Two Years of Missing

"Sometimes, when one person is absent,
the whole world seems depopulated."
—Allphonse de Lamartine

It's been two years today since we lost my great nephew Kaelan. I still feel like a part of me is in denial and he will show up and life will go on. It's weird....because so much of me also realizes the loss of him. The world is definitely different. In some ways more colorful, as you realize the frailty of life and the need to celebrate it big, but in other  ways more colorless, without the presence of his light.

A friend of his, a beautiful 20-year old young woman named Christina, was stabbed on Thursday night and died s a result of her injuries. I saw a picture of the two of them on Facebook today, taken some years back, with Nic, Christina's boyfriend and Kaelan's close friend. How much sadness, where there was such laughter and life.

I have a difficult time with "celebrating" the day of his death. Oh, I know that celebration is the wrong word...most would say commemorate. But truly that is my least favorite day of his life. Honestly I wish I could forget.

I'd rather remember his date of birth, the date God gave us him. July 12, a week before my birthday. I'd rather remember the times he greeted me with a big bear hug...I can still feel them sometimes. I'd rather remember when we were running in the Electric Run in Charlotte and he dragged this guy over to me wearing what he called a horse head. It was a unicorn mask, and that was what he wanted for his birthday. Yes, Aunt Kim found one for him (as he knew I would).....and he loved it. 

I'd rather remember the time he crewed with Joanie and Stuart at BalloonFest, and they all cracked me up every time I saw them. Or when he crewed with me at Victory Junction, and I saw his compassion for the sweet special needs kids (some older  than him.)

I heard someone say that losing someone is like an amputation, and sometimes it feels like that. Something's not the way it should be....there is phantom pain.

I hurt for the family that is grieving their sweet daughter now.....and his friend Nic who has lost two of the most important people in his life. Two that he has loved. I'm not one who thinks this was all in God's time, though I know it was no surprise to God. I think God grieves with us. The ripples of these losses of life are great....I trust there is a purpose in it all and in its timing.

Our lesson? While most would say to tell everyone you love them at every opportunity, I'd instead say "Be kind." Cherish those you love and consider the gift they are. Treat them well. Words are good, too....but actions mean so much more. Life is way too short....but we should work to make it wonderful. Even with pain. Love the world...everyone you can. Love and respect yourself. Get help if you need it. People do care. They may even be missing you now. That's probably even worse than death....missing the ones who are here. Don't live alone in a cave of your own making. Reach out....and live.

"Your absence has gone through me,
Like thread through a needle.
Everything I do stitched with its color."

                                           .-W.S. Merwin

Remembering to Remember

I'm not sure when it started, but at some point I realized our country seemed to have forgotten why we celebrate Memorial Day. When I say "our country" I mostly mean me. I had joined the throngs that watered it down and celebrated our military as a whole, our country, our freedom, red, white, blue, the flag, a day off of work, beach time, hot air balloon time, family, friends, barbeques.... whatever I could add to the pile. The more the better, right? It seemed to have become just generic patriotism...or less.

At some point I heard that screeching vinyl in my head (kids....you at not understand what I mean by that, but I have a turntable and already scratched records....I can show you sometime) and something inside of me said "What are you doing????? When did you forget to remember?"

Memorial Day is for the specific purpose of honoring those who have died while serving in our country's military. That's big. That's huge. It should not be confused with anything else (including Independence Day or Veteran's Day) or watered down to mean nothing. I don't know the number of those our country has lost (does anybody know besides God?), and am not sure that I want to know. I am sure I would be horrified. As a pacifist who is also a realist and someone who on one hand thinks we need to defend both freedom and the oppressed, but on the other would rather our country not engage in wars at all, it's a struggle for me.  I weigh the loss of lives invested for this purpose and am not sure I believe in the trade-off...yet, how many others have those lives saved? I know I have no clue. Still....I can't compute the value. My brain is too small to know what the right answers are, and I gladly abdicate that responsibility to others. But I do wonder sometimes whether these very human individuals are making the right decisions. Not enough to do anything about it, I must honestly say. I hope others are better watchdogs than me and I hope God holds those leaders close.

Each of those lives lost was precious...and are worthy of respect and remembrance. The potential our country lost with their lives, the loves lost, those who lost their spouses, their great loves, their friends, their parents, siblings, their grandparents and great-grandparents they would never know, the skills and knowledge and hearts gone with their lives. The friends who served with those who died and witnessed it. Some seeing great acts of heroism and bravery, some seeing their friends die for seemingly no purpose. The guilt suffered by some who survived, or the lack of guilt. It takes lives in many ways...both physically, emotionally and spiritually.

Most of us don't know what it is like to serve our country in this way. I never wanted to join the military (can you blame me with my mixed up mind?), but I love many who have. From those I have talked to, the reasons that folks join the military are numerous. How many signed up for a college education? How many signed up as a challenge? How many signed up for tradition? How many signed up for patriotism? How many signed up to learn a trade? How any signed up because it was thought they needed discipline? How many signed up to travel the world? How many signed up because they imagined living in a movie? How many signed up because it was an adventure? How many signed up because they needed a job? How many signed up because they were drafted? How many signed up because they simply had nothing better to do? Truth is, it doesn't matter why. They did it....and they were soldiers.

I was having a bit if a rant about signing up "kids" to fight in wars one day and the wise person I was talking to (a veteran) said something like "We have to sign up kids because they have no fear. Because they don't know what could happen. Because they will take orders and take chances. Even me....with my background...with all my training....as I have gotten older I have lost the ability to act without question or reason. In that way, I am not as good a soldier." I saw the truth of his words and it gave me chills. In a way a real life Hunger Games. But yet we also discussed other reasons. Physically these "kids" are in their prime. They are fast, their minds are in high gear, they are enthusiastic. They are some of our best and brightest stars because they are willing to work to become what they need to be to be a good soldier.

I don't think many people enlist to die.....but from those I know, most soldiers have considered the possibility and say they are willing to do so if necessary for the freedom of others. That is sobering. Whether you are against war, pro war (you know who you are!), trusting and supportive of whatever our military leaders decide, or if you struggle like me....it doesn't matter. These Americans have given up their lives for us, without our asking. They protect and defend our country. They guard our freedom. They paid the ultimate price with their lives. On this one day of the year....can't you find a way to honor them? It doesn't have to be a big and showy demonstration (because really, it's about them and not you), but take a moment and remember the sacrifices. Think of those news reports where they tell us "another troop has been killed." Remember the history....and the stories of valor. Pray for their loved ones and fellow soldiers....who do hold Memorial Day in significance. Because as a country, on Memorial Day we vow to remember those whose lives were lost. They are not numbers, or white crosses, or names on monuments. They all are our people. They represented us. We should give them the courtesy of respecting their day.

I'm thinking of a face of a stranger this year. In this internet age it is easy to do. I've got a special place in my heart for Navy Seals, so I simply Googled "Navy Seals killed in action". I easily found the webpage of the Navy Seal Foundation. I randomly picked Thomas Retzer.....simply because he was a communications specialist. I found a little bio. http://www.pacificbeacon.com/apartments/?b=retzer&t=info and more info on his death and service. https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.133103066702190.23362.131872973491866

Tom (I found that is what he went by) will be the face I think of this Memorial Day. He will be the stranger whose face I remember and whose loved ones I pray for. I encourage you to find a face to plaster on your mind this year. They may be gone....but let's not forget them. (And feel free to share in blog comments who is on your mind this Memorial Day.)

IC1 SEAL Thomas E. Retzer
Born March 10, 1973
Died June 26, 2003, from injuries suffered in service in Afghanistan
He is not forgotten

My Friend Ann's Mom

It was December and I was preparing to go on a cruise with my niece Taylor (finally celebrating her high school graduation that took place in June) when I got word that the decision had been made to stop treatments for my college roommate's Mom, who had been suffering from multiple ailments for far too long. She was not expected to live much longer. As we drove to Charleston to board our ship, Ann was driving from her home in Tampa with her husband and brother, to her hometown of Wallace, knowing her mom was going to die soon. While I knew I needed to be on that cruise, I admit to being frustrated with God's timing. Why was this happening when I could not be there, to comfort someone who has been my friend since the age of 18, and to pay tribute to a lady who had been a lovely part of my life since my college years?

I first met Ann's mom when we paid a surprise visit to her one Sunday when we were in college. We were hungry, in need of home cooking, and Ann said "Let's go home for Sunday lunch." I was a bit concerned that we didn't call first, that we would take her mom by surprise and there wouldn't be enough food, but still hopped in the car with Ann and we traveled from Chapel Hill to Wallace. The concern was unfounded. Her mom was thrilled. The house was full of both people and food, but we were honored guests. The food was plentiful. I was a bit in awe of the spread before us. There was her mom's amazing fried chicken, several other meats, potato salad and vegetables of all kinds, biscuits and fried cornbread and lots of sweet tea. I'd never had fried cornbread before and had not often eaten fried chicken (KFC was usually the only fried chicken consumed in our house. Except for that one time my daddy made fantastic fried chicken when my mom was in the hospital....but that is another story).  My Welsh mother only slightly embraced Southern cooking.

Even we starving college girls were full at the end of the meal. Ann's momma said "I love when someone comes for the first time and actually eats!"  It was not a backhanded Southern insult. She really did take pleasure in the fact that the food she fixed was enjoyed so much that any thoughts of polite denials for second portions went out the window. That was the first of many times of eating my fill of her chicken and potato salad.

There's a special bond with some of the parents of your close friends. On one hand you are just purely grateful to them for raising this magnificent person who is such a big part of your life. They're grateful to you for being a friend to their child. There's also a purity. None of the tension that is felt sometimes between parents and their children. They may have to tell you like it is (and most of the parents of my friends that I am close to are that type, for some reason), but you listen to their words with emotions that don't get out of hand. You know they care for you and want the best for you, but that caring doesn't seem to be conditional.

I'd last seen Ann's mom in the fall, stopping for a quick Sunday visit on my way home from visiting friends. I was a bit nervous. I knew there were days she got very confused and I wondered if she would know who I was. I walked into the skilled nursing center she had been placed in, and she was sitting in a wheelchair, slumped down over the tray in front. I very hesitantly said "Mrs. Brock, do you know who I am." She looked a bit stunned and confused so I thought the answer was going to be "no". But she said "Kim!", with pleased astonishment in her voice. Then "JC (Mr. Brock, Ann's father) is going to hate that he missed you."

We had a great visit. They brought her lunch in when I was there and she would barely eat a bite, even with my encouragement. I finally had to acknowledge that after a lifetime of her own cooking, this institutional food was lacking. Which got us talking about all the meals we had shared together. We found reasons to laugh. We talked a bit about her life now. I could tell she hated not being able to care for herself and others. She had never been in that position before, and I think she missed her purpose. As wonderful as the time with her was, it was difficult not to be sad on her behalf. Still, to me there was so much life in her. She always had such a spunky spirit, which she passed on to Ann. That spirit was still evident, but was also weary.

I still can't conceive of the fact that I won't see her again on this earth. That my dear friend no longer has her loving, but exasperating, mother.

It will be in the simple things I will remember her. I doubt I will ever eat fried chicken and potato salad without thinking of her, for instance. Possibly a strange memorial, but one that I believe would make her smile. There was love in that food and she passed much on to me.

Taylor and I left on our cruise on Saturday, Ann's mom died Sunday morning. Ann and her brother Ronnie made it there in time. God knew the number of hairs on Frances Brock's head and the number of days she would live on this earth.  He knew I wouldn't be there at the end for her or for Ann, and for whatever reason He allowed that to happen. He provided for them both quite sufficiently. But my relationship with Mrs. Brock, built on her kindness and her gift of hospitality, is part of who I am. 

I thought of her often when I was traveling around the beautiful Caribbean. It was a reminder that life is short, and that we should fill our days with good people and good experiences. We should enjoy the simple times of good companionship, as we eat and drink together. Those are the times that fill us, not just with food and drink, but with love and memories.  And that love and those memories, will outlast our life on this earth. 

Dance with joy in heaven, Mrs. Brock. I love you! Thank you for the gift of your daughter and thank you for loving me.