunately mine broke as I tried to place it on the heavy leather.  Of course I was initially disappointed, but whenever I saw Dave's pin  throughout the weekend I thought of mine in my pocket.  There is no need to stay upset over such trivial things.  Curtis was with us.

The Last Button

Over the past weekend there was a golf tournament in Curtis' honor.  Caleb, a Marine that had served with Curtis in Iraq, is now a golf pro in a community about a hour north of Lake Tahoe.  All proceeds of this event went to the Armed Forces Foundation, an organization in which ninety five percent of their money goes to help troops, veterans and their families.  We were invited to this first time event and with the help of Caleb and this foundation, we were able to attend with Emily, Nic and Katie.

The beautiful scenery, friendly hospitality and interesting architecture made this weekend special.   Anytime our family can spend time together makes me happy.  Doing it in such a peaceful setting and on our anniversary weekend only added to the experience.  This time together is only second to the gratitude I feel when Curtis is thought of and honored by so many. 

Dave and I usually carry Curtis' buttons to such events, and I had stuffed as many as I could in a small makeup case for the trip.  While packing to head home, I noticed I had one lone button left.  I was a bit disappointed in myself that I had not given them all away, but apparently it was saved for a reason.  Entering the airport, we found a flag line of about 25 patriot guard welcoming home 8 airmen.  Chatting with one of the men, he asked if we had time to walk the line, we jumped at the opportunity to thank them.  I pulled out that last button for the captain of the group.  It turned out to be a mother whose son will deploy to Afghanistan in the next few months.  I'd like to think she needed this so Curtis could watch over him. 

What a beautiful country we live in, so many big hearts.

A Hero's Welcome?

Like many others, I am a fan of the Olympics.  I enjoy watching sports that  usually don't get much press, and for two weeks my TV is tuned into the station with something Olympic.  This morning as I watched I heard something that made me take note.  All next week this network is going to have "A hero's welcome home".

Although I am in awe at the athleticism in this group, can we consider them hero's?  Sure, they are dedicated and work hard for a small time in the spotlight.  Many are professionals, getting paid to play a sport.  Many are blessed with an athletic ability some of us could never possess.  They are competitive, but what have they done to be given hero status?
 
Have they placed there lives on the line for the sake of peace?  Have they been away from family and friends under great mental and emotional stress so others can sleep well at night?   Have they faced great danger so some can pursue a life of sport? 

While this station has dedicated two weeks to this sporting event many of our soldiers and Marines have been killed with barely a passing notice.  Maybe it is too sad of news to report while they are having a great time in London.  Of course it is, but our brave are fighting so those reporters and athletes can have that wonderful vacation.  They don't do it for glory, they do it for love of country, family and friends.  They do it for the guy next to them. 

It's time to stop using the word Hero so loosely, stop de-valuing the meaning.  How about just a "welcome home", that is what it is.

Hero's Ride

I recently was part of a committee that formed the first Hero's Ride.  Our goal was to raise money for the Disabled American Veterans.  It was a pleasure to work with such dedicated people, many DAV members themselves.

Much of our group are Vietnam Veterans who consider 'work' a four letter word.  They may be retired, but they work harder on committee after committee raising money for our Veterans than anyone I know.  We had POW/MIA Riders and Patriot Guard members to round out the group, also dedicated people with a passion to help.  I have learned so much from them all and they have become my mentors as well as friends.  Although none of them knew Curtis personally, when I speak of him I sometimes see a tear come to the eyes of these sometimes rough around the edges men.  Curtis was their brother.

We had a beautiful day for the ride.  Not having a pre-registration, we were not sure how many bikes to expect, but one hundred bikes with 130 riders showed up to ride for our Hero's.  The ride to Wabasha, up the Mississippi river on the way to Mazeppa, and back was beautiful.  A band and comedian at the VFW ended a great day.

As I rode I thought of the men and woman who made this day possible.  Not of the committee, but of the brave that signed on to do a job that few could do.  Risking their health and lives so I could spend a day of my choosing.  They deserve all the support we can give.

Broken Heart

Yesterday a patient told me she had not been in lately because in the last year both her parents had passed away.  I asked if they had been ill or if it was unexpected.  Her elderly father had been sick, but she told me her mother's passing was sudden from a broken heart. 

After so many times of having people not knowing what to say to me, it was my time to be silent.  Not because I didn't know what to say, but because I was holding my tongue.  What I really wanted to say was, "If it were true that a broken heart could kill you, I would have died two years ago."  Instead, I worked in silence with my own thoughts.  I did not want to come across as uncaring about her circumstance, and certainly didn't want to sound as if I was trying to one up her with my story. 

I can understand how it could happen.  Grief is very physically and emotionally painful.  There were times when I thought I was having a heart attack my heart hurt so bad.  Add age and loneliness to the equation and you have a true love story, one partner unable to live without the other. 

I may not have physically died when Curtis was killed, but a part of me did.  I don't feel like the same person, in many ways I am not.  The small things that used to bother me seem to be gone.  I have learned to say no without guilt, I can't be everything for everyone.  I now know how important it is to take care of me first.  I am no good to anyone if I am not healthy myself, physically and emotionally.  Although I can see the old me at times, I feel it is a flatter, blanker version of what I was. 

Of course the biggest change is the sense of purpose this has given me, something I think I never really had before.  I went about my life raising a family trying to be a good person, but not having a cause I was passionate about.   Being an advocate for military and veterans has given me a sense of pride.  It has been my way of mending my broken heart.

Laughter Through Tears

"Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion!"  I'm not sure what made me think of this quote from 'Steele Magnolia's the other day, but it is a line that has always struck me.  To me it is a wonderful ability to think of something positive or joyful at the darkest moments of life.  That moment of laughter at a time of your lowest has the ability to change your path.  It doesn't take the pain away, but the shot of endorphins it gives helps to turn a downward spiral around. 

We were out on the bike over the weekend when I thought of this quote.  June was a great month.  The golf event, wedding and last weekends Patriot Ride has placed me in on an unusual high that has lasted.  Why this quote would pass my mind at this point is beyond me, but it brought up a moment when I have had this emotion. 

While at the airport getting ready to head to Dover for the dignified transfer, like so many times during a dark week, I was having a moment.  Suddenly I looked up as Newman walked by.  I could do nothing but laugh.  'Seinfeld' was one of Curtis' favorite shows, I was even in the process of getting him the complete series of episodes.  I leaned over to Dave and whispered "Newman" and had a fit of giggles. 

Maybe it is our way of protecting ourselves from such deep pain.  The moment that you can lighten up that dark spot does feel good, and the relief is needed.   Maybe it is because I have always thought of myself as a glass half full person that I can conger up things to help me get through.  Either way, it is my favorite emotion.

Busy Weeks

The last few weeks have been a whirlwind of events.  I have found it difficult to sit down to write because I feel my brain has been fried.  So many things to take care of, so many details to keep track of, it's a wonder I made it all come together.  Well, I guess I had a bit of help, but it was alot to keep straight. 

Our second golf benefit was on June 2nd.  I had been fretting that we wouldn't have enough for the auction, but it was for nothing.  After the Memorial Day weekend donations started to roll in at a fevered pace.  I spent the week collecting and organizing, labeling and documenting.  The speaker, Harry Kerr, was emotional and motivational.  My niece was able to attend to carry the Marine Corps flag in with the VFW color guard.  Gold Star parents again laid the wreath.  After a beautiful rendition of The National Anthem, God Bless America, and taps we were off and golfing.  We were  able to introduce the two 2012 scholarship recipients at dinner.  With the weather being about perfect, a full golf course and many more for dining, the benefit was great fun and another huge success.

Although he never liked to be the center of attention, I think Curtis would be proud.

After a day of rest, we were at it again for another event, Emily and Nic's wedding the following Saturday!  They have been in Little Rock, so I was an integral part of the planning.  At times I felt it was my own wedding I was planning.  Thankfully Emily is not a bridezilla and trusted my choices.  Again a week of running around collecting last minute things, baking truffles, making cake toppers and putting out fires.  Bachelorette party on Thursday, grooms dinner on Friday and the big event on Saturday, I'm exhausted remembering it all!  They too had a beautiful day.  The ceremony was fitting for a vow renewal, the date was actually their first anniversary.  The venue was beautifully decorated and we danced the night away.

One thing was not far from anyone's mind.  I struggled with who would walk me down the aisle, it should have been Curtis, but my brothers were thrilled I asked them to do the honor.  The flowers on the alter were in his honor, and the unity candle played double duty by burning all night next to a portrait we placed of him at the reception.  Curtis was there. 

Like many things, these moments are bitter sweet.  We had a wonderful time at both events, but a huge piece was missing.  It is something I know in my mind, but it is not always tangible.  I guess the moment at the wedding that it was painfully obvious is when the video of pictures that the grooms mother had put together was being played.  There were so many pictures of us as a family.  I watched the kids grow up in a 15 minute time span, and then Curtis was gone.  Although I now have a son in Nic and daughters in Katie and Emily, that is something I may never get past. 

Thank you to all that supported the benefit, and congratulations to the wonderful couple.

Burdens and Blessings

Hundreds of small crosses line the walkway leading to the Chapel at Ft Snelling. They announce the price of freedom from a five state area.  They were placed there on Saturday and will remain until five tonight, Memorial Day.  It is always sobering when I see a wall of names or rows of headstones or crosses.

Dave and I were there at this beautiful Chapel for the first time on Sunday for the special service for the Gold Star families.  Rev Beale has a powerful way of speaking.  I'm not used to being in a service in which the audience response is audible, but his manner called for it. 

His message simply put, 'With burdens come many blessings.'   Our day is filled with many burdens, some small and some large, but with that we need to see the blessings of the day too.  That can sometimes be the difficult part.  Because of this, we need to live day to day, not worrying about what may come tomorrow. 

I can think of no family that knows and lives this concept more than a Gold Star family.  Our burden was to sacrifice our children for the greater good, our freedoms.  The right of religion, freedom of speech, the pursuit of happiness will endure because of our brave men and woman who knew the risks and signed on to protect and defend them.  Because I view this as a public death, I find great responsibility in it too.  I sometimes feel I represent many.  Veterans, Military, Gold Star and most importantly, Curtis who can no longer speak for himself. 

With this burden came many blessings in the people we have met and are fortunate to call friends.  I've experienced things that would have never come my way without this loss.  Unexpected blessings happen when you are forced to live day to day.  Without all my days planned to the minute, I can accept them. 

Today is a day to remember the burdens of our freedom.  Take time, if only a moment, to reflect on the price.  Don't feel guilty you are enjoying a barbecue with friends and family.  I will be doing the same, that is the blessing of freedom.

The Gift

Last week was full of emotional lows.  A tough funeral followed by Curtis' birthday made getting through each day one by one a must.  By Saturday I was emotionally drained yet I had one more bitter sweet day to go, Mothers Day.  In my quest to get through the week, I knew this day was looming but hadn't given it much thought until I started recieving cards and flowers.

Saturday Dave and I met up with a friend to go for a ride.  It was a beautiful day, perfect for a few hours on the bike.  After getting on our way, my habit is to say a little prayer for safety and to ask Curtis to watch over us.  As I finished my request I looked high in the sky to my right, there a cloud showed a face as clear as a photo.  I stared at it for at least a minute with awe, it truly looked like Curtis.  I wished for a camera.  Sometimes I carry one on me, but that day I didn't even have my phone on me.  I decided that this was a picture that was not meant to be saved, but savored.  As the face spread out, the lips and nose widening, my eyes filled with tears out of happiness for this gift.  After such a difficult week this brought me a bit of joy.

I have only recently been able to see these gifts.  Maybe I wasn't ready before this.  I talked only last week to a widow of 5 years about signs.  She told me that she didn't want to see them, her husband was the love of her life and she feels they would be too painful.  I think he knows her request and doesn't send them.  I've yearned for them, and I think Curtis knew when the time was right. 

It was a good Mothers day.  The beautiful flowers from Emily and Nic, the great card from Katie and the portrait from Curtis made my day. 

May 11, 1989

Every parent remembers the day their child was born, especially Mothers.  Curtis in his true fashion did his best to make it very memorable.
 
May 11, 1989.   A beautiful warm spring day.

I woke early in the morning to light labor pains.  I spent the day feeling them, but they weren't too uncomfortable.  I even contemplated accepting a friends request to join her for lunch, but thought better of it, just in case.  Dave got home from work around four, and a friend of his stopped in.  As my pains had gotten stronger, I went to the bedroom to wait out their conversation, willing the friend to GO HOME!  Shortly after he left around five, I told Dave we should really go to the hospital.  The pains had become stronger and closer together, and I was feeling alot of back pressure.  As I walked through the living room, my water broke.  Getting to the bathroom, asking Dave to get me a fresh set of clothing so we could get going, my body took over.  Curtis had other plans than to have an ordinary birth at the hospital.  Within minutes at 5:04, he was there in our arms, all 10 pounds 11 ounces of him. 

Our Pastor told the story of a rushed birth as part of the eulogy.  He noted that Dave and I were the only ones present to welcome him into the world.  No doctors or nurses, no waiting family members, just his parents.  After we assured he was healthy and breathing, we realized how special, although scary, that moment was.

As much as a child changes your life when they enter it, I have found the change is even greater when you lose one, for different reasons.  No nine months to prepare, no bundle of joy, but with the same sleepless nights and worry.  Instead of milestones, you only have memories.  With a baby at home you have something to live for, now you must find a way to live on.  The birthday boy will be forever 20.

Curtis left this world just five weeks shy of his 21st birthday in the same grandiose fashion as his birth, always remembered.  Happy Birthday Curtis, you will always be loved for the many surprises you brought me.

Homecomings

In the past week there has been homecomings for many Rochester area families.  The Red Bulls, Minnesota's National Guard, who have been deployed for over a year have been making their way home in waves. 

I am happy that they are back.  Children are reunited with their parents, spouses back together again, and parents with their son or daughter.  I'm sure there are many homecoming parties to celebrate.  Sadly, in the midst of this joy, there is a homecoming that I relate to most. 

Sgt Nicholas Dickhut will be coming home to his family.  Not with open arms for a hug, but with the American flag draped over him with dignity.  Last Sunday, April 30th, Sgt Dickhut lost his life in a small arms battle in Afghanistan. 

This homecoming has made me relive many of the events and emotions my family went through two years ago.  The difficult trip to Dover to witness the dignified transfer, and to make decisions no parent should have to make in order to bury their son.  The streams of family and friends coming to our home over the week to visit or help out, yet I barely recall them in my daze.  The feelings of dispare I know they are now going through, I am reliving myself.  Although the feelings are not as heart wrenching and deep as they were two years ago, they are still very painful, knowing another family must go through this.

I will go to the services for Sgt Dickhut.  It meant so much to me that many Gold Star Families were at Curtis' services.  The support I received from them is priceless, and I want to be there for his family as well.  Just as I wish things had been different for us, my wish to never having to do this for another family was not meant to be. 

Rest in Peace Nicholas, you will not be forgotten.

Hopes and Dreams

There are many things that make this journey difficult.   One thing I get hung up on over and over, is the idea that suddenly all the hopes and dreams that I had for Curtis were stripped from me.

Somewhere I read, 'When our children are alive we have many new things to talk about each day.  Suddenly that stops, and you are left with only the memories, there is nothing new.'   The same goes for the hopes and dreams.  I can no longer think of the grandchildren that would give him as many grey hairs as he gave me.  I know he would have made a great husband and father, but I will never get to witness it.  I cannot watch as he discovers his mission in life, would he go to school or stay in the military?  Those I will never know. 

The lost dreams are not limited to Curtis.  It interrupted Emily and Katie's future plans as well.  All of our paths had to endure this major hiccup that diverted us to something else.  It pains me that they had to go through this heartache at such a young age. 

Of course not all aspects of our new life are bad.  New missions, new relationships and new hopes and dreams have emerged.  I hope Katie will remarry, she deserves to be happy and that is what Curtis would want for her.  I dream of the many grandchildren Emily may have.  And the work Dave and I have been doing to help others, has helped us. 

By moving forward, we live for Curtis.

Military Ball

Over the weekend, Dave and I attended a Military Ball in Spring Grove.  Eight years ago two local ladies of this small community in southeast Minnesota wanted something to thank veterans, and this event was organized. 

We had plans to attend two years ago just one week after the funeral.  I just didn't feel up to it, so Dave took Emily as his date.  Oddly enough, as they were getting out of the car, they spotted our Patriot Guard ride captain, he was to be the main speaker that evening.  We didn't know him well at that time, and their unexpected presence at the event, over an hour south of Rochester, made him nervous.  Our family was part of his speech.

During the program this year we were introduced to a family of eight, seven of whom were in attendance.  The seven boys in the family had served our country during WWII, Korea, and Vietnam.  But the final family member is the one who paid the largest price of military service.  The only girl of eight had lost her son in Vietnam forty two years ago.  It was the reason the theme of the event was to honor Gold Star Mothers.  There were four mothers in attendance, two from Vietnam. 

It was an honor meeting these ladies.  At a time when war was an unpopular subject, they couldn't be publicly proud of their sons.  Mabel from Mabel, I love that and just had to put it in there, told me that if she could have spoken of him, she may have been able to move forward with more ease.  It makes me feel fortunate that things have changed.

The opportunities I have to meet people keep growing.  The stories I am privileged to hear help me to heal.  Although I am new to this process, I hope in some way I am returning the favor.

Three Moths

There are many people who identify their lost loved one with something.  Dragonflies, cardinals or moths are a few I have heard of.  I have identified Curtis with eagles from the beginning because of a story I had heard from the day of the funeral.  Apparently, from the time we arrived at the church until the end of the funeral, two eagles floated above the members of the patriot guard, only leaving after the service.   

Yesterday seemed to be an exception for me. 

I'll back up a bit and say that it was bull riding weekend in Rochester again.  On Friday Dave and I went alone, but soon were surrounded by many of the people of the rodeo that have become a part of a tradition for us.  Some we know from the past two years, some that are just introducing themselves but have known our faces for two years.  Saturday, we had plans with a few more people to attend with us, one being our friend who had lost her brother.  While waiting for the event to start another sister of a local fallen hero sat a few seats in front of us.  I decided that they both needed to meet the announcer so their loved one could be recognized as well.  It was a good night.

So yesterday afternoon, as the winds picked up, little black moths with orange tipped wings started fluttering around my front window.  Three to be exact.  With the wind so strong, I expected them to leave quickly, but they stayed and played long enough that I walked to the window to watch.  One started to fly at the window tapping it several times.  It made me smile, thinking of the three boys.

Later, Dave and I decided to take the dog for a walk at a local park.  An evening walk is highly unusual for us, we prefer walking in the mornings.  As we started  down the path, again I saw three black, orange tipped wing moths appear leading us down the trail.  One flew directly at me only diverting itself at the last second.  This time it made me laugh.

Some may say I'm reading into this too much, trying to find a sign in anything.  I don't think so.  Anything that reminds me of Curtis or others that have passed, keeps their memory alive.  I'm grateful that this particular sign brings a happy thought.  Three great guys, who didn't know each other in life, have found a connection in death.  They have brought three families together to celebrate their lives.

Two Years

My first thought was to leave this blog blank.  It would visually show how completely my life stopped two years ago today.  But life didn't stop for everyone, it has a way of moving on, and I have been pushed or pulled along with it.  At first Dave and I would look at each other almost everyday and ask, "Now what are we going to do?" 

The answers to our question came to us one by one.  Patriot Guard and Tribute to the Troops rode into our lives, Bell of Honor committee wanted our input, and a golf benefit that we could jump into with both feet are just a few.  If it were not for these, family, friends and many other organizations we could not be where we are today. 

Yesterday, many of the people who have been part of the answer gathered for us to be part of the presentation of the Honor and Remember flag.  A flag that was designed by another Gold Star father looking for a national symbol of a soldiers sacrifice. 

Like last year, we invited some people down to be part of our day.  Again, we were surprised by the outpouring of love that was gifted to us.  The firefighters and police officers were lining the street, so many PGR riders, friends and family waiting for us at the Soldiers Field Memorial, we were so grateful.  The last surprise was many of our TTTT family riding in at 1:00, coming down from the cities to be with us. 

After a chilly start to the day, the sun came out and the afternoon became perfect.  The program, not officially organized, was beautiful and fitting.  Pastor Shaw said a prayer.  Jane Belau, Poet Laureate, read a poem she had written about and for Curtis.  The Honor and Remember flag was presented by Jim and Craig, two men that mean so much to us. Finally, the pledge of allegiance was recited to Old Glory.  It was perfect.

I'm grateful to not leave this page blank.  It may have been what I was feeling two years ago, but with so many blessings in my life, this page is full.

Random Act of Kindness

I woke up far too early today.  It was a rough morning, against my better judgement I viewed a couple of tear jerking things on facebook.  I had a list a mile long so I had to pick myself up and drag myself out the door. 

First thing on my list was an oil change and tire rotation.  When I saw the mechanic approach me after only about 10 minutes, I knew it couldn't be good news.  Apparently my water pump was leaking.  The plus side, I was still under the extended warranty.  But, since they were in there, they should replace some belts and of course a filter or two as well. 

As long as I was there, I asked to talk to a manager for a donation for the benefit, I never pass up the opportunity to talk to someone as long as I am soliciting their business.  The mechanic, who had  asked about my Gold Star plates, listened in and once again offered his condolences.  After getting a fabulous rental secured, I was on my way. 

When I finally returned to pick up my vehicle, I didn't see the mechanic so I went to the window to pay.  The flyer's I had given the manager were already laminated and at the pay desk, the cashier was wearing the button I had given him.  Two of her relatives had served in Iraq and Afghanistan, so he thought she deserved to wear it.  The problem was, she couldn't find my key.  Just then, the mechanic came from behind, reprimanding me for not finding him first.  He told the cashier to reverse the charges on the credit card I had just paid with, over $230.  It was his way to thank me for my sacrifice, and I had ruined his random act of kindness. 

I was stunned, I guess I never get over that feeling.  As he walked me to my car he asked more questions about Curtis.  How could I thank him enough? 

I have been on the receiving end of such kindness for almost two years, and it never ceases to amaze me.  A card out of the blue letting me know I am being thought of, a call, the donations and gifts we receive, someone paying a bill.  How many ways can I say thank you?  When I said that to one of these givers, they only replied, "It is ME who needs to thank YOU!"  Fair enough, but it always brings a tear to my eye.

Thank you Dan.

The Choice

It always amazes me the people I run into.  Not long ago, while Dave and I were out, we started a conversation with the couple sitting next to us.  An older gentleman with a baseball hat announcing "WWII Vet" joined us.  After I thanked him for his service, the first man told us his older brother had been killed in the war when he was just one year old.

We told him of our son, and what we had been doing to keep his memory alive.  He was impressed.  Unfortunately his parents, particularly his father, never moved forward from their loss.  He only remembers a bitter and angry man, a man unable to enjoy life again.  "As I see it," he went on to say, "you have two choices, either hide yourself away with your head in the sand, or get out there and make something good of it."  This comment has stuck with me.

Dave and I have felt this way from the beginning.  Many of the recent Gold Star Families feel the same.  Keeping our children's memory alive not only helps us but benefits so many others.   Our getting out there raises funds for scholarships, wounded warriors, returning troops and their families, as well and so many vets.  Telling our story, showing things do get better, may help other families of fallen to cope in those first dark days and months.  Being part of groups with missions bigger than ourselves helps us to carry on, knowing there are so many people who genuinely care.

Neither of these choices would have been easy, that is the trouble with such a devastating loss.  But the way I see it, it is much easier to have some company along the way.

A Matter Of Time

It is only a matter of time.  Just like the Minnesota weather, if you don't like it today, just wait until tomorrow.  As peaceful as I felt last week, this week is full of uncertainty and unrest.  Sleep has been elusive.  Over the last few days I get the feeling I am forgetting something, leaving something undone.  It makes me nervous and antsy. 

It could be that the anniversary is fast approaching.  In the last few days I have been getting flashbacks of the weeks events hitting me out of the blue.  Just snippets of moments that remind me of the loss.  The worst of them is watching the two marine heads pass my deck, knowing what news they carry.  I actually have come to respect both these men, but I wish I could wipe that moment in time away. 

Another thing that bothers me is the news coming out of Afghanistan of a soldiers killing spree.  I understand the stress he is under that made him snap, but the danger he has placed on others is devastating.  I have a friend deploying within the week, with another to follow in a few months.  This news places me back in time of when Curtis deployed and the stress was painfully high.

This walk through grief is the hardest thing I've ever done.  The emotional highs and lows are crazy and uncontrollable.  Just when I feel I have a handle on things, I get slapped again.  They sometimes get lost, but I try to focus on the blessings in my life. 

It's only a matter of time.

Speck of Sand

Things have been quiet over the last several weeks, both in my activities and in my mind.  I've had a few things that have created some turmoil and stress, but I think I have dealt with the situations much faster and calmer than I could have even a year ago.

I have reached a place, for now, that has very little emotion, I feel flat.  Maybe it is the fact that I felt so manic over such a long period of time, that this relatively calm period feels emotionless.  When I think of Curtis I don't get terribly down, in fact some memories can bring a smile to my face.

While at a retreat shortly after Curtis' death, the speaker was commenting about getting to a place that we can say, "my son lived" rather than,  "my son died."  I felt at the time that I couldn't reach that point.  But, looking at his things lately, I have reached that calm spot, and thought how lucky I was to have raised such a wonderful person.  I couldn't be the person I am today if he hadn't entered my life.

Although sometimes I can get ahead of myself and get worried about the many years I have to live this life without him in it.  How much I will miss out on because he is not here.  I have to remember that this life is just a speck of sand compared to eternity.  Although it may seem like a long time before I can be with him again, I have a lot more waiting for me when I reach him.

Rekindle Your Heart

Downhill skiing had always been a favorite pastime in the winter for us.  We spent many weekends and Spring breaks on the slopes as a family.  Lutsen was probably the most frequently visited, we have so many good memories of the mountain and resort. 

After skiing the morning on Moose Mountain, the legs burning on the Moose return trail would just about put us out for the day, but it didn't.  Curtis stoking the fire in the room, he loved to play with fire!  Making the kids go out for at least a few runs in the morning in the rain, because we paid for the ticket after all, before they could go to the indoor/outdoor pool...just to name a few. 

It was Lutsen that Dave and I took a long weekend only a few weeks before Curtis was killed, our last ski outing.  We talked about how strange it was to be enjoying something when he was in such a volatile area.  How we wanted to keep the tradition of a family vacation alive once he got out.   Maybe that is part of the reason we hadn't skied in almost two years, the memories.  Until this last weekend.

The first Winter after Curtis was killed skiing barely crossed my mind.  If I did think of it, I would dismiss it just as quick.  Skiing takes alot of concentration, and I didn't have any to spare.  I think that is one of the reasons I like it so much, when you are on the slopes, you don't think of anything but what you are doing at the moment.  This Winter, I thought of it more often, but we were busy many weekends so again, it got put aside.  Talking to Dave only a week ago, we found we had an open weekend, and made our plans.

My concern was could I keep my mind on the task?  Would the memories of a place our family loved so much be happy or sad for me?  Would it really be like riding a bike, you never forget?  My fears were put to rest as soon as we entered the room.  The carving on the fire hearth stated, "Rekindle Your Heart".  To me that put a tone to the weekend.  Curtis was there with us, enjoying the runs just as much as we were.  Yelling, "Watch me!", as he went off a ledge. 

My memories were met with a happy heart, not sadness.  I thought of all the wonderful family moments that cannot be taken away from me.  I am so glad I have them.  In many ways I rekindled my love of skiing along with my heart.

Books

I have a stack of books bedside.  When I'm in a low place I like to read them for inspiration, but interestingly enough, when I am in a relatively good place, reading them will bring me down. 

I just recently discovered this oddity.  Finishing my most recent book the other night, and still not sleepy, I decided to pick up one of the 'self help' books.  After only a few pages, I started to feel a panic attack coming on.  How could a book that brings so much comfort at times of darkness bring on a feeling of dispare when my emotional state is relatively calm? 

After much thought on the subject, I've decided the difference.  When my thoughts are in turmoil, knowing someone out there feels and acts the same way is comforting.  Grief is a very lonely place.  Even though I know there are others suffering the same fate, I can slip into my own world of solitude.  I may socialize, and talk normally, but the demons in my head cause me to isolate myself.

When my emotions are calm and things are seemingly good, the words make me feel like I am not normal.  I think they bring on many more questions than answers.  How can I be feeling happy today when I have this horrible thing in my recent past?  Obviously, losing my son is not something I will ever get over, but learning to live with the pain does happen.  Maybe reading these books keeps me from learning to deal with it in my own way, but when I slip they put me on track again. 

This is a new life full of discovery of myself.  There are things I would have never thought before, things I would have never done, writing to mention one.  It brings a quote to mind from the most recent book I read, "Sometimes the worst thing that happens to you, the thing you think you can't survive...it's the thing that makes you better than you used to be."  Funny how I can do some easy reading and extract a line that makes the most sense.

21

We had a birthday in our family last week, Emily turned 21.  As much as I have looked forward to this, I had been dreading it, but not for the reasons you may think.  Curtis was killed 5 weeks shy of his 21st birthday.  As the date approached, I couldn't help but think about the milestone he never reached. 

It makes me think of a family from my hometown that I used to babysit for.  They were a very faithful family and had five children.  John was my brothers age, and during their 5th grade year, he died suddenly of a brain aneurysm.  Their next child, Jeff, was mowing the ditch near their home a few years later, also during his 5th grade year, rolled the tractor, killing him as well.  I cannot imagine how they got through the death of another child.  As their next child approached 5th grade, I am told she started having troubles, panic attacks, wondering if she too would suffer the same fate.  Jill made it though that year, but sadly, in her senior year she and 2 other young girls went off the road in broad day light, striking a tree, killing them all.  My heart breaks for this family, it always has. 

I guess I write this story because I have felt like Jill over the past several weeks, and to some extent the past two years.  Could this happen again?  I worry about Emily constantly.  I know it is a parents job to worry about their children, but I sometimes feel it is excessive, much more than before.  I talked recently to another mother who lost her son, and she has felt the same way about her surviving daughter, almost to the point of compromising their relationship.

I try not to let on to Emily how I worry.  I want her to be happy, nothing is more important to me.  Finding a happy medium between worry and letting go may always be difficult for me.   I have to remember to treasure the times we have together, and not let those thoughts take over. 

Happy Birthday Emily, I am so proud of the woman you have become.

First Flag Line

Saturday January 7th Dave and I stood our first official Patriot Guard flag line.  Officer Shawn Schneider of Lake City, Minnesota had responded to a domestic call on December 19th.  He was escorting a 17 year old girl from the premises, when he was shot in the head from behind.  While he struggled to survive for 11 days in a Rochester hospital, we attended a candle light vigil for him.  After hearing of his death, we knew we needed to attend his funeral to pay our respects.

Dave and I both knew that we would know when the right time would come to stand our first flag line, it is strange that we both felt it at the same time.  I wonder if it was because it was not a military funeral, that we would feel as if we were somewhat of outsiders in it?  Over 2000 law enforcement from around the region attended, there to pay their respects to a fallen brother, much as the military feel about each other.

The day was very mild in terms of Minnesota in January, around 30 and sunny.  We met across the highway from the church for the briefing, long before any mourners could arrive, as to be in our line as they arrived.  Walking single file, silent and dignified to our places, I began to think of what the PGR that stood the flag line for Curtis felt like.  I never knew Shawn, but I respected what he stood for.  As my hands and feet got cold, I did what I could to warm them, but stood my ground.  I wanted the lines and lines of officers passing me to know I would be there to support all of them.  I watched many of the passengers in the cars passing by mouth their thanks, or open jawed in awe, just as I did when I experienced the PGR for the first time.  I knew what they were feeling first hand. 

Our ride captain, the same ride captain for us, asked if I would like to pay my respects.  I took time to think about it, but decided I wanted to.  With so many people, it was impossible to talk to the family personaly, but I collected my blue rose and walked the line past the casket.  I held the rose along with my flag with pride. 

After the funeral began, our flag line walked back the same way we came, in silence, single file.  It was time to set the flag line at the grave site.  Dave and I had collectively decided that we would not join them there, feeling baby steps into this process was best.  We felt the grave site would be too difficult.  Before departure, we were talking with another member who had been at Curtis' funeral.  During the day he had stood directly across from me.  He was amazed to see us there and mentioned how he didn't know how we could do this.  I answered him with the one thing that kept coming to my mind all day, "I'm here to repay a debt."

Thank you Officer Schneider, you and your family's sacrifice will not be forgotten.

Nightmares

Did you ever wish you could unread something?  I recently read a book about a small boy in a serious accident who, while in a coma, visited Heaven.  He spoke of his time with God and what Heaven was like.  It isn't his account of Heaven, or God that has troubled me, but the account of the holes that lead to Hell that have bothered me.  I've talked before that I do not dream of Curtis, but shortly after reading this book, the nighmares started. 

I liken peoples stories of their dreams they share of  their loved ones the same way some share a birth experience or root canal.  You only hear about the wonderful dreams, just as you only hear about the horrible experiences of child birth or a terrible root canal.  When in reality, many dreams are scary, as some child birth and root canals are uneventful.  I have struggled whether to share these nightmares, but they have weighed so heavy on my mind, I knew I had to. 

The first, I was home alone and a man pulled his car into my driveway.  I approached the door, and was instantly frightened, even though he posed no immediate threat.  When I asked the 30 something, 250 pound man what he wanted, he replied, "Don't you know me?  I'm your son."  I ran at him with rage, pounding him with my fists.  The thing that struck me was he was dressed all in red.  I woke heart pounding and out of breath.

The second is a reoccuring dream.  The only thing I can ever recall is a young man standing to my side yelling in my ear, "I never loved you!" over and over.  It doesn't really look like Curtis, but in my dream, I believe it to be him.  Again, I wake suddenly, heart racing and breathing hard. 

Of course I don't believe this to be true, but what do these dreams mean?  Sometimes I think it is the work of the devil, trying to break my spirit.   I work hard everyday to be at peace with what has happened.  I believe he is in a better place, but just like when he was deployed and the "what ifs" crept into my mind, the wondering finds it's way in as well, these nightmares are no help.

The book I read was ment to be inspirational, but it left me feeling upset and with more questions.  I wish I could go back and unread it.  But, like with many things, I need to pick up the pieces and carry on and figure out a new way around this new challenge.