A Wartime Prayer

Dear Lord,

Lest I continue in my complacent way,
Help me remember that somewhere,
somehow out there,
A man died for me today.

As long as there be war,
I then must ask and answer,
Am I worth dying for?

by Eleanor Roosevelt

More Happy Pictures!




Adam weighted 10 lbs.& 3 ozs. at birth.



He came into this world a bruiser. LOL He was a good baby, always happy. He was 2 months old in these pictures.





I was so blessed to be his mother.

I want happy thoughts in my head.



Adam LOVED soccer. I think he was about 8 years old in this picture.
I have pictures of him playing soccer with some Iraqi children. I will try to put those on here too.

Amber was 5, Adam was almost 4 and Josh was about 4 months old. It makes me smile and cry at the same time.

Dealt With?

I had something happen to me this morning that I don't understand, and it scared me.


I was fully awake, lying in bed, listening to it rain. I was hoping the dogs wouldn't make me get up and take them out in the weather. All of a sudden it was like a movie started playing in my head. It just popped in and it was horrible! It was Adam in Iraq. I closed my eyes and I started saying, "think of something else, think of something else." Finally it stopped. Now I am afraid it's going to happen again. I don't want that playing in my head!



I thought I had dealt with his death but maybe I haven't. But of course, what does "dealt with" mean anyway?! accepted? moved on? justified? forgotten? forgiven? stopped crying every day? stopped missing his voice, his presence? What does it mean?? I have to know what it means before I can do it!!

"Call to me and I will answer you, and tell you great and unsearchable things you do not know."
Jeremiah 33:3

Some days the loss of Adam is crushing; today is one of those days. I miss him so much. He loved me, he told me that every time I talked to him. I had no doubt about that. I need him here! I need his smile, his laughter , his encouraging words. I need him to hug me and tell me everything is going to be alright.

Why does life have to be so hard? Why is love not enough?

Adam's birthday was last week. I did ok on that day. I guess I had prepared myself, but the day after and the days since have been hell. I can't quit crying. I try, I tell myself it doesn't change anything but I can't stop. People tell me to remember the good times but the good times are often more painful. They are just a reminder of what we are missing and will never have again. Life just goes on. And that life is not one I recognize, not one I thought I would have to live. So how do I do this?

To live is to suffer. To survive is to find meaning in the suffering.

I had another crying dream. This one felt so real. You know how in some dreams you know you are dreaming and even when you wake up, you’re like, “Wow, what a weird dream!” When I woke up from this one I couldn't quit thinking about it. I have been trying to figure out what it means.

I dreamed a guy came to the house to do some repairs but when I looked outside he was putting my car on a car-hauler. I went outside and asked him what he was doing. He said he was taking my car to paint a tribute to Adam on it. I fell to my knees and started sobbing. I cried and cried and then fell forward on my face. I could feel and smell the dirt and grass (I actually felt my face when I woke up to see if I had dirt on me). Then I felt my whole body go limp. I lay there crying and unable to move. I could hear people walking around me but nobody stopped to help me. Then I woke up.

This picture was taken on the 4th of July, 2006 soon after boot camp. He was so proud, and I was so proud of him.

April is a hard month.

Homecoming

I don’t usually watch the news but the other day I had it on. There was a homecoming for some soldiers who were just getting home from Iraq, or it may have been Afghanistan. There were happy smiling faces, hugs and kisses and I was happy for them but I was also sad, sad that we would never have that.

When Adam was in Iraq, the thought of his homecoming helped get me through some of the hard, worrisome times. I planned it over and over again in my mind. We would all be at Camp LeJeune when the buses rolled in with our men. I would have the BIG signs I’d painted that said “Welcome Home Adam!” We would all be dressed in the same bright neon green color so he could pick us out of the crowd and get to us faster. We would cry and hug and laugh. And Adam would say, “let’s go, let’s go, let’s go!!” He would be ready to get home. When we pull into our driveway, he would see the yellow ribbons on every tree in our yard and he would smile. I would make his favorite cheesy garlic biscuits and he would eat the whole pan of them by himself, with a big glass of milk. But, we didn’t get to have that homecoming.

My thoughts go to another homecoming 37 years ago when my dad came home from Viet Nam. I think about it now and I think how sad it was. At the time I didn’t realize it. I was so excited to see my dad; so happy he was home safe. But, when I compare it to the way our soldiers are honored today as opposed to how he had to come home then, I’m so, so sad about it. I went to the airport with a friend to pick him up. He was wearing civilian clothes and he was traveling by himself. There were no crowds to welcome him, no welcome home signs, just my friend and me.

I have been missing my dad a lot lately. He died in 1994 from exposure to agent orange. He didn’t die in Viet Nam but Viet Nam killed him. He was 63.

Two years ago today, I was tying yellow ribbon number three around the tree in front of my house. Next month would be number four; there would not be a fifth ribbon. I don’t remember when I took them down but I do remember doing it. I had the scissors in my hand and a sudden urge to stab the tree. I had to fight the urge; I wanted to stab it over and over and over again. But I didn’t. I cut the ribbons off and cried. I wanted to put black ribbons on every tree in my yard but I didn’t do that either. I just cried.

Grief counselors say you need to tell your story at least a hundred times before it gets easier to tell, that it is in the telling that we begin to heal. It has been almost 2 years since Adam was killed and I still cannot say it out loud. I thought I would try to write it down. That way I don’t have to actually hear the words. I don’t know why I don’t want to hear them. It’s not like I don’t believe it. I know too well the reality of it all.

When I decided to write about it, I didn’t know where to start. I guess I will start on that awful day, even though the grieving for Adam started way before he died. I think it started the day he enlisted.

My husband, who had been a firefighter for over 30 years, was sworn in as the new Fire Chief on April 20, 2007. Six days later our world came crashing down. He and I were at a luncheon for a group of senior citizens who were graduating from a self-defense course. Danny was going to give out the diplomas. We were eating when Danny got a call from his office. He walked off to take the call. When he came back to me he said, “We have to go home, there are soldiers at our house”. I knew at that instant. Oh my God, this cannot be happening! I jumped up and got my purse and ran to the front door. I wanted to throw up.
Danny said maybe they were there just to tell us he was injured but I knew better. They don’t come to your house unless there is a death; he was dead.

We were 20 miles from our house. One of the Deputy Chiefs drove us home. I rode in the backseat. All the way home I kept saying, “it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real”, I begged God to please not let it be real! At one point on the way home I thought about jumping out of the car. We were going at least 65 miles an hour; if I just opened the door and jumped, it would be over, and I wouldn’t have to know the truth. I looked at the door handle and seriously considered jumping but I thought about my other 2 children and I couldn’t do it. Then it struck me, I didn’t know which one of my sons it was! I thought it was Adam but it might have been Josh! Josh wasn’t in Iraq yet but it still could have been him! Just a week before, Josh and his fellow soldiers were in a training accident. The Stryker they were in rolled over five times! Soldiers get killed in training accidents all the time! I didn’t know for sure which one of my boys it was until we pulled into the driveway and I saw the Marines get out of the van.

We got out of our car. I didn’t think my legs would hold me. For some strange reason, I kept squatting down, I felt like I couldn’t stand up. Maybe if I got low enough to the ground I would just disappear. I wanted to die, I asked God to just let me die. They wouldn’t tell us anything outside, they kept asking us if we could go inside. I’m not sure how I got up the stairs. My body felt so heavy, like someone had put sandbags on me. I felt like I could barely walk. When I got upstairs to the sofa, I sat, and then lay over on my side. It all felt so unreal. I just kept praying I would wake up. I don’t remember the words that were spoken; I knew from the look on their faces what they were there to tell me.

My son was dead. Killed 26 April 2007 at 10:30am Iraqi time. It would have been 1:30am our time. Shot by a sniper. His death wasn’t instant; he knew he had been shot. I have never asked what he said. I try not to think about that. I’m afraid to know but sometimes I do wonder; was he scared? Was he in pain? Was he thinking of us? Who was with him? Was he by himself? Maybe one day I will be able to ask these questions but for now, I can’t. I’m afraid, I’m afraid of the answers.

I have four messages from him on my answering machine. On one of them he says, “I’m just calling to let you know I’m alive”…I bought a new answering machine. I boxed up the one with his voice and put it in my closet. I was afraid of losing the messages and afraid of listening to it. I hope one day I will be able to listen to it but for now, I can’t.

"Though you have made me see troubles, many and bitter, you will restore my life again; from the depths of the earth you will again bring me up. You will increase my honor and comfort me once again." Psalm 71: 20 & 21



I want to believe this verse.

I am a Gold Star mother.

The one thing I prayed I would never be, yet, here I am.

Recently, on the Marine Parents forum, we GS parents were asked by a Blue Star mother,” Why does a death from war feel so different?” I tried to answer as best I could but I don’t feel like I gave a good answer. I haven’t been able to quit thinking of her question since then.

Why does it feel so different and does it really?? I don’t think it’s any more painful. The death of your child is the ultimate agony; there is nothing more painful regardless of how our child died. We all feel the same pain, shock, despair, longing. A parent should never have to bury their child!! It goes against the natural order. We bury our parents and our children bury us!!

Maybe one difference is that you start grieving your child before he is gone. When Adam got orders for Iraq, I started grieving for him. I knew what it meant to be at war. I knew the cost and I didn’t want to have to pay it! Adam knew it too but he willingly accepted it. He talked about it, tried to prepare me for it but I wouldn’t listen. The very thought made me feel sick. He said he had to take his dress blues with him. I asked why in the world would they make them take their dress blues!? I guess ignorance truly is bliss. Now I know why they take them.

I think it might also be different because our pain is so public. I couldn’t turn on the television or read a paper without seeing his picture or reading his story, our story, for weeks and weeks. Even today, almost two years later, the news media still uses his picture in stories. It’s always such a shock to be sitting there and suddenly see his face. In one way it is good because people remember him. He said he didn’t think anyone would care if he were killed. But in another way it’s not so good.

With every military death, I relive Adam’s. I mourn with their families. I know and feel what they are feeling. We were “blessed”; we got Adam back whole. We could have had an open casket but we chose not to. Parents of soldiers killed by IED’s don’t usually have that option. Adam was killed by a sniper. We didn’t have to make the agonizing decision of whether we wanted any found remains sent home for another burial. Another thing I had no idea could happen. Sadly, many families have to make that decision.

Two more soldiers from our area were killed this month. The week the parents waited for their son’s bodies to get home, I walked the floor and cried. Their bodies arriving at the airport was flashed across the television. There was no escaping it if I had the TV on. I should have turned it off. In my thoughts I was back at the airport, waiting for Adam. My daughter said that day was when she thought she might actually die from it. It was one of our hardest days.

We met the plane, and then went to the funeral home to view Adam’s body. Now I could not deny it, I could not pretend that they had made a mistake. The media was at the airport and followed us back to the funeral home. I understand the interest and they were all very respectful, for which I am very grateful. But it’s still hard. Adam is not just a story, he is our son. He is Amber and Josh’s brother and friend.

I guess I haven’t answered the question now either. Different? Yes but every death is different and the same; every death of a child is agony. You never “get over it”. You will never be the same person you were before and maybe that’s not a bad thing.

Your absence has gone through me like a thread through a needle. Everything I do is stitched with it's color.
~unknown