Five months ago today, I was unaware that I would wake the next morning to learn that you were gone; to learn a pain I never knew existed; to learn that my life would never be the same again. As the months have passed, I am learning to live again. The process is slow, but I am trying my best to live as you would have me live. I am noticing the blessings in life and trying to find purpose for the remainder of my time here. Sometimes I feel trapped here, but I know that there is still much for me to accomplish. How did you accomplish what you needed to do so quickly? I always knew you were special but I never knew it like the Lord did!

I posted this on my facebook wall today:

“I realized I no longer count my time in Thursdays, but have moved on to months, now counting them by the 28ths. Five months ago today, you texted me for the last time, “I love you, mom”, left on a late night mission and the Lord brought you home to Him. I am noticing that I remember you living more than I remember you dying, and for that I am grateful. All of your family and friends love and miss you. You taught us about happiness and joy better than anyone I know, and I promise to try to live the happy life you would want for all of us. With tears in my eyes, I will still smile and know that you live on and anticipate your joyous reunions with each of us. Jake, you are so very loved. Forever and ever!”

Jake, I will do my best to love those you loved. I will follow your example and try to serve those who are less fortunate than me. I am grateful for reminders like this photo that allow me to reach out to those suffering through thought and prayer. I know how you felt about the people you served in Afghanistan and your compassion makes me want to be a better person and to do more. The world around us is full of suffering, much like you saw in the middle east. It continues, Jake and seems to get worse with each day. In the back of my mind, I often wonder if we’re getting close to the Savior’s return.

I was dumping the pictures from my camera and came across a photo I had completely forgotten about. It was early in the morning on January 26, and I had gotten up to cook my boy one last meal before he headed to Fort Carson for his deployment. The snow was falling heavily and he was so nervous about his two hour drive to the base. I kept telling him to eat something and he kept telling me that he needed to hurry up and go. I didn’t make him eat much, but I did force two things on him; a real hug and a photograph. I have thought about that last hug over and over again, but somehow I forgot about this photo I insisted we take. It seems he was braver than me. He was genuinely smiling and I remember trying to muster one up, but this was the best I could do.

Oh Jake, I didn’t know I wouldn’t see you again. I didn’t know this would be the last breakfast I would cook you, the last hug I’d force on you or the last image taken of us ever again on this Earth. What I would give to touch you again, to hear your voice, to have a simple conversation… I miss you so much, my lovely son. I miss every single thing about you.

Because Jake’s best friend now lives in Nebraska, we were able to meet him and his girlfriend at lunch in Omaha. it’s a bit of a drive, but after 15 years of having Alex around, it seemed natural. I first met him when he and Jake were in 2nd grade. Since he lived a block away, I watched him grow alongside Jake, with the two of them sort of glued together. Their relationship consisted of years of Jake performing while Alex laughed, but they also had the closeness of brothers, and were always there for one other no matter what. I can see that Alex is in pain, but I can also see what a blessing his girlfriend is to him at this time when he needs love and support, and that makes me smile. As we shared a meal, I realized that Jake never got to meet Alex’s first serious girlfriend. I also realized that this was the first time I had ever spent with Alex without Jake being there too. It was so bitter-sweet as life seems to be these days. Hardly a situation occurs without the sense of a void. Will the world ever seem right again? Everything is changing with time and it’s changing without Jake and that is hard for me. I’m not one who has ever liked change. I am nostalgic and sentimental and I can even remember feeling sad as a child when New Year’s came. New has never felt good to me and although it is a part of this life, I don’t think I can manage much more of it right now. Ray wants me to choose house plans, but for some reason I can’t even look at them without a sense of feeling overwhelmed. A new house? Another big change?

A Vietnam veteran has drawn a portrait of Jake as an act of service. He has drawn over 3600 fallen soldiers over the years and it turned out beautifully. It looks exactly like him and I love it so much, but it breaks my heart to look at it. There are still so many pictures and items that I cannot have around me because of the pain the sight of them brings me. I can’t figure out why some things/pictures trigger sadness and heartache and some can even bring a smile. At the risk of sounding crazy, doors have become painful. I sometimes catch myself staring at the front door, willing Jake to open it and bust through like he did for almost 22 years; always with a smile and a “Hey mom”. I find it so hard to accept that he will never again come through the door. I will never again feel the joy of him coming home to report whatever it was he had been up to, or to ask how or what I’m doing. How long must I wait to see him again? Only God knows and I remind myself, as I am Jake’s mother, He is my Father and He will do what is best for His children. I just wish I could ask Him why this is best.

A couple of days ago, when I was at the park throwing the ball for Max, a rugby team arrived and began setting up for practice. In all my years of taking my Border Collies for their daily fetches, I have never seen this game, rare in these parts of the world, played. At first I panicked thinking that the familiar reminder of the sport that Jake played and loved would be too much for me, but as I heard the young men laughing, teasing and commenting on one another’s plays I began to smile. I found myself not wanting to leave as the playful banter brought back wonderful memories of Jake and his buddies relentlessly laughing at one another’s expense. It happened in the baseball dugout, at the rugby field, and I have no doubt it happened everyday he spent in the Army.

Ever since Jake was a small child, he valued his friends. These boys seemed to bring him a happiness that he found nowhere else. He was a “man’s man” so it wasn’t surprising that he chose a line of work that involved spending time with guys who would quickly become his brothers.

The last conversation I had with him was after I had read an article about why soldiers want to return to war after they come home. It seems that the camaraderie and the trust they have in one another cannot easily be found in civilian life. They value protecting one another and create a bond through this. I thought this might be a problem for Jake, so I encouraged him to choose a career that involved something similar. Jake thought he might come home and become a fire fighter which would have been perfect, allowing him this need he had spent so many years developing from the boys he played with as a child to the brave men he served with. Although there will be no Earthly future for my son, it makes me smile and sometimes cry imagining this future for him. Is it possible to be proud of him for something he simply thought about and never had the chance to achieve?

Jake, How I wanted to see you continue growing. I looked forward to watching you have a family and achieve so many more wonderful things. Your successes brought an abundance of happiness to me. I am so proud of everything you chose to do with your life, past, present and future. I believe in you and know that whatever you’re busy doing now, you are doing with diligence, hard work and success. I will again someday witness your achievements and continue being the proud mother I have always been.

I haven’t written in awhile. I had your sister here visiting with her girls and we were as busy as you can imagine. We had a princess tea party for Emma’s birthday and I invited all the girls that are her age from church. She had so much fun. Me, Hannah and Emma wrote messages to you on her birthday balloons and let them go. We watched them until they were no longer visible and that’s when Emma said, “They’re in Heaven now”! I have no doubt you got the messages. Emma talks about you a lot. She tells everybody that you are in Heaven with such matter-of-fact innocence. She knows she will see you again and I am sure she’s right. I pray that we will all be together again one day with our Father in Heaven. It is my greatest desire.

Although it was wonderful, having Hannah here made me keenly aware that she is all I have left. I remember when I made the decision to have only two children, your dad said to me, “What if something happens to one of them”? I never believed I would lose either of you, and the thought never crossed my mind until you were deployed and still it didn’t seem real. As I watched the little ones run around and interact with Hannah, I realized that I will never have this with you. When people talk of getting their family together for holidays and birthdays, for me it’ll just be your sister and her girls. I’ll never see the girls interact with cousins and I’ll never get to see both of my children find joy in one another’s kids.

I loved watching you with your nieces, as I imagined what kind of father you would be. I anticipated watching your family grow and wondered what your children would be like. My heart breaks when I think that you will not leave a legacy of children and grandchildren. It breaks for me, but mostly for you.

I have sentimental things that you were to inherit. You were so excited about getting grandpa’s gun that you asked if I would give it to you as soon as you were back from Afghanistan. I said, “We’ll see”. Why didn’t I say, “Yes”? Jake, I want to give you everything and now there is nothing I can do for you.

I was in Costco today for the first time since your death. I was shopping and feeling just fine until I saw the protein bars and the Jerky I would send in your care packages. Jake, I want to send you a care package. I want to make you smile. I want you to know I love you and that I’m thinking of you. I want to make your day better and happier. How can this purpose in my life be gone? I cared for you for almost 22 years and now I can’t. I can’t do anything for you. Will the pain ever go? Jake, I can’t imagine I will ever be able to live without you and be the same person I was before. I still pray for you and I still talk to you. I hope you can hear me.

I know you’re busy doing incredible things and I know you are helping everyone around you and that makes me smile, even through the tears. No mother has ever loved her boy more than I love you.

Jake,

I am laughing at you a little this morning! I had another dream. I’m sure there was more, but this what I remember: You had a black SUV and you had written motivating quotes all over it in white. It was in the parking lot at the high school and everyone was surrounding it and reading what you had written like it was changing their lives. Ray and I went into the school where you were giving a speech. I wish I remembered the details, but it was very Tony Robbins-like. As we left, you shook everybody’s hand and you told us, “That was the highlight of the year”. Ray said, “Maybe you should consider being a motivational speaker for a living” and you agreed as you proudly looked over your car! Such a funny scene!

Why do I find this so funny? You? Motivated? You would agree that when you lived at home, getting you to do anything was like pulling teeth. I knew when you left for basic training that your life would change and it did in so many ways. It taught you to be disciplined and organized, except at mom’s house! Now, that I look back, I am happy that my house was the only place you felt comfortable enough to truly relax.

Still, you have always been motivated to work hard for the things that were most important to you. I realize that the Jake the Army knew a different animal. I have heard nothing but great things about you and your work ethic. Jake, I am so proud of you and so proud that you became someone willing to risk your life for others. There is no greater sacrifice and although I wish you weren’t taken, I admire the choices you made.

This week your platoon went back to work at Fort Carson. I got this text message from one of your battle buddy’s wives, “Good morning, Heidi! I went to reintegration training with my husband this morning. When I walked outside, the field by the company was full of butterflies. I know your angel is watching over my husband and the rest of his battle buddies. I just wanted you to know that I am always thinking of you and your family, and you are always in my prayers”. I’m so grateful for those from the platoon who have gone out of their way to be in contact with me. I feel like I need them, never to replace you but you seem to live on through them. I am grateful for angels in heaven and angels on the Earth!

I had a tear-free day yesterday. It’s a little frustrating because it feels good to take a break from the crying, but then again, I feel the guilt. How can I have had a day without crying when I miss Jake so much? I think we establish expectations for ourselves and it can’t be healthy, especially with something as unpredictable as grief. It reminds me of the time I showed up at Jake’s grave without flowers and upon realizing it, I felt as if I was less than a loving mother. I wish I could remove all of the “supposed tos” out of my mind and give myself a break.

My grief has made my chronic illnesses more difficult. I have less energy and more pain. I’ve learned that I can only accomplish one big thing a day, but I foolishly compare my daily accomplishments to my pre-grief days. Today, I cleaned the office. Yesterday, I did the finances, so I still haven’t been to the grocery store. It used to be that I could focus on and complete all of that in one day.

I keep praying to feel better so that I can do more to serve others. I know that this is what the Lord expects, but I am not as good at it as I used to be. Does He understand? Does He cut me a break even when I don’t give myself one? He’s left me here for a reason, so there must be something I need to figure out. I don’t know where to start or even if it’s possible.

I’m not sure I will ever feel like myself again and I don’t understand the purpose of this. I just want to go back in time so my boy can be here and I can feel normal again. I miss him and I miss me. I miss feeling like a part of this world.