The Army has protocol; the Army does not have protocol. After being told that I could not get access to Jake’s autopsy report until the investigation is completely finished, another Gold Star Mom suggested I press the issue. She had managed to get hers in 3 months of persistent inquiries through her Casualty Assistance Officer. I asked My CAO immediately, thinking he can get the report in about three months, but now it is being delivered to me on Tuesday. Tuesday is so soon! Am I prepared, and will I ever be prepared? I have been so desperate to know exactly how Jake died, so I can put these images and ideas of his suffering to rest that I hadn’t considered how to prepare myself. I thought is was so far down the road. I’m told from the men in the field that he died instantly, but I have so many terrible thoughts and images of Jake’s suffering. I was told to prepare myself because there are so many injuries and they are “graphically described”. How does a mother prepare for this?

I spoke to a GSM who has had her son’s sealed autopsy report for two years. She said she needs to know but can’t find the right time, the right place, and the right person to be with for support. I don’t know either. My counselor at the VA, my husband, an army chaplain, my CAO, another mom whose been through it…? I need to know how he died and how quickly it happened, but at the same time I still want to pretend that all of this never happened. I don’t want it to become even more real! I just want Jake back and for all of this to go away!

Sometimes I feel like I’m finally accepting that Jake is gone. I think of him in the spirit world and I can smile and be happy that he is well. I can get through my day without as much crying, but then suddenly the grief hits me like a ton of bricks. I am so tired of the pain, so tired of the tears and so tired of being fooled into thinking that the grief is ending. Even with this, if I force myself to look at the big picture, I can see that I have made improvements. I know that I will never stop thinking of him, never stop loving him, and never stop missing him. I hope for days with fewer tears and more laughter. That’s what Jake would want for me.

It’s labor day weekend and we have friends coming from Denver for a week. I haven’t had many visitors because I’m not able to entertain with my illnesses and my grief, but this couple doesn’t need to be entertained, so they will be a welcome distraction. It’s wonderful to be loved.

Max, the wonder dog has been having seizures since we moved here. They seem to be induced by exercise which we do daily. I am the world’s best dog owner, but for three months, I have put taking him to the vet on the back burner. If I ignore it, maybe it will go away. I cannot bear the thought of losing him at this time in my life. He is my comfort and such good company. I need him, so I vow to take him this week!

I don’t want your death to harden me and I’m afraid it is. I have had a lifetime of hardships but I’ve still managed to have a lifetime of laughter until now. I absolutely know that you love my silliness and humor and my love for life, just as I love these traits in you. I don’t want to lose them. I want to remain happy through the trials, even this one, but this one is so big. It’s too painful, so for now I have put so much of me away. I need to remember where to find it one day for me and for you. I believe you can see me at times and I believe you want to see me laugh and smile. I promise I will try, Jake.

Tonight we went to that property we’ve been looking at. It’s so beautiful. We walked all the way around 9.5 acres and guess what? We saw a monarch butterfly, and in all that time we only saw one. It’s sort of become your trademark.

Ever since you were a little boy, you would always tell me, “Mom, when I grow up, I’m going to buy you a house, and you can live right by me and when you’re old, I’ll get you a golf cart so you can ride to my house”. You even said that as recently as last year. There was so much of your life when I was a single mom, and I know it must have created a desire in you to take care of me. I always told you that you didn’t need to get me anything. All I ever wanted was for you to love me and you did that so well, Jake. I always knew you loved me and I can feel it even now. If we get this property, we will build that house you wanted for me, and I remember that the kitchen has to be big because I’ve never had that. I will remember that requirement you insisted on. I will miss having you and your family next door, but I will plant milk weed to attract the butterflies, because that way you will be there in my mind as I see them flutter about.

The very best thing I got to do in this life was to be a mom; to be your mom. Nothing has ever made me happier than being with you and your sister. Every single day I spent raising you brought me so much joy. It seems silly sitting here writing this to you as if you don’t know, because you do. You do know how much I love and adore you. You will always be the best thing I’ve ever done.

I feel as if the world has hidden all joy from me. My heart is broken and it’s not getting better. Maybe I feel a little more connected to the world than I did in the beginning as the shock is on its way out, but I went to bed crying last night. Not just tears, but audible crying and I woke this morning crying before I put my feet on the ground.

I’m told that moving can be one of the most stressful things in life. Check. I’ve read that chronic illness can add overwhelming stress to life. Check. The death of a loved one is right at the top of the list. Check and double check. I am completely overwhelmed. I feel broken and unable to go on sometimes.

Grief is a cruel deceiver. It is so unpredictable, allowing me to have hope at times and then sudden and deep grief as if I just received the news of Jake’s death. The pain is intense and difficult. It is often completely incapacitating. I am so frustrated and tired of the tears and the heartache. I don’t always want to go on. I sometimes think I cannot, but then I don’t get to have that choice.

I don’t know who I am anymore. I have lost such a big piece of my identity, my personality and sense of humor. Where is my love for life? Where is my desire to find enjoyment? I’ve lost so many feelings that are “normal”. Why can’t I find joy, happiness, contentment, silliness, or anything positive? I can find comfort in prayer but sometimes I don’t want to pray. Why?

This is what I hold on to, and this brings me satisfaction; the knowledge and understanding that no matter what happens here on Earth, Jake is okay. Not just okay but even more beautiful than when he was here, and experiencing all of the positive feelings I have lost. I will see him again. I know it with every fiber of my being, but will I experience the feeling of actually living again in this life, or will I simply survive until my time is up? I really don’t know. Lord, please bring back my hope for this life. Please help me to find happiness again here on Earth.

I wasn’t able to attend the Rockies game honoring you. It’s just too hard to go back to Colorado right now. I’m sorry. I never want to miss anything that honors you, but contention is just too much for me right now. I did get a recording, and these are the words the announcer said about you:

“The Colorado Rockies honor PFC Jacob Wykstra. During his deployment, he was dispatched on countless chase missions and support operations, assisting both NATO and Afghanistan National Security troops in contact engagements and medical emergencies. On May 29th, 2014, Jake was dispatched on a mission with his squad mates and made the ultimate sacrifice, giving his life when his helicopter crashed during a late-night mission. Let us show our support for Jake’s family who is on the field today to celebrate his memory. His family asks that we remember and pray for all our troops and their families as they give selflessly to our country in support of freedom.”

I’m so proud of you, Jake. I’m happy that you are getting the hometown recognition you deserve. I hope there’s baseball in heaven!

Link to the Rockies Tribute:

We just got back from our first Gold Star event, “Tribute to our Fallen”. The Gold Star Family members were provided a dinner in the afternoon, we set up small memorials with pictures and items that belong to our children, and we mingled. We shared stories of their lives and of their deaths. It’s our way of keeping them alive until we see them again in the hereafter. I want to be able to describe what it was like to be a part of this, but I am struggling to articulate my thoughts and feelings. This is a population I never knew existed. A sub-culture that the world is unaware of. I never knew of their existence until I became one. Most will leave this life without ever knowing that these grieving “aliens” are here existing while they go on living. How wonderful to feel a part of a group and not alone, but at the same time how odd to belong.

I felt so much grief for these people as I asked them to share their son or daughter with me. I felt a bit of anger that this group has to exist at all, and I felt a tiny bit of denial that I am now a part of them. Every time I proudly told someone about Jake, I’d look at his picture and it didn’t seem like he belonged either. These young men and women are all dead, and I guess I haven’t completely accepted that Jake is dead too. There was a comfort and a discomfort that is too difficult to explain. But I know this; I have a strong desire to help them in any way I can, but is it possible to help any of us? I know their grief and their pain and if I could, I would take it away from every single one of them. I hate that war and hatred has done this to us and especially to our brave and wonderful children. I know it will never end and that this group will continue to grow and this breaks my heart.

After dinner we went to a field of flags at a military memorial park. They had a forest of flags arranged so that if you could see it from the sky, you would see that the forest was shaped like a folded flag. Every one of these flags had at one time been draped over a casket of a fallen hero. Some of the flags had 48 or 49 stars. Jake’s picture and name were attached to one of the flag poles. We had speakers from the military, prayer, music, and we released balloons for our children. The names were read for those casualties from the past year. Jake’s was read last of course; his only complaint with his name was that it began with “Wy”. If I could combine the feelings of comfort, anger, happiness, sadness, frustration, and healing into one emotion, this is what I felt. The best part is that we got to feel it together. None of us were alone.

We met with our casualty assistance officer today. We were told we could expect the results of the investigation in the spring of 2015. My heart is breaking. Don’t they know we need closure? As long as I know nothing, I feel that you won’t be completely at rest or maybe it’s just me that won’t rest. The final casualty report says your cause of death was from “multiple injuries”. I think I can figure that out myself because an 24,000 pound helicopter came crashing down on you. I have to keep that vision and everything else my brain imagines in my head until they send that report. The Army is so frustrating, this process is frustrating and not being able to talk to you is so frustrating. Jake, I need answers. You know how my brain works. I want to know everything, but this is something I need to know. I need to know why I don’t have you anymore!

Today Ray and I looked at some property for possibly building a house. It’s so green and beautiful here and you never got to see it. You never got to visit like we had planned. I even have your bedroom all ready for you and nobody has slept there yet but your sweet little niece. I’ll have to tell her next time she comes that she is sleeping in a bed I prepared for you. I’m sure you know about her invisible heart string. It’s attached to her heart and the other end is attached to your heart all the way up in heaven. I have one too and when we want to remind you how much we love you, we pull on our heart strings together. Can you feel us tugging at your heart? She has such a perfect and unflawed understanding of where you went. Of course she cried when she was told you went to heaven, but now she smiles when she talks about how happy you are there. She told me you’re so lucky because you get to be with Jesus and all the doggies that we used to have. I wish it was so simple for me. I wish I could see the positive side without the anger I feel over the waste of young lives that war brings. I wish I could get past the great loss and heartache that sometimes paralyzes me and renders me useless; unable to do anything but cry for you.

There is a beautiful Lake here that we like to walk around. It’s called Racoon River Park and it has everything that you would love; a people beach and a dog beach, little league fields, a huge dog park that goes back into the woods and a lake for canoeing. There are memorial benches all around the lake. Maybe I should get one with your name on it. Maybe it can be my special place in Iowa to be with you. The problem is that it is so hard to see your name memorialized. It’s already on a tombstone and a memorial wall and there are plans to add it to other memorials. It’s wonderful and beautiful that you are so well honored and remembered, but hard for the mom who gave you that name. It’s both bitter and sweet.

Speaking of dogs and heaven, I sent this to Jake when he was in Afghanistan. He said, “Now, that’s my kind of Heaven!”. I hope he’s there right now with Sophie, Rufus, Roscoe, Chelsea, Watson, Hennie and Hank.

I’ve been thinking about death frequently since you left. Even though my faith allows me to know that death isn’t final, there has always been something tragic about someone leaving this life. Recently a friend lost a grandparent and a famous celebrity killed himself and it’s all over the news. I feel nothing. I think it might be because for me, just about anyone else dying is far less tragic than losing you. I wonder if it will ever bother me again. It seems like death doesn’t bother me unless it’s the death of another soldier. Am I becoming that self involved that the world around me has no affect on me unless it relates to my own loss. Even the thought of my own death brings no fear or anxiety. I just really don’t care anymore. Is that normal? Probably not, but maybe it’s okay for now.

Jake, You haven’t been gone that long and we have lost 19 more Americans since you were killed. I’m becoming angry about this war and angry that peace seems to be dissolving all over the Middle-East. We don’t have leaders who support the military, yet the military is still over there. The only good thing for me personally is that I don’t have to worry about you being there anymore. You still pop into my mind constantly, and sometimes I even think to send you a text message to let you know I love and miss you. I bet you get that message as soon as it enters my mind. I bet I don’t even need my phone for that. I miss you, buddy and I don’t think that will ever change until I see you again.

This week I’ve had a good friend visit from Denver. It’s hard to give myself permission to grieve when trying to entertain, and it’s hard to cope with the guilt of trying to put my grief on the back burner. I know you would want me to live my life and be happy, but when I try to do that I feel like a terrible mother. I still have the heaviness of grief every second of the day, even when I laugh. You and I have always had the need for humor and laughter every day. I don’t think there has been much about either of us that is completely serious, but I feel as though that love for life and love for laughter is fading from me since your death. I hope it’s temporary, because this life is too hard without laughter. I miss it, but mostly I miss laughing with you. I miss being idiots together. You brought me so much joy and laughter and I don’t know where else to find it. Maybe it is just a unique part of who we were together that it can never be replaced. Please tell me that I’ll find it in heaven. I know you’re there and I am trying my best to get there to be with you again. I love you, Jake and miss your laugh every single day!

I have had some rough patches the last couple of days. I’ve been a little angry about the accident still. I want your death to make sense, but the Army offers so little. I have medals, a little life insurance money and a carefully folded flag, but no answers and no son. I keep thinking about the pilots who were flying. I’m told it was “pilot error”. They were both severely wounded. I was told one had a broken neck and one had a broken spine and that they were flown to Germany and that’s the last anyone has heard. I have the name for one and only the last name for the other. One of your buddies said, “I hope they’re dead for what they did”, but don’t worry, I chastised him lovingly as you would expect. I keep putting myself in the place of those poor pilots. Even putting aside their injuries, they know you were killed and I’m sure that has to be tormenting them. I want to find them and assure them that they are forgiven. I don’t want them to have that burden on their shoulders.

I keep thinking about the time you were “jumped” from behind by that kid you knew from church and high school? You were upset, but didn’t want to file charges. You wanted to show him forgiveness. I learned something from you during that time. I was so angry at him for doing something so unfair and for hurting you, but you so quickly forgave him. I remember seeing the two of you coming out of the bishop’s office shaking hands and you were smiling. Jake, you have always had a gift for forgiveness, so I want to find the pilots and do exactly what you would do. I want to do it for them but also for you. You were such an example to me in that way and I know the Lord gave you that gift to teach the rest of us. Ray said that you didn’t have a mean bone in your body. You never knew an enemy and I admire and love that about you.

I met with another Gold Star mom for lunch today. We sat for three hours and talked. Her son’s death date is only 3 days before yours but three years ago. Her son had been in the Air Force for 9 years, so he was a bit older and she said she was used to him being gone. I hadn’t even had time to get used to you being in the military, let alone being away. I don’t know if it’s any harder or easier on any of us, just different, but it is nice to know I am not alone and there are others who can assure me I’m not going crazy. She visited the Middle East Conflicts Wall Memorial in Marseilles, Illinois and your name is already there. She took a picture and also used a pencil to scratch a copy for me. It made me cry. I’m so proud of the selfless man you grew to become, but at the same time, it’s just more “stuff” that can never replace the void in my life. I don’t need them to memorialize you because you will never be forgotten. You could never be forgotten.

I’ve noticed that the times I feel a little angry, I feel further from my Father in Heaven. It’s not just something we learn in Sunday school. It’s real. I know I need to trust Him, Jake. I know I need to remember that you are doing great; without worries, fears or pains of this world. I need to be grateful every single day for the almost 22 years I had with you. Why was it so much easier in the beginning? Was it because I was a bit more numb and in shock than I am now? Is it because I expected to be further along in the grieving process by now? I don’t know. I need to change something but I’m not always sure what it is I need to change.