Memorial Day

It’s coming.  It’s another landmark day to remember my son and my husband.  I feel as if every time I turn around, there’s a date that signifies something special for one or both of them.  But, honestly, isn’t that wonderful?  It means they participated in this life they were given.  They were born, made mothers of some fortunate women, they graduated, and they went into the military and valiantly served their country.  They sacrificed much for that service, as did those who loved them.  Every New Year’s Eve I hate the idea of going into another year where they won’t be present.  Then comes a birthday, Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day, Memorial Day, Father’s Day, another birthday, 4^th of July, my birthday, the Marine Corps Birthday, Veteran’s Day, Thanksgiving and Christmas.  There is no break when they are not missed.  None.  Sometimes a random day can be as painful as a holiday.  It just depends what comes our way.

I’ve been running the gamut of emotions over the past year, and if you’ve followed me, more specifically in 2016.  It’s as if the gauze that was protecting me was removed and I began realizing, stressing, agonizing, mourning and raging.  And guess what?  None of that has done a damn bit of good.  It has only caused me to be irritable, jealous, angry and exhausted.  I sound like a fun person to be with, don’t I?  And I know that my husband and my son would both be disappointed in me, not to mention my son who remains here with me, and all of the others in my life I love so dearly.  I suppose it’s somewhat healthy to purge yourself of all of those nasty emotions that grief introduces, but I don’t want to live in a state of perpetual grief.  I will always mourn and desperately miss those who have gone before me, but what possible good can I be to myself or anyone else if I give in to this monster.  If jealousy is a green-eyed monster, grief is a black and purple and grey 6 eyed monster with long teeth, slimy skin and claws that grasp and hold.  What I think I need to have to fight this demon is light.  I need to fling open the curtains and welcome each day, for it is a gift.  I need to be open to all the new experiences this new life can bring.  I need to smile and choose joy.  I need to pray and not complain.  I began just this weekend wearing an “x” on the top of my left hand, between my thumb and forefinger as a reminder that complaining is not allowed.

It hasn’t taken me much to decide that it’s time for spring cleaning in preparation for Memorial Day.  Living in the darkness with that creepy 6 eyed creature is not much fun.  He guards the door and keeps me from the things that will make me feel better.  Things like walks outside, yoga class, church, even visits with friends and family.  

Of course I’m lonely, and of course I will continue to cry at times for those I miss so desperately.  But I’ve thought so much about them and have decided to use them for my inspiration, and probably Adam more specifically, because I was around to see how he challenged himself and became who he wanted to be and needed to be, even when he wasn’t sure if it was possible.  The Marine Corps Boot Camp is the hardest boot camp you can experience.  You constantly have challenges and mind games thrown at you which are the hardest experiences physically and mentally experienced to date.  But they are very specifically designed to give you the courage and tenacity, the backbone and loyalty you need to survive.  And for my Hollywood Marines, the Reaper was the final challenge.  Well, the Reaper has challenged me in the last year and a half.  It’s time I climb that bad boy, reach a summit, stake my flag and claim my medal.  And as arrogant as it may sound, I need to be proud of that accomplishment, for sadly, I belong to a club no one should belong to and could also be called the few and the proud.  Parents who bury children are never recruiting members.  Just hearing of a parent having to bury a child now is crushing to me, for I wish this on no one, ever, anywhere.  But if I can conquer this pain and find my way to live in the light and make the rest of my time on this good earth count, I will have won and I hope they will smile down on me for my perseverance.  I have begun my own “Crucible”.  I am at the foot of the Reaper.  And I will ascend, and I will triumph.  I’ve come too far, learned too much, and would disappoint too many to fail.  Failure is not an option.  “Strength is releasing pain from the body and the mind”.  I may not have managed it all by Memorial Day, but when I enter that hallowed ground at the national cemetery for a service to remember, not just my husband and son, but all of those men and women who had the courage and fortitude to offer themselves for the betterment of others, I want to be able to hold my head high and be living in the light for them, and for me.  That would be a Memorial Day I could celebrate and not be mournful about.  They did not give of themselves for us to be sad and broken.  Memorial Day should be a day the Phoenix rises, along with a beautiful sun, shining on our hearts filled with hope.

Spring

I decided that while I was experiencing such anger that it may be a good time to suspend blogging publicly.  I may not have anyone speaking to me or caring if I ever put pen to paper again if I continued when everything set me off.  I feel the anger slipping away.  It truly was a storm that came in and blew everything around, made me fearful and protective.  I went into self-protection mode and in reality, probably the one I needed the protection from most was myself.  I am the first one to say that no one can understand this unless they themselves go through it.  Then why in the world, do I let others’ seemingly insensitive remarks or advice upset me, when it means that I have people in my life who truly care and are only reaching out with the best of their ability to try to be of some help or comfort to me?  And when I don’t know what to say or do to please myself, how in the world would someone else have that magical ability?  Doesn’t make sense, does it?  Well, oftentimes now, neither do I.   

However!  The reality is that I am a happy person by nature.  Buoyant I might even say.   I also like to work smarter, not harder.  (I can be quite lazy if afforded the opportunity!)  It takes a lot of work and a lot of energy to maintain anger.  I found myself in constant chaos, constantly jealous rather than joyous of those I love, and quite frankly, slowly slipping into the role of a victim.  And that realization stopped me dead in my tracks.  I refuse to be victimized by this, by the unfortunate circumstance of losing two people I loved so well, so deeply, so constantly.  What a disservice to them.  Why in the world, when I claim that I want them to be remembered, would I turn this into something about me?  Well, the simple answer is that it just simply is human nature – grief does strange things to people.  But what can people, or more specifically me, do to grief? 

I’m realizing now, that a great deal of my anger is due to the fact that I have to change.  No one wants to change.  I thought a year ago, I would go through a period of mourning, one day it would end and life would go on as I always have known it.  That is perfect evidence of the cloudy thinking that shrouds you when you are grief stricken.  I am no longer a wife; I no longer have a son living in Indianapolis.  Everything changes.  So must I.

I’m sure the spring season helps me want to lighten my mood, and we know I need some new beginnings.  Clichés are easy to go with, so why not use them when they are available?  I have homework from my grief therapist which is much harder than I imagined.  I have to write a five year plan for my life, and then extend it to a ten year plan.  That means I have to try deciding who I want to be when I grow up.  Where, when, how and most importantly I believe, why.  That takes a lot of deep thinking, analysis and soul searching.  If money were not an object, I would secure a place on Lake Maxinkuckee, where my soul has always relaxed and sort it out as I go.  But since that is nowhere close to a possibility, I have to work a little (lot) harder at how I’ll go about finding my joy.

I am encouraged though, for I see myself, breaking ground, arising from the sometimes frozen, sometimes muddy, sometimes rock hard clay here in Indiana, and seeing the tip of something blossoming.  I can’t be sure exactly what will bloom, but I’m looking forward to it.  I’d much rather it be along the lines of a fragrant lilac or a beautiful pink peony, that someone would choose to cut and bring in for pleasure.  I don’t want to be those nasty thistles that overtake your yard making it unpleasant, and painful to touch, or even the dandelion that can be pretty for a moment, but is an undesired weed after all.  It takes a lot of water (tears) and fertilizer (you know what that is) to produce a beautiful blossom and I’d say there have been enough of both in my life of late.  I need to just persist and turn my face to the sun.