Happy 21st Creighton!

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Dear Jason...(JJ)

We never met face to face, yet your very life had tremendous impact on my family, me – and on countless others.  You see, the October morning I said a tearful goodbye to my baby boy – you were there in the crowd.  Like your sweet mom and hundreds more – I was hating those last few minutes before you boarded the bus.  Whether your mom was on base, or she was agonizing from home as many were - via cell phones, prayers, and maternal raw emotion, we who adore our sons weren’t oblivious to the fact that those final moments at LeJeune, may be your very last on US soil.   The moments before you, Tyler, and the young men of 2/2 boarded the buses are moments that will never leave memory.  Not just mine, not just your mom’s, but every mom and dad who cared deeply for their son, no matter where goodbyes were said, those moments will NEVER be forgotten.

In a few days, our country will “celebrate” Memorial Day.  For most, it means a day off of work.  The United States Post Office and many banks will be closed.  Most schools in the Southeast have already dismissed for the summer, but the ones around the country who’ve not concluded their academic year will enjoy a three-day weekend.  As I’m writing this, there are people in packed cars headed to see out of town relatives or in route to the beach.  People are planning menus for Monday afternoon cookouts.  Still others will just be grateful to sleep in on Monday morning, avoiding the typical commute and marking off a few task items. 

You see, Jason – too often the meaning of Memorial Day has been lost.   They don’t know that it’s about you and thousands of other young men and women who have lost their lives while fighting for, defending or upholding the values of this incredible nation.  They don’t get it.  They take freedoms for granted.  “They” have never had a beloved son (or daughter) deploy to a hostile environment, placing their physical lives on the line, so that the rights and privileges of others can be preserved. 

Enough of that; If you could hear my words today – Jason, I’d want you to know that your parents and brother love you still and the memory of you is ever present.  They honor your courageous life with theirs.  You’d be so proud of your family.  You’d be blown away by the strength of your mom.  Never, never, never - would I want to walk the path that she is on.  Surely, my feet would falter – yet she does it with humility, grace and with great dignity.   She looks beyond herself and the physical void that is left in your absence.  Pressing forward, she honors and remembers her sweet son through the way she loves and encourages your friends – and their families. 

One of the most unexplainably humbling moments of the past few years, was sitting with your mom at the Memorial Service of another fallen young man – Blake.  (...tell him he has great reason to be proud as well.  His parents are phenomenal people, pressing forward in faith and still an active part of the Marine family community.)  We sat on a row which would make it convenient for your mom to exit the sanctuary if the “still too fresh” reminders were too painful.  I told her I’d walk out with her. Rest assured, she would have not been left alone in her grief that day.  She hung in there – with love for you, her precious son.  In some ways, the words of encouragement that day – the talk of Heaven, the absence of strife – were a delayed comfort.  In her raw grief, at your own service – there were many similar words shared – but I can only imagine, those words were hard to penetrate the heart of a woman who had just lost her beloved oldest child.  I can’t say for certain how she felt – and I hope that’s a certainty that will elude me for a lifetime.

Your parents were there when the 2/2 returned from their last deployment in February.  It was a pleasant surprise to see them there – again, you’d be so proud of how they honor you by serving others.  Your mom mentioned that she felt “close to you” at the recent homecoming.  Words still fail me – but your mom and your dad, show stellar resilience.  Their memories of you, your love and honor for them and for your country, your antics and all that you stood for, remain here today. 

Many have lost sight of what “Memorial Day” is declared to be.  I wish it fell routinely on the last Tuesday, Wednesday or Thursday of May.  It’s not meant to be a convenience to civilians, but that’s what Monday has become for a great deal of Americans.  Please know that in my heart and in the hearts of those you have personally touched – your memory and your life, will be forever honored. 

No, you’re not physically here.  Rest assured, no terrorist organization can erase your legacy.  You will live on in the hearts of those you loved.  Your memory will stay with those of us who have watched in awe, the strength and increasing faith in God that resulted from your passing.  Your memory will not dissipate from the friends you made at LeJeune and especially not from those who were serving alongside of you on that fateful February day. 

Interestingly, I remember vividly the day that you died – I wish I didn’t.  I hate the words “River City” and will always recall the happenings of that day.  The sound of my son’s voice when he called is permanently etched in my mind.  I’m grateful for the sound of his voice, and so wish your parents had the same experience that day.  I don’t know how you felt about tattoos while you were here, but I suspect you’d be humbled by the number of young men who have a memorial tattoo on their bodies that reminds them of you every time they see themselves in a mirror.  Some people have issues with “ink” but how could any parent object to a permanent reminder of a friend whose life on Earth was cut short in an act of valor?  Tyler has accumulated an impressive collection since turning 18.  Most though, have been since his return from Afghanistan.  His most recent tattoo – has your silhouette….and your name.  As a mom, I’m proud of him for NOT wanting to forget you and others.  Having your name displayed on his bicep also provides ample opportunities for strangers to hear of your brave devotion.  See, people are going to be talking about you long, long, long after you were here.  Interestingly, several celebrities have died since you – interestingly too, they get a lot of coverage the week or two following their passing, but I haven’t seen a single celebrity tattoo.    

No, Jason, you may not have had as many years on Earth as most, but there is no doubt – the imprint and the legacy you left behind will outshine many lives with decades more of opportunity.  You made a difference.  Mine is just one life you touched. Believe me, the hearts you impacted span across this great nation and into other countries.  Although you’re gone, others will continue to learn of your bravery, sacrifice, devotion to family, and your love of God. You’re not forgotten.  You never will be. 

Sure, there will be cookouts on Monday, people will sleep in, the lakes and beaches will be full - but no matter what we’re doing, or where we are – there will be plenty of people remembering you and your fallen comrades from years gone by.  Know there will be many prayers offered for the darling family you (and others) have left behind. 

Scripture tells us that you’re happy to be in Heaven – you know no pain, you’re in the most glorious of all places.  Your tears have been wiped away; there is nothing you long for.  You wouldn’t want to be back on Earth because you’ve seen what awaits those of us who have come into a saving knowledge of Jesus.  While the ones you’ve left behind still feel the pain of your loss- I pray they find comfort in knowing you are with the Lord…and that one day you’ll all be reunited for eternity. 

 

The First House on the Left

Our neighborhood is a comprised of approximately 96 homes in a desirable suburb of North Atlanta.  We have decades old, well established yards, with gorgeous trees and  even a lake.  We have swim and tennis and an active Homeowner’s Association.   A cornucopia of shopping, gourmet restaurants, parks and leisure  is literally minutes away.  The majority of homes are larger than average.  Most are “traditional” by design – often with full finished basements.  It’s a quiet community with fabulous neighbors.  Crime has not been an issue in the nine years we've lived here.  Our community is nestled in a top ranked school system with convenient access to everything.  When we peer out kitchen windows, we see trees, flowers, and beautifully choreographed birds, butterflies, squirrels and more. 

This is on one of the "better days" - yet, weeds galore

Residents seem quite content here – with one caveat.  There is a house on our street that is an absolute eye sore.  It has long been vacant.  The “phantom owner” fails to maintain the property to the point of neglect.  It’s my understanding that the issue has been addressed with proper authorities and appropriate “processes” are in place.  While encouraging news, “processes” take time and fail to lessen the eye strain every time anyone enters our neighborhood. While this one horrendous yard exists there are many lawns that look as though they were carefully and precisely extracted from Pebble Beach or Pinehurst and plopped in our midst. 

There is a lovely home for sale a few doors down.  I’m sure that prospective buyers may be inclined to turn around when their sight lands upon the yellow stucco that could quite possibly house Gomez and Morticia.  This one horribly unkempt lot would be unfortunate on any street in our neighborhood, but it is presently the “first impression.”  The first house on the left has given me quite a bit of pause lately.

We learn about first impressions at an early age.  We grow up hearing the colloquialism, “You never get a second chance to make a first impression”.  From youth, we are conditioned to put "our best foot forward" -  perhaps appealing to the masses, yet  often far removed from authenticity.  How absurd.  Yet, at my present age (43) – it’s still easy to succumb to absurd, cultural conditioning.   Just yesterday, I found myself explaining to someone why a 5’9” girl (me) would consider wearing 4” heels.  Why?  Because, generally speaking – people take you more seriously with every inch of height.  It’s silly and superficial!  (Although, I have a bias toward fabulous shoes - ascribing to the "keep your heels, head and standards high" philosophy!)

  At some point along the way, my wardrobe became  somewhat contingent on what persons in “authority positions” would be encountered on a given day.  Conversely, in recent months – I’ve learned to appreciate (and encourage among friends) “cosmetic free days”.  Those are coming about more and more!  (It's great for the skin!)  There is obviously an inner battle brewing within - one between preconceived notions and time-proven reality. 

On the flipside, my own first proclivities of others have been “generally accurate.”  Most often, intuition kicks in and a façade is easily penetrated.  Although, history is not 100% accurate.  There have been individuals encountered that seemed “harsh and abrasive”.  Through further interaction, initial assessment has been replaced by one that is “quiet and yet, incredibly nurturing and gentle.”   Most significantly, if my husband remained defined by the first impression – he’d not be my husband now.  It’s funny how life works. …and also quite humbling. People perceived as friends may not be – people perceived as adversaries, may turn out to be loyal and true companions. 

A very dear, longtime friend once told me that throughout early high school, she thought I was conceited and very snobby.   It took a little time for her to figure out that I was only extremely shy and painfully insecure.  How profoundly opposite of her “first impression”! Then again, six years ago – I ascertained a very positive initial assessment of someone who I now know only “made a great first impression.”  Through conversations, actions and handwritten letters – it’s clear that this individual was also too familiar with the phrase, “You only get one time to make a first impression.”  Time revealed greater, darker truths – that are far from the persona presented to immediate family, friends, and prospects.  My desire to love this person made the positive first impression almost impossible to forget.  Wanting to believe the best - the best was a remarkable front, and I was one of the last to see the reality.  Some people are simply brilliant actors/actresses.  (Keep both eyes wide open!  First impressions can be hard to shake – in either direction.)

First impressions are a reality.  We simply must not assume first impressions are correct.  Just as potential buyers should drive past the first house on the left to see what sits beyond the “entrance” – so should we pursue further information as we first become acquainted with others.   Don’t be too quick to write someone off.  Don’t be too quick to give someone your heart.  Be prayerful.  Be wise.

This is not an admonition - but a charge  and a challenge to self. 

 It doesn’t hurt to make a great first impression...it really doesn't hurt to make a great first impression this is truly representative of the person you are.  I've no doubt that I've left poor first imprints  for others. Hopefully, they've extended a bit of grace in those situations as was the case with my childhood friend!

First impressions aren't necessarily a "Hole in One."    Lesson learned - again.

IMHO
T

Libre Euphoria: Roy G Biv Style

Interested in a little cheap therapy? Forget Dewey Decimal!  After tackling multiple organizational projects in recent weeks, I’ve grown particularly fond of the euphoria associated with Roy G. Biv.  If you’ve been out of middle school for a while and have forgotten this mnemonic for the color spectrum, here it is: RED.ORANGE.YELLOW.GREEN.BLUE.INDIGO.VIOLET.  I first rearranged my dresser drawers and closet in the order of the spectrum.  Opening the drawers of my dresser is uber pleasing to the eyes.  I’ve discarded and donated so many pieces of clothing that the remaining inventory is much easier managed.  Especially, with the “rolled” shirts positioned in ROY G. BIV fashion.  

                                     

While perusing the April 2012 Redbook magazine, my eyes fell upon a picture of a bookcase arranged in the color spectrum.  GENIUS, I thought! New inspiration trumped my existing project list and revitalized my organizational enthusiasm.  So, here I sit on Day 1 of a 3 Day “Stay-cation” – facing a newly arranged bookcase in my home office.  Roy G. Biv is cathartic.  Try it.  If you consider the traits affiliated with right/left brain dominance – I come out in the middle.  People lovingly tease me for anal tendencies while others pick up on the more creative side. 

“Middle brain” is probably a more accurate descriptor (with perhaps a slight leaning toward left.)   

BEFORE:  revamping my office bookshelves:

• All books shelved by subject matter
• Within each section, books alphabetized by author’s last name
• Corresponding excel spreadsheet on laptop with Title/Category/Author/Notes

"not terrible"..... just blah

  AFTER: revamping office bookshelves:

• All books shelved by color, following ROYGBIV
• Row of White books across the top shelves
•  Row of Black books across the bottom shelves
• Corresponding excel spreadsheet has new column: Spine (color) - indicating location on shelves

To bring out your inner creative librarian, check out: bookshelfporn.com.To easily create your own online “library” –create a free account at librarything.com. (I just started one for kicks – maybe eventually I’ll combine my multi-purpose spreadsheet and the online library.)

Oh …and a bonus:Bookplates that coordinate nicely with my office – and my Kennedy fascination.I created these utilizing Avery mailing labels – much less expensive than bookplates purchased in the past!





My new bookplates - a TLH original!



Portion of revised spreadsheet: title/category/spine color/special notes






Okay, My Marine Son is Home -
no more blogging/organizing!

"Atlanta Blue Star Mothers Share a Graceful Strength" by Margaret Aikens (Reprint)

While doing online research just now, I literally stumbled upon this article from the March 2010 edition of the Atlanta Military Examiner, written by Margaret Aikens, now a member.  Pretty cool discovery...and now forever saved for my kids with my other "stuff".

In the lobby level meeting room of Atlanta’s Mirant Corporation, for a few hours once every month, some women gather to discuss their lives. They bring coffee and soda, small pin wheel sandwiches and trays of snacks. They struggle to carry supplies for whichever activity they have taken on that month. This month it was filling plastic Easter eggs for our troops overseas.

But before the activity began, they sat down and spoke about what it is like to be who they are. They are special women; part of a special group of being common only among their own, and with a long heritage of sacrifice and courage beyond the pale of the normal civilian population. They are military mothers of the Atlanta Blue Star Mothers of America Organization, and they have something to say.

They want people to understand what they have given and are allowing their children to give so that others may sleep safely in a secure nation. They tell their stories with teary eyes unwilling to completely release due to habit of strength. But that strength gets tested, they say - and the tears do come.

While one member, Cindy Brown, a former Army service member and co-founder of the Atlanta BSMA group, can trace her proud lineage all the way back to the revolutionary war, many women in this group have never had any military contact at all.

They were new to the many burdens of being a military family in a time of great stress, and when their children came to them - certain and unmoving - to tell them they had “joined”, as member Cindy Visser confessed, she was “hysterical”. Boosted by her friends, she gathered herself and joined a journey that she had never seen coming. They all did.

Through the entire meeting, each spoke with tears brimming just along the rims of their eyes as if at any moment they could break. This is with them always, they say. Washing dishes, sitting in traffic, smiling at office parties and laughing with friends. Just below the surface of the smiles and warm social graces, these women struggle with an incomparable and constant reality that their child is in harm’s way.

The most basic of all instincts, to protect one’s child is ever present yet held down by sheer will and strength of character. And no one but another woman in this same situation, they tell me, can relate. “They don’t mean it. “ One member added, speaking of some civilian comments, “But the things they said were so inappropriate. They just can’t understand. That’s why I came here.”
Many other military families agree. In a March 2009 survey given by the Blue Star Families organization, military families were given the chance to address the following statement: “The general public does not understand or appreciate the sacrifices made by service members and their families.”
A whopping 94% of respondents agreed. Michelle Obama mentioned this survey in an interview with Samantha Quigley of the Armed Forces Press Service, stating, “I just saw the results of a recent survey done by Blue Star Families that shows that 94 percent of military families feel as if the country doesn’t understand their challenges,” Obama said. “That’s a pretty powerful statement.” But not all powerful statements come from the written word.

Sitting quietly, dressed in a bright red sweater with sun glasses tucking her hair neatly behind her ears, Tawnda Holley’s eyes told a story. Mother to a Marine son currently deployed to Afghanistan, Tawnda spoke softly and quietly of how proud she is of her son and of the choice he made. Not with tears flowing, but graciously poised as if she could not allow one to go for fear the rest would not stop. Tawnda’s eyes relayed the graceful strength and quiet will of all military mothers. A mix of bitter-sweet emotions anchored behind a remarkable pride.

President of the BSMA’s Metro-Atlanta chapter, Cindy Wiley, understands. Cindy, along with BSM Cindy Brown, the group’s secretary, and Cathy Schulte, treasurer, all have children serving. It is for these members and guests - which on this day included Cathy, a visiting Air Force mother, and former military wife Hillary Goldizen who, with her young daughter, donated candy and supplies for the Easter shipment - that this group was formed.

While each mother had her own story to tell, all of them shared the same undeniable sense of pride in their child. Military mothers send their children to serve the public in its most desperate of times and all that they ask in return is that it is appreciated and understood. Comments like, “How could you let them go?” or “I’d never allow my child to do that”, are often conveyed by those who choose to see only one side of a picture at which they stare with too broad an eye.

It’s in the details of this larger picture - which no one else sees - where these women must live. Painted with loving memories of skinned knees and chicken pox; first dates and broken hearts; lost dogs and nightmares, they raised their children by giving more to them than they would ask in return. And then, as their children grew into military members, they took with them this same sense of selfless devotion which they pass on to thousands whose names they may not know and whose faces they may not see yet whose lives they volunteer to protect simply because their country asks.

Harbored within the details of the lives their children chose, they gain a thorough and steadfast insight into the truest meaning of motherhood from all its winding angles. Hopes and dreams, wishes and prayers, some answered... some not. This is what it’s like to be a military mother. There is no pride or effort of emotion that can compare to that of being a military parent. Within the lives our children lead, from the journeys they ask us to understand, bitter and sweet… we are fed both.

To all of our Atlanta Georgia BSMA's whose flags NEVER fall, a heartfelt... "Thank you"!

Margaret Aikens has spent her life in the military presence. The daughter of an officer, wife to a retired Marine and mother to three military sons, her experiences span the broad spectrum of military life. As a freelance copy and technical writer, she saw a need to touch upon the very important stories of our Atlanta area military families. She has taken classes in journalism from Poynters and is attending classes in journalism at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst this year.

If I could talk to you today....and You Could Hear what I have to Say...

(Let’s be honest – I’d hug you before saying a word!) 

I’d tell you again how fortunate I am to have had you in this crazy life.  Your voice is still clear in memory.  Remembering the sound of your laughter brings an immediate smile. Your big “bear” hugs were a cushy infusion of protection, encouragement and love.  Thanks for understanding me, for listening to my words – and for reading between the lines when words failed.  You saw things as they were when others were too easily deceived.  You were one of the greatest encouragers ever known.

Many favorite memories include you.  Whether visits to your house or visits to ours – we always had fun.  It was often said that we giggled like little girls at night when everyone was supposed to be sleeping.  We did – and I’d not trade those memories for anything.  Certain aromas take me back to the fresh baked cookies always in the kitchen; to sloppy Joes, Pringles and “pop” and those fun metal tv trays.  The butter cookies with the sprinkles, yum – wish I had that recipe now!  The Buckeyes too - of course, those held personal significance!  The smell of cold water hitting asphalt is a reminder of you watering the rose bushes that lined your little driveway on a warm day.  The combination of cedar and another unidentifiable scent reminds me of your garage – which seemed like a magical place full of lawn equipment and toys back then!   Images of “having tea” with you – with a small blue and white tea set in your living room, are embedded in my mind. All these things and many more – still so clear and easily recalled.

When asked, “Who is someone who greatly influenced you?” – You’re always at the top of the list.  Not only did you have a direct impact on me, but indirectly as well.  You deserve credit for raising some pretty terrific kids – one in particular!  Long after your last breath, your influence remains and your memory is alive – continuing not only in me, but in the hearts of some of my favorite people on Earth.  My husband and children have heard stories about you over the years.  It saddens me that you were never able to meet them.  You would’ve ADORED them all – and no question, they would have adored you in return. 

You know that as a Mom, there is no shortage of moments that take your breath away.  As my kids have grown into adults, it’s become painfully obvious that some of the difficulties encountered when they were little – weren’t difficulties at all.  The stuff of life that’s taking place now, wow – it’s hard.  You know what it’s like to see your kids facing opposition – it stinks.   You’ve watched your own walk some of the paths that mine have taken.  There are numerous similarities. How I wish you were here so we could talk through these things.  Your perspective and insight would be priceless. 

You were a woman of faith – who prayed for all of us.  I hope now, if you could see me – that you would be pleased, and that you would recognize answers to some of your earlier prayers.  Having seen answers to my own has been such a blessing – especially, those that took years to witness fully. This is not to imply that I have been or will ever be “perfect” - trust me! You had a profound impact, but even you were incapable of a miracle. J

Yours is an exemplary model of “how” to profoundly influence generations that follow.  The fact that more than two decades after we said goodbye, you come to mind so often – only affirms the significant role you held.   Distance wasn’t a deterrent then – and although I miss you, it’s not a deterrent now.  Thank you for such a legacy.

One year,  I was given a cassette tape recorder with a microphone for the purpose of sending you audio messages through the mail.  You probably don' t know that after waving goodbye to you one day, I recorded a message – and let Dad listen to make sure I did it right. He suggested that I do it again – and leave out the part that said, “As we were waving goodbye, I couldn’t see very well because I was crying so hard.”  My kid heart only wanted to convey how much you were already missed – but he was right to suggest it would only make you sad.

 Dad’s not reviewing my messages these days, so here goes:  “The day Pat told me you were gone, was one of the hardest days of my existence.  There was an immediate void. No one else could fill it – and I wouldn’t want them to.  When I remember you as I often do, tears still fill my eyes – as they are in this moment.  With time comes clear perspective, even through tears. With the passing years and changes in family dynamics, I am increasingly aware of how blessed I was to have you for the time you were here. 

I love you and miss you like crazy.  I'm grateful for the life you lived and for the way you loved.  Hopefully, someday my children and grandchildren will think of me in the same way you’re thought of still.

Just be on the lookout for me, because on the day I get to Heaven – you’ll be the first one I’m looking for!  (Okay, I know what you'd say... and yes, you're right - after Jesus, I'll be looking for you.)

T

PS - this picture is on a memo board in my office - what makes it special is your handwriting on the back....along with your name and address.  Knowing this photo was in your purse at one time makes me smile.