Five Years

Dearest T.,

Five years ago we had a change of plans in our lives, didn't we? Saying goodbye in a Shreveport hospital room was not something either of us had remotely thought about or planned for -- you were supposed to be going to Afghanistan, we were planning what to get the kids for Christmas, and I was concerned you might deploy before Bud's first birthday. We had barely finished the Thanksgiving leftovers; in fact, they might have still been in the refrigerator when the kids and I packed up to follow the helicopter that would take you to better medical care north of our home at Fort Polk. I always thought that, if you knew that you died in Louisiana, you would've been mad that I hadn't insisted that you be flown to a hospital just over the state line into Texas -- not really angry, but you really didn't like Louisiana. I guess none of us have any control over when these moments in life occur, do we?

Five years ago I was bracing for Afghanistan, our first deployment not just as a couple but as a family with small children who were going to miss Daddy. I was wondering how we were going to remember to work you into our daily routines in absentia, how to keep in touch with you so that the distance would be easier for all of us, how to make the house feel like you had only just walked out the door instead of realizing you had been gone for months and months. I was bracing, like all military spouses, for the possibility that the last time I saw you could be the last time I saw you. I attended the briefings about Casualty Assistance, knew who to call for emergencies, and things like that. I was trying to prepare our home and my heart for the worst but hope and pray for the best.

Five years ago I was a frazzled, tired mother of two toddlers. You were all that as well as the first commander of a brand new company in a fledgling battalion. I have to chuckle when I think about all the characters in our company and all the drama you and First Sargeant had to deal with, especially the infamous Tylenol Kid. From FRGs to the dreaded Christmas wrapping volunteering at the PX (remember, that was our last phone conversation?), from two times the dirty diapers to being sick of eating spaghetti, our lives were busy. Happy, but busy.

Five years ago Li'l G was two and a half -- definitely a Daddy's girl who had you wrapped around her chubby little finger. Bud was only nine months old but a very active little guy who you predicted would be walking by Christmas. Did you ever get to see him walk? Turns out you were right -- he took his first steps two weeks after you died.

Five years ago you lost the fight for your life, but not the way you might've thought, off on a dusty, cold, windswept mountain plain in Southwest Asia. I think I felt you slip away. Maybe you were trying to tell me goodbye, but I can't be sure. But something woke me at 6:40 that morning, and time stood still. Only when we got to the hospital hours later did they tell me what happened during the 7 AM shift change. Was that you? I cannot help but think that it was, and I am so thankful for that experience. It has been such a precious memory these last five years.

Five years ago I watched the doctors perform the last tests to see if you were still alive. I watched as they moved quickly from one to the other, each time with no response from your body. The last thing they did was turn off the breathing machine. I watched quietly, but inside my head I was screaming at you as loud as I could: "JUST BREATHE! ALL YOU HAVE TO DO IS BREATHE! IN AND OUT! JUST BREATHE!" It was then that I realized that was the one thing you could not do. I was not used to seeing you fail at something. You would make up your mind you were going to do something, and almost every time you were successful. Remember how you had just started training for a marathon? Why couldn't your strong, young body do this one thing? I remember looking at you and thinking this wasn't real and not really happening, but then again, it was happening.

Five years ago your brother and sister lost their hero. Your mother and father's hearts shattered into a million pieces. My family lost another son and brother. Your buddies lost a fellow Rough Rider. Your soldiers lost their commander. Your children lost their father. I lost the love of my life.

Five years ago you arrived, in a robe washed white with the blood of the Lamb, at the foot of the throne of grace. The pain and struggles you endured in this life scattered like leaves in the fall caught in a whirling wind as you took your first steps on heavenly feet. I know Grandpa was waiting for you with a huge smile on his face. Have you felt warm rushes wash over you like gentle waves at the beach? That has been the love I send your way each time I think of you and miss you.

Five years ago it felt as if my life had ended, too. What were we going to do? We needed you. We had nothing without you. Lost. In a word that is how I felt. As I lay prostrate on the bathroom floor and begged God to take this cup from me, not as I willed but as God willed, I, too, felt scattered to the wind, out of control, flung out a window and falling like a rock. That's where I was five years ago.

Five years has gone by, and I hope and pray that God has allowed you to see some of the steps we've made forward from that point in time. There are still some days where I can't believe you were here and now are gone, still so surreal. Then there are days when I feel as though we are face to face once again in a twinkle in Bud's mischievous grin or in the lifted eyebrow of Li'l G. I look at the shape of her hands, the toes and arches of his feet and realize you are there in the very DNA of our children. They both love your mom's pumpkin bread, too, and Bud has always loved hot salsa just like you. And Bud has most definitely got your sense of humor -- he is the jokester of the family.

Five years has gone by, and I hope and pray that it didn't break your heart to see me move on. It has been no easy task. It has been incredibly painful to love you and him at the same time, differently but similarly. I want him to know that I am his wife now, but I will always love you, too. I want you to know that you have not been replaced in my heart or my life. I have been so very blessed to have you both in my life. I hope you approve of how we are raising the children. He loves these kids and does a great job of being a father.

Five years ago I'd have never thought I would be writing you this letter. The pain of losing you will always be a part of me but is somehow evolving over the years. I hope and pray that you won't forget me, the kids, your friends and family who carry precious memories of you close to their hearts. We have not forgotten you.

Love Always,

Kim

P.S. -- Remember our song? Still a good one, Schmupps. :)

Ho! Ho! NO!!!: Why I Won't Skip Past Thanksgiving and Start The Christmas Season Early

I don't know what got into me, but for some reason I felt led to post this status recently on my FaceBook account: "I boycott [the] Christmas-before-Thanksgiving movement." The first response posted to that was, "Where is the dislike button?" I knew there would be more of those type responses than not. I wasn't trying to provoke people or judge those who put up trees a month or two early or listen to Christmas music the day after Halloween. I can even hear the argument coming that we should be focusing on Christ's birth, so what, then, is the harm in extending the Christmas season a little longer than just the month of December?

Many of you who know me personally or through this blog know that I lost my first husband just days after Thanksgiving. This year will mark five years that he has been gone. We were married for five years and four months. I've been without him almost as long as I was married to him, which seems so odd to me, but that is a whole other blog. It has taken a while for the joy of Thanksgiving to seep back into my heart, but I think it's definitely getting there. Last year my new husband proposed the night before Thanksgiving. He said that he knew that this time of year was not easy for me, but also felt that this was the right time to propose and begin happy memories together. As hard as this time of year always feels, he was exactly right -- we have started to reclaim this time of year as a time of love, happiness, and togetherness as it always had been in my life.

Why, if this holiday and this time of year has so much anguish and bittersweet associated with it, do I want to anticipate it so singularly? Why would I put myself through the torture of facing this hailstorm of emotions, simultaneously sweet and sorrowful, each and every year? Why not focus on the coming King, the Christ child? Why not put others' needs and delights in my crosshairs to keep me in the Christmas spirit?

I believe that to grieve the dead is a holy honor, a duty, a labor of our love. And I cannot only think of T. here. I think of the roll call of people I love -- not loved -- who no longer share this meal with me each year. I think of T.'s easy laughter when I would be flustered about some kind of drama with the family or preparations of the day. I think of seeing the ivory-colored Ford truck pulling up to our house hours before the meal was to be served, before my mom had brushed her teeth or bathed for the day, and my grandparents getting out and coming in to a house that smelled of roasted turkey. I remember the straw hat and blue coveralls my grandfather would wear, how loud the television would be so he could hear it. I can remember my grandmother walking in with more than one dish of her dressing, the crowning glory of our feast. Remembering this day, these people takes me back to a time when life was simpler, straightforward, and I felt safe and loved. Why, for the love of all things sacred, would I be in a hurry to gloss past this? When I think about the blessing that these people were to me then and how they continue to be now, I cannot imagine giving this holiday second billing.

Thanksgiving is also a time for humility. Am I the only person these days who can still comprehend the first five or six letters in the name of this holiday?!? How could I not want to stop to take the time and bless my family with a meal prepared in love, thanks, and humility when they are such precious gifts to me from God? How could I possibly want to fast-forward past one more opportunity to tell my God thank you for not forgetting me, for lifting my head when I was too weak to lift it off my heavy chest, for blessing me with love and life, for ministering to me through children, parents, and friends?

If I could rewrite the calendars, I would more than likely emphasize things like Advent and Lent -- seasons of reflection and preparation -- over their culminating holidays. Christmas and Easter should be something we celebrate and partake of every single day of our lives as Christians. I can buy someone a gift any time; I don't need Toys R Us or Barnes and Nobles to remind me to remember others. I won't get into a sermon about how materialistic our society is. I think we all have a good grip on the world in which we live, and how we, too, regardless of how much we like to rail against it, are just as guilty of falling into this trap to various degrees, myself included. I just wish that we would be in less of a hurry to "get past" Thanksgiving some days. Thanksgiving isn't just a holiday or a meal. It is an orientation of the heart.

Down Home Goodness

Yeah, yeah, I know. It's been ages since I've blogged. What's new?!? I'm still trying to get pregnant, recently ran in the Army Ten Miler, and found out I have osteoarthritis. So now I take prenatal vitamins and Osteo-Bi-Flex. Ah, the ironies of being 34. I know I owe everyone a poignant look back on 33 since I have just recently celebrated a birthday, and so many things have happened or changed in the last 365+ days, but that simply must wait for another day.

I have found another awesome cookbook!


I love this one already even thought I've only prepared one meal out of it. Here's the scenario of my life these days: Get rolling in the morning -- kids up, dressed, fed. Dog up, pottied, fed, pottied again, walked if possible. Make coffee, pack lunches, write notes. Get self dressed -- either brush teeth or hair, not time for both. Get kids to bus stop. Walk dog. Prepare self for day. BTW -- by this time it's 0900. Depending on the day of the week, I might be volunteering at the kids' school, rehearsing with my praise team friend for PWOC, attending PWOC, or taking the dog to obedience. 1530 marks the afternoon trek to the bus stop. Then get kids home, potty dog again, feed kids snack, work on homework. Feed and potty dog (again). Then comes "extracurriculars" -- violin and tae kwon do. Somewhere in there we have to squeeze in 20 minutes of reading for the kids, home cooked meal where we are all seated around the dinner table for some face time, then it's off to take showers and hit the hay. I am just now, two months into the schoolyear, able to feel as though we have a regular routine, but I hate it when we eat late on school nights, and we eat out enough on weekends as it is. We do not do fast food, so it's either me cooking meals or us going to a restaurant for dinner. While I really love to eat out, it's significantly more practical and economical to cook at home, plus I really enjoy cooking and feel as though I have served my family properly when I put a home cooked meal on the table. WHY, then, is it so blessed hard to cough up yummy, amazing meals in a timely fashion on a schoolnight?!? Enter the need for crock pot magic.

I don't always like what comes out of crockpot cooking. It can be singed and have that icky-wet-burnt taste all too often. I have a couple of slow cooker cookbooks, but I only have a handful of recipes in there that I like, much less have ever cooked. But this cook book has so many sticky notes in it already of stuff I want to try that I should've just dogeared the pages I didn't want to try -- looks.that.good.

There are two more cool things about this book:

1) Stephanie O'Dea has a blog as well. Go check it out here!
2) Due to someone in their family having this dietary need, all of her recipes are or can be made gluten free. She also has great vegetarian dishes in there that I, a strict carnivore, would be honored to eat.

So tonight we made the pizza soup -- delish! It was a great way to clean out the fridge and make something cozy and warm on a cold fall afternoon that we could eat prior to extracurricular activities and still stand a chance of getting to bed on time. Basically think of your favorite pizza toppings in a soup that is tomato-based. I served it with shredded mozzarella and crusty bread. Not only did we wolf it down, I was also able to freeze leftovers. SCORE! Or, as His Girl says, POW!

Lastly, the whole reason why I have opted to try this out is my earnest attempt at striving to be more like a Proverbs 31 woman, serving my husband honorably, raising my children to be Godly and healthy, keeping my home prepared and hospitable. So many days it can be a daunting, if not overwhelming task. I want so badly to "get it right" and pray every day that God will help me to spend my time wisely and efficiently. I think often of one of my heroines from the Old Testament, Abigail, wife of Laban. When Abigail saw David and his men approaching to collect their payment from her husband, she told her helpers to bring out food and prepared lambs to welcome these unexpected guests, trying to intercept a potentially problematic situation. David acknowledged her wisdom (and eventually married her). Also, Abigail's husband and my husband have nothing in common, praise God, but what I love about Abigail is that she is an example of a woman who prepared her household for anything to come up. When things arose, she was ready to spring into action and have the appropriate response. She managed her time and her household well. Lord, help me to be more like Abigail!

I know I can't be perfect, but I know that, with God's help, I can strive to be better than I was yesterday. There is always room for improvement, and it is the joy of my life to serve and nurture my family. I hope this cookbook can be a blessing for my family and other families as well!

"10 [b]A wife of noble character who can find? She is worth far more than rubies. 11 Her husband has full confidence in her and lacks nothing of value. 12 She brings him good, not harm, all the days of her life. 13 She selects wool and flax and works with eager hands. 14 She is like the merchant ships, bringing her food from afar. 15 She gets up while it is still night; she provides food for her family and portions for her female servants. 16 She considers a field and buys it;
out of her earnings she plants a vineyard. 17 She sets about her work vigorously; her arms are strong for her tasks. 18 She sees that her trading is profitable, and her lamp does not go out at night. 19 In her hand she holds the distaff and grasps the spindle with her fingers. 20 She opens her arms to the poor and extends her hands to the needy. 21 When it snows, she has no fear for her household; for all of them are clothed in scarlet. 22 She makes coverings for her bed; she is clothed in fine linen and purple. 23 Her husband is respected at the city gate, where he takes his seat among the elders of the land. 24 She makes linen garments and sells them, and supplies the merchants with sashes. 25 She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come. 26 She speaks with wisdom, and faithful instruction is on her tongue. 27 She watches over the affairs of her household and does not eat the bread of idleness. 28 Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: 29 “Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all.” 30 Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised. 31 Honor her for all that her hands have done, and let her works bring her praise at the city gate." -- Proverbs 31:10(b)-31 (NIV)