Spencer-If I Could Have Sat With You Today
Spencer,
It's Memorial Day, so the ache that's constantly in my heart feels like someone stuck their finger in a slowly healing wound to remind me it's still there. Today was a little heavier than most, but I was expecting it. I've had a 12 hour car ride to be alone with my thoughts and the aching that I feel-I let it do it's work in me today and I didn't run from it.
I couldn't visit Leavenworth today and sit by that beautiful, smooth, cold white stone that has your name and dates and honors on it. Lately I've caught myself just wanting to drive until I end up at Leavenworth and come sit with you. I've thought about the routine I have. How I pick out flowers for your grave and hate every second of choosing which bouquet is the manliest/prettiest (which is a hilarious feat by the way). I always bring you yellow, because I just do. Yellow reminds me of you. And yellow can look surprisingly manly if you want it to :) How it always bothers me that I am the one picking you out flowers-it's supposed to be the other way around. How my heartbeat always speeds up and my stomach turns every time I turn onto base and drive up to the guards. Give them my ID. When they ask, tell them I'm heading to the cemetery. Sometimes open all the car doors and step out while they look around. Smile and say thanks when they let me through. Drive by the schools and the housing and the commissary. Remember what the streets looked like lined with silent, saluting people and flags the day we drove down those streets to bury you. Turn left onto Pope St. Park on that stupid hill. The last grave on the end of row P. Arrange the flowers, pick up any leaves, straighten the flags, tidy up the ground around you. Exhale. Sit. Remember.
If I could have sat with you today, I would have told you how I'm still kinda pissed that we're having to figure out life without you here. I'd remind you that I won our BBQ bet-speaking of which, I drove by Dale's BBQ tonight. I just wanted to remember that day.
I would have told you about nursing. Remember all those dreams about nursing I told you about? I'm doing some of those things now, and I'll do more of them soon. How cool is that? You listened to me rant about school a lot so, naturally, I would have to rant about adult life. It's hard.
I would have told you I miss your red cheeks and I miss saying ridiculous things just to get you to blush because your cheeks were so adorable. Mikayla and I talked the other day about how you better be able to blush in Heaven.
I would have told you about how in the relationships I've had since losing you, I've tried to do better. Remember how I promised I would learn from you? I have. I've learned so much.
I would have told you that I take great solace in knowing you probably hate Darius Rucker's version of Wagon Wheel just as much as I do. The original will always be the best.
I would have told you that sometime in the last 2.5 years I stopped wearing your dog tags regularly, because I think it was a small way for me to allow myself to move on a little...and I know you're okay with it. But I would have also told you that sometimes I still put them on just to hear them clink around because it reminds me of what you sounded like when you wore them.
I would have told you about how today, in the 12 hours I was in the car, I thought a lot about grief. I thought about how it's such a paradox. How it can make you feel numb and also feel like every emotion is magnified at the same time. How it has rituals and gives things meaning that didn't have meaning before. How different and how similar it's looked at the same time for the different people who grieve for you. I would tell you about how I realized that grief scares people who aren't grieving or haven't grieved before. I would tell you about all the times grief was something I hid behind, but I would also tell you about the times it made me brave.
I would have told you about how it's awful, you know, trying to figure this paradox out. But I've also thought about all of the beauty that has come from ashes: The 5k they organize for you-you're the reason I started running, and running is something I've come to love. I'm friends with some of your friends now, and I'm not sure how I did life without some of them before. The foundation your family started and the scholarships they provide veterans with. So many beautiful things have come from losing you, which doesn't make it easier but somehow I think it makes us feel like we're doing something-anything-to remember you and somehow make it worth it. None of us want this, but we're doing the best we can.
I would tell you that I miss you-I would say it a million times. I miss you, like I've never missed anyone before. Sometimes "I miss you" seems so empty, and sometimes it carries all the words I can't seem to find.
Oh, also-I would have reminded you that a Braum's is like one mile from my apartment and I know you hate me for that and that makes me smile :)
Then I would leave. I hate leaving you there. I hate it every time. But I would leave knowing that I'm okay and I would leave hopeful, because hope is stubborn and grief doesn't trump hope (thank goodness).
I think you'd be proud of me. I think you know my heart and know the small moments when I'm brave that other people might not get, when I stop and think, "Okay, this is when it matters. This is when it isn't in vain and I can choose to live differently."
I think about you every day and I'll always remember you. A lot of people have been saying thank you today, since it's Memorial Day. It feels weird and horrible to thank you, but I guess that's what I'm doing-so, with a broken heart and with every ounce of sincerity I have: thank you for the way I had to grow by losing you. Even though that sounds terrible, I know you get it. What a paradox, right?
It's Memorial Day, so the ache that's constantly in my heart feels like someone stuck their finger in a slowly healing wound to remind me it's still there. Today was a little heavier than most, but I was expecting it. I've had a 12 hour car ride to be alone with my thoughts and the aching that I feel-I let it do it's work in me today and I didn't run from it.
I couldn't visit Leavenworth today and sit by that beautiful, smooth, cold white stone that has your name and dates and honors on it. Lately I've caught myself just wanting to drive until I end up at Leavenworth and come sit with you. I've thought about the routine I have. How I pick out flowers for your grave and hate every second of choosing which bouquet is the manliest/prettiest (which is a hilarious feat by the way). I always bring you yellow, because I just do. Yellow reminds me of you. And yellow can look surprisingly manly if you want it to :) How it always bothers me that I am the one picking you out flowers-it's supposed to be the other way around. How my heartbeat always speeds up and my stomach turns every time I turn onto base and drive up to the guards. Give them my ID. When they ask, tell them I'm heading to the cemetery. Sometimes open all the car doors and step out while they look around. Smile and say thanks when they let me through. Drive by the schools and the housing and the commissary. Remember what the streets looked like lined with silent, saluting people and flags the day we drove down those streets to bury you. Turn left onto Pope St. Park on that stupid hill. The last grave on the end of row P. Arrange the flowers, pick up any leaves, straighten the flags, tidy up the ground around you. Exhale. Sit. Remember.
If I could have sat with you today, I would have told you how I'm still kinda pissed that we're having to figure out life without you here. I'd remind you that I won our BBQ bet-speaking of which, I drove by Dale's BBQ tonight. I just wanted to remember that day.
I would have told you about nursing. Remember all those dreams about nursing I told you about? I'm doing some of those things now, and I'll do more of them soon. How cool is that? You listened to me rant about school a lot so, naturally, I would have to rant about adult life. It's hard.
I would have told you I miss your red cheeks and I miss saying ridiculous things just to get you to blush because your cheeks were so adorable. Mikayla and I talked the other day about how you better be able to blush in Heaven.
I would have told you about how in the relationships I've had since losing you, I've tried to do better. Remember how I promised I would learn from you? I have. I've learned so much.
I would have told you that I take great solace in knowing you probably hate Darius Rucker's version of Wagon Wheel just as much as I do. The original will always be the best.
I would have told you that sometime in the last 2.5 years I stopped wearing your dog tags regularly, because I think it was a small way for me to allow myself to move on a little...and I know you're okay with it. But I would have also told you that sometimes I still put them on just to hear them clink around because it reminds me of what you sounded like when you wore them.
I would have told you about how today, in the 12 hours I was in the car, I thought a lot about grief. I thought about how it's such a paradox. How it can make you feel numb and also feel like every emotion is magnified at the same time. How it has rituals and gives things meaning that didn't have meaning before. How different and how similar it's looked at the same time for the different people who grieve for you. I would tell you about how I realized that grief scares people who aren't grieving or haven't grieved before. I would tell you about all the times grief was something I hid behind, but I would also tell you about the times it made me brave.
I would have told you about how it's awful, you know, trying to figure this paradox out. But I've also thought about all of the beauty that has come from ashes: The 5k they organize for you-you're the reason I started running, and running is something I've come to love. I'm friends with some of your friends now, and I'm not sure how I did life without some of them before. The foundation your family started and the scholarships they provide veterans with. So many beautiful things have come from losing you, which doesn't make it easier but somehow I think it makes us feel like we're doing something-anything-to remember you and somehow make it worth it. None of us want this, but we're doing the best we can.
I would tell you that I miss you-I would say it a million times. I miss you, like I've never missed anyone before. Sometimes "I miss you" seems so empty, and sometimes it carries all the words I can't seem to find.
Oh, also-I would have reminded you that a Braum's is like one mile from my apartment and I know you hate me for that and that makes me smile :)
Then I would leave. I hate leaving you there. I hate it every time. But I would leave knowing that I'm okay and I would leave hopeful, because hope is stubborn and grief doesn't trump hope (thank goodness).
I think you'd be proud of me. I think you know my heart and know the small moments when I'm brave that other people might not get, when I stop and think, "Okay, this is when it matters. This is when it isn't in vain and I can choose to live differently."
I think about you every day and I'll always remember you. A lot of people have been saying thank you today, since it's Memorial Day. It feels weird and horrible to thank you, but I guess that's what I'm doing-so, with a broken heart and with every ounce of sincerity I have: thank you for the way I had to grow by losing you. Even though that sounds terrible, I know you get it. What a paradox, right?
Mackenzie,
ReplyDeleteSpencer will never be forgotten. I did not know him but was one of the hundreds of people working on Fort Leavenworth who came out to support his funeral on that day. I worked on post for five years and still remember the name of every fallen Soldier who was buried there during that time. His sacrifice will never be forgotten. Our Survivor Outreach Services on Fort Leavenworth has a 5K run/walk every year in late summer that goes past the cemetery. This year it will be Sept. 6. I am amazed at the many families who have suffered a loss but still take time to support each other and show love and respect and admiration for other families of Fallen, too.
God Bless,
Melissa Bower
Melissa,
DeleteWow! It is so great to hear those things from you.
Thank you for remembering Spencer and the other fallen soldiers. Thank you for lining those streets while we drove by-it was one of the deepest, most incredible acts of respect I have EVER seen. I was humbled by it and I will never forget it. I'm so thankful for you! I hope you are blessed, friend.
Mackenzie