I saw this as I was getting ready to try yet another call to my Mom (who is still not in her room tonight so I've heard the "magical day" thing twice tonight already.)
It made me sad. The Christmas Zach was in Iraq he got to see Robin Williams. Every conversation was about Robin Williams is coming and I get to see him! It was wonderful. I eventually wrote Robin Williams after much searching about just HOW to do that, and thanked him for going to Baghdad to make my son and everyone else there laugh rather than be home with his own family at Christmas. What a wonderful thing he did. I actually wrote him to thank him because it was on my "to do" list before that knock on the door came, and I wanted to let him know he made my son's last Christmas special. So I write, and I check that off my list and carry on.
A month or so later I get this envelope in the mail with the return address "Robin and Marsha Williams" Of course I've forgotten and I'm confused, I don't know who this is. I open the envelope and there is a letter from Robin Williams and his wife thanking me for my letter and Zach's service, and telling me that he has a son named Zach and that they have made a donation for a redwood tree to be planted in my Zach's memory. Wow. Sweet. Talk about caring, real, and going beyond anything expected.
So, that they are getting a divorce after so many years together is just kinda sad and I wish him the very best.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Have a magical day!
Oh. My. God. If I hear "Have a magical day!" one more time I swear I will just cry. My brother and his family, along with my Mom are visiting Disney. Yesterday was Mom's 70th birthday. My sister, Lisa and I were supposed to be there but we're not. The best laid plans and all. Lisa disintegrated a tooth that was supposed to be pulled next week. So yesterday we were at the dentist, not at Disney World. A new dentist, the regular dentist is where dentists are on Spring Break--probably at Disney with my family. *chuckle* So we get to the new dentist and we fill out all the papers.
Mind you, Lisa does not like the dentist. Not even a little bit and she's also prone to hysteria if there is a hint that pain will be involved. Our dentist makes her take Valium before she comes to his office for major procedures--he gives her no choice even though we are not drug doing people and she would really rather NOT take this drug prior to her dentist visit. That also requires that she have a chauffeur to and from the dentist--me. But I digress.
So we fill out the new dentist papers, she troops in to have her tooth pulled, whereupon the new dentist says "What? you took Valium on the orders of your other dentist? I can't pull your tooth you are under the influence of a drug and your consent is not valid." They call me in from the parking lot where I am reading a book and waiting. I say, well I have a medical power of attorney, I can sign, you pull the tooth, I go home and fax it to you, it's all good. No. She can come back tomorrow and not take Valium until she signs the consent. I hate the new dentist.
So we did not go to Disney for Mom's 70th birthday celebration (which I hear was magical) and we did not go today either. We are going tomorrow. My eye. Meanwhile I am calling about every half hour all last evening in order to update Mom and to wish her Happy Birthday. Every time I call the last thing the operator says is "Have a magical day!"
This day, and yesterday were not so magical really...please stop wishing me a magical day, ok? Just stop.
Mind you, Lisa does not like the dentist. Not even a little bit and she's also prone to hysteria if there is a hint that pain will be involved. Our dentist makes her take Valium before she comes to his office for major procedures--he gives her no choice even though we are not drug doing people and she would really rather NOT take this drug prior to her dentist visit. That also requires that she have a chauffeur to and from the dentist--me. But I digress.
So we fill out the new dentist papers, she troops in to have her tooth pulled, whereupon the new dentist says "What? you took Valium on the orders of your other dentist? I can't pull your tooth you are under the influence of a drug and your consent is not valid." They call me in from the parking lot where I am reading a book and waiting. I say, well I have a medical power of attorney, I can sign, you pull the tooth, I go home and fax it to you, it's all good. No. She can come back tomorrow and not take Valium until she signs the consent. I hate the new dentist.
So we did not go to Disney for Mom's 70th birthday celebration (which I hear was magical) and we did not go today either. We are going tomorrow. My eye. Meanwhile I am calling about every half hour all last evening in order to update Mom and to wish her Happy Birthday. Every time I call the last thing the operator says is "Have a magical day!"
This day, and yesterday were not so magical really...please stop wishing me a magical day, ok? Just stop.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Friendship and Memory
Megan called last night, while she was driving home from picking up Ryan at the half-way point between her home and his so he could stay with her during spring break. They wanted to know what their Mom's dream car was. I told them, the little BMW convertible or the Saturn Skye were the two she really loved. When we hung up I was hit with such sadness.
Megan is Beth's daughter, Beth and I were pregnant together and Megan was born nearly one month to the day before my son Zach. Zach and Meg grew up together. Meg is now 25 years old, soon to be 26. Ryan, her brother, is now 15. Zach died January 23rd, 2004, Beth died July 2 of last year. She had a stealth aortic aneurysm that decided to rupture while she and Ryan were at the mall one Sunday afternoon.
Beth was my best friend, but more than that, she held memory with me. She knew Zach from before the day he was born. She remembered all the little stories, all the things I did and didn't. Beth remembered with me and when she was away from me. Those memories, the funny (and some not so funny) little stories...they are what is most precious to me. When you lose your child (or anyone you love dearly) you want nothing more than for him to be remembered, not forgotten, but kept alive in memory and story and laughter and love. That is all there is now.
After Meg and Ryan called, I realized I am now that for them, the holder of memory, of years and years of shared history. The person who will know the answer to "what was the dream car Mom wanted" and probably many other questions to come.
When I first saw Megan before Zach's funeral, she hugged me for a long time and we cried, and she whispered in my ear "I will have your grandchildren for you." It brings tears to my eyes whenever I think of her saying that. With all her heart she meant it. So my job is to be her children's grandmother, to tell them the stories of their grandmother Beth. Not what I expected.
Now I am the holder of memory and it is the very least I can do for my friend.
Megan is Beth's daughter, Beth and I were pregnant together and Megan was born nearly one month to the day before my son Zach. Zach and Meg grew up together. Meg is now 25 years old, soon to be 26. Ryan, her brother, is now 15. Zach died January 23rd, 2004, Beth died July 2 of last year. She had a stealth aortic aneurysm that decided to rupture while she and Ryan were at the mall one Sunday afternoon.
Beth was my best friend, but more than that, she held memory with me. She knew Zach from before the day he was born. She remembered all the little stories, all the things I did and didn't. Beth remembered with me and when she was away from me. Those memories, the funny (and some not so funny) little stories...they are what is most precious to me. When you lose your child (or anyone you love dearly) you want nothing more than for him to be remembered, not forgotten, but kept alive in memory and story and laughter and love. That is all there is now.
After Meg and Ryan called, I realized I am now that for them, the holder of memory, of years and years of shared history. The person who will know the answer to "what was the dream car Mom wanted" and probably many other questions to come.
When I first saw Megan before Zach's funeral, she hugged me for a long time and we cried, and she whispered in my ear "I will have your grandchildren for you." It brings tears to my eyes whenever I think of her saying that. With all her heart she meant it. So my job is to be her children's grandmother, to tell them the stories of their grandmother Beth. Not what I expected.
Now I am the holder of memory and it is the very least I can do for my friend.
Five Years, the first year
I've been pondering this topic for a long while now. While I want to say something, I am afraid if I start it will all come rushing out in a huge gush and make utterly no sense. So, I'll start, and we'll see. As I sit here pondering I think it better to go year by year. So this is my year one. 2003
Zach came home from Germany for my Uncle Bud's funeral at the first of the year. I hadn't seen him in two years and it was oh so good to pick him up in Chicago. I went by myself and so I had him all to myself on the two hour drive home. How I cherish that time we had to talk.
One of the things that stands out in my memory most was a precursor of things to come. As the family was gathered with the officiating pastor to remember Uncle Bud so that she could write her talk at his service the talk turned to Afghanistan and Iraq. Knowing that my son had already received his orders (this was a secret) and was returning to immediately deploy to (also a secret) didn't help me as the pastor began to expound in great detail about how Afghanistan and potentially Iraq were for no reason other than oil and money and she was so glad her son would not have to fight in these worthless endeavors because he was serving in the Army Band.
I opened my mouth, my son gave me a look I had never before seen and I closed my mouth. In that look, that hand held up flat facing me at his knee, I saw my adult son, the one that had grown completely up while he was away and I was not able to see it. I saw so much, I loved and respected him so much more in that instant. I wish I could remember what words he said exactly, sadly I can't. It was something along the lines of Ma'am, we do what we must to protect our country and our loved ones, we serve at the will of the Commander In Chief, we will go where we must and we provide you with the opportunity to have and voice your opinion. Now, let's talk about Uncle Bud. All this in a very quiet, calm and commanding voice. All this from my son.
I wish I could say that I would have handled that with the dignity he did. I know I would not have, I wanted to slap the woman. Seriously. I tried to carry the lesson forward with me through that first year and behave in a way that was respectful to my son and his service and to the rest of our family and their service. I come from a very long line of military service and I am proud of that but I have also learned not to take sides and get into dramatic battles -- carry your opinion, that is your right.
That first year I wrote this to my Army Moms group, in answer to the question "What have you learned?"
...to acknowledge the nightmare voices in the back of my head and then return to focus on what is, not on what could be. If I stayed with what I knew, that the last time I talked to my son he was ok, then I could remain ok.
...to read every single thing I could find about the conflict my son was involved in, including the cultural history of the country he was fighting in. It made me feel better to be armed with knowledge and the best understanding I could get of the situation he was facing.
...to use and continually check every news source known to Armymoms in the universe, especially those available at 3am when I woke up with "the horrors"
...to find several complicated, highly detailed cross stitch projects that I could work on while watching carefully chosen mindless television shows designed to keep me from thinking (this works very well as an Armymoms mini-mind vacation)
...to depend on the counsel of some very wise women all over the world, and to reach out when I felt alone and just say that--I feel alone, please tell me I'm not. Oh how good is the love of other women who know what it is to be the mother of a soldier.
...to write, each day, just a little bit in a letter to my son, and then send it every three days. Very much like a journal, but for the benefit of my son. Little things. The buds on the trees, something silly the dog did, whatever small ray of sunshine struck me that day I would write. He told me that was a wonderful thing, to let his mind rest with thoughts of home as I was seeing it.
...to always say how much I loved my soldier and how proud I was of him and the duty he was doing, and to always send him things about those here at home who were also proud of him and his fellow soldiers.
...to accept that we are a diverse people, we do not always agree, and while I may not agree I must give my best effort to just accept others at face value and without judgment.
...to accept that I am not made of steel, I will cry, at the slightest provocation--at a news story, an Army recruiting ad, at the sight of a mother with her young boy in the grocery store, and it's ok for me to do that.
lastly, to appreciate the freedom I have in the country my soldier represented and fought for, every single little freedom, there are SO many.
As I wrote this post, I heard a blurb...a recent survey shows that only one in three people knows how many lives were lost in Afghanistan and Iraq...I simply can't imagine. I don't much appreciate the press either, any of them. They focus on bad news, numbers, or they fail to report at all (especially good news). Each soldier is very personal to me. They are ALL my soldiers.
Zach came home from Germany for my Uncle Bud's funeral at the first of the year. I hadn't seen him in two years and it was oh so good to pick him up in Chicago. I went by myself and so I had him all to myself on the two hour drive home. How I cherish that time we had to talk.
One of the things that stands out in my memory most was a precursor of things to come. As the family was gathered with the officiating pastor to remember Uncle Bud so that she could write her talk at his service the talk turned to Afghanistan and Iraq. Knowing that my son had already received his orders (this was a secret) and was returning to immediately deploy to (also a secret) didn't help me as the pastor began to expound in great detail about how Afghanistan and potentially Iraq were for no reason other than oil and money and she was so glad her son would not have to fight in these worthless endeavors because he was serving in the Army Band.
I opened my mouth, my son gave me a look I had never before seen and I closed my mouth. In that look, that hand held up flat facing me at his knee, I saw my adult son, the one that had grown completely up while he was away and I was not able to see it. I saw so much, I loved and respected him so much more in that instant. I wish I could remember what words he said exactly, sadly I can't. It was something along the lines of Ma'am, we do what we must to protect our country and our loved ones, we serve at the will of the Commander In Chief, we will go where we must and we provide you with the opportunity to have and voice your opinion. Now, let's talk about Uncle Bud. All this in a very quiet, calm and commanding voice. All this from my son.
I wish I could say that I would have handled that with the dignity he did. I know I would not have, I wanted to slap the woman. Seriously. I tried to carry the lesson forward with me through that first year and behave in a way that was respectful to my son and his service and to the rest of our family and their service. I come from a very long line of military service and I am proud of that but I have also learned not to take sides and get into dramatic battles -- carry your opinion, that is your right.
That first year I wrote this to my Army Moms group, in answer to the question "What have you learned?"
...to acknowledge the nightmare voices in the back of my head and then return to focus on what is, not on what could be. If I stayed with what I knew, that the last time I talked to my son he was ok, then I could remain ok.
...to read every single thing I could find about the conflict my son was involved in, including the cultural history of the country he was fighting in. It made me feel better to be armed with knowledge and the best understanding I could get of the situation he was facing.
...to use and continually check every news source known to Armymoms in the universe, especially those available at 3am when I woke up with "the horrors"
...to find several complicated, highly detailed cross stitch projects that I could work on while watching carefully chosen mindless television shows designed to keep me from thinking (this works very well as an Armymoms mini-mind vacation)
...to depend on the counsel of some very wise women all over the world, and to reach out when I felt alone and just say that--I feel alone, please tell me I'm not. Oh how good is the love of other women who know what it is to be the mother of a soldier.
...to write, each day, just a little bit in a letter to my son, and then send it every three days. Very much like a journal, but for the benefit of my son. Little things. The buds on the trees, something silly the dog did, whatever small ray of sunshine struck me that day I would write. He told me that was a wonderful thing, to let his mind rest with thoughts of home as I was seeing it.
...to always say how much I loved my soldier and how proud I was of him and the duty he was doing, and to always send him things about those here at home who were also proud of him and his fellow soldiers.
...to accept that we are a diverse people, we do not always agree, and while I may not agree I must give my best effort to just accept others at face value and without judgment.
...to accept that I am not made of steel, I will cry, at the slightest provocation--at a news story, an Army recruiting ad, at the sight of a mother with her young boy in the grocery store, and it's ok for me to do that.
lastly, to appreciate the freedom I have in the country my soldier represented and fought for, every single little freedom, there are SO many.
As I wrote this post, I heard a blurb...a recent survey shows that only one in three people knows how many lives were lost in Afghanistan and Iraq...I simply can't imagine. I don't much appreciate the press either, any of them. They focus on bad news, numbers, or they fail to report at all (especially good news). Each soldier is very personal to me. They are ALL my soldiers.
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