Tell Me the Color of His Eyes

"I want to know how they LIVED, not how they died." These words were spoken today by Darcie Sims, PhD, a psychologist, grief management specialist, & pastoral bereavment specialist. Emily & I are in Washington D.C. at the 15th Annual National Military Survivor Seminar.

I spent most of the morning eating food, but not tasting it, wondering why I had to be part of this club & hating wearing a name-tag with the ribbons 'AIR FORCE' 'SIBLING' 'SURVIVOR' attached. But as I listened to Darcie I became so grateful I had come to this safe, understanding place.

"They are heros because they served, not because of how they died. I want to know his dreams, his achievements, about his life. I want you to tell me...the color of his eyes." My eyes stung with tears as I pictured John's beautiful green eyes. "Green, Darcie, green," I wanted to call out. "And they only saw ways to serve and give and achieve, Darcie. That's the way John lived his life. And I miss those eyes so much."

We were able to listen to the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, ADM Mike Mullen and his wife. They wished us "strength and confidence as we faced tomorrow." How overwhelming to look around and know that all 500 people in that room knew exactly what that meant.

I met in a support group of other siblings and found immense relief in our common threads:

"I lost a lifetime of memories & growing up stories when I lost him."
"People just don't get my memory lapses and mood swings."
"I was always told to take care of him as his big sister, and this time I didn't. I couldn't."

We are here until Tuesday morning, but if I had only experienced today, the trip would have been completely worth it. How grateful I am to have a husband who encouraged me go & kept Kali & Trenton, friends who watched them & sent me with a new (already well used) journal, and Emily who brought up the idea of going. There are many seminars, events, concerts & meals planned and I feel SO blessed to have taken this next step (or giant leap) in the healing process.

They have childcare and the folks in the childcare shooed me away when I came to pick up Blake at 5. I told her I just thought it was time to pick him up, that I should take him on the bus tour of D.C. with me. "Honey, we'll be here until midnight with these precious TAPS babies." Then she cocked her head and looked at me with eyes that said, "Go. Heal. Let us take care of him, while you take care of you."

Thank you TAPS.

www.taps.org

Out of the Mouth of Trenton

Trenton leaned over at the beginning of Sacrament this past Fast Sunday & asked if he could bear his testimony. Of course, honey...but as he walked up I became afraid, very afraid. I leaned over to Steve & said, "Are you nervous?" "Why should I be nervous?" was the reply. HA! Why should you be nervous? Because 2 days ago in preschool he raised his sweet little hand & interrupted his preschool PARTY with EVERY parent present to ask (and I quote) "Sister Ann, do tooters get out meconium? My mom thinks tooters get out gas! Ha!" 18 heads in the room turn towards me only to see tears streaming down my cheeks, while above the laughter I hear one parent comment, "Yes, only Trenton would ask a question like that." At least they know him by now.

His other preschool class hatched butterflies, and his teacher taught him that little drops of meconium came out of the caterpillars as they turned into butterflies. Well, somehow that has become a topic of daily conversation at this house.

We just had the conversation that no, meconium comes out of newborn babies and tooters just get gas out and that is bathroom talk ONLY, for our house ONLY. Trenton's reply to all of that "nonsense" was "Mom are you serious?! You think we have gas? HA! That's why teachers know everything and Moms need to LEARN from teachers." I should have taken him more seriously when we were walking up to the preschool party and I heard him mumble, "I'm asking Sister Ann. She knows everything."

So fast forward to testimony meeting and I am starting to panic realizing there is no filter between that microphone and my intense, deep thinking son, and really no way to get him down from the stand. I don't think I took a breath during his entire testimony. He started off "I love coming to church. I know the church is real....(and then an eternally long pause, as he surveys the congregation, oh, please Trenton) and I'm glad I have a nice mom." Phew. I let my breath out in an audible gasp of relief. Oh thank goodness. I'm a nice mom. And what a nice, brief testimony.