Today, I woke up later than usual and when I saw the time my mind went into a brief panic, “I need to turn my phone on. What if Jake called?”, and then I remembered. You aren’t going to call. I won’t get to hear your voice again. When will my brain remember that you’re gone from my world for the rest of my life? It’s such a hard concept to process and even harder to bear. Jake, I miss you. I can close my eyes and see you. After all of these years I have you memorized. I know your smile, your chuckle, exactly what your hands and feet look like, your hair, the location of your moles, the scars from having some removed, your smell, the way you move and your voice. I miss your voice the most. I can feel what your neck, head and back feel like because I rubbed them so many times, especially at church. I remember your hugs as a child and as a man, but everything is gone now, Jake. Everything I love about you has vanished and I am here trying to cope. Sometimes it’s simply unbearable and so hard to accept.

Yesterday, I realized that everyone close to you has moved. You’ve only been dead for three and half months and we all live in new places except your dad. And then I did it again, “How will Jake find us if he happens to show up?” But you aren’t coming back and sometimes my mind forgets for just a split second. I hate it because when I remember, my heart seems to break all over again.

Tomorrow Ray and I will drive to Chicago to see your Lieutenant. He’s still hospitalized, and will be the last one to be discharged from the crash. He had two strokes that have affected the language center of his brain and he’s learning to speak, read and write again. I hear he’s doing better and look forward to visiting. I can’t imagine how hard and how frustrating this must be for him. The good thing is that his family lives in Chicago and can visit and help. I pray that I can be of help to him somehow. I pray that he doesn’t feel responsible in any way for your death. I know you would never want anyone to feel responsible.

People often offer their condolences and thank me for your sacrifice, but it was your sacrifice, Jake. It was you that set out to try to make this world a better place, and I know that if you could be thanked now, you would say, “I was happy to do it”, because of who you are. That makes you my hero.

It’s the middle of the night and although I have medicated myself, I can’t sleep because I just keep thinking of you and wondering what you are doing. I miss laughing with you and I simply miss being in the same room as you. I pray every night to dream of you, but it doesn’t seem to happen much. Maybe when I can sleep without medication. I can’t wait!

I finally received and read your autopsy report. I didn’t request pictures, but I needed to know what actually killed you and how quickly you died. I have been having these images in my head of you trapped, aware and unable to move, but now I know that God took you quickly and I’m so grateful for His mercy. Everyone’s guess was that you died from a broken neck, but your head, neck, jaw, collar bone… Were perfect. Your brain was unharmed. That’s why they let me see you, dressed so nicely in your uniform and looking so handsome. This is why I was blessed with that last bit of time with you that I will always treasure. Other than a cut on your left hand, your torso received all of the damage. Your lower back and pelvis were broken, as well as most of your ribs. In God’s mercy, He allowed a rib to sever your aorta. You died within seconds; unaware of what was happening. I am so grateful for this knowledge and so grateful for a kind an merciful God who loves and cares so greatly for you even in death. I know the love He has for me in taking you so quickly and allowing me a sense of peace concerning the incident that swiftly brought you into His presence.

Although I was able to briefly put my emotions away in order to decipher the six page report, it drained me. I must have experienced some stress in my sleep because I have had increased pain over the last few days. Your death would be so much easier to cope with if I wasn’t so chronically ill to begin with. I got tests back today pertaining to my adrenal glands and some other things and they are not good. It isn’t surprising with the stress of losing you and being the primary target for others who are angry. I hope for your sake, kindness will eventually prevail among those whom you love.

This morning I cried for you as I usually do, but today the pain was like it was when I first received the news you had been killed. Grief is a funny thing. The pain in my heart was so intense and my sense of loss overwhelming. Me and you were always happy to be together, weren’t we? We’re so much alike and I am trying my best to find happiness without my favorite part of me; you. I know you keep watch over me. I sense you and sometimes I feel as if I can almost see or hear you. Please stay with me until I can see you again in the next life. I will always long to be with you and I will always love you more each day in this life and the next!

If you were here: I would let you leave your dirty socks all over the place, I’d let you leave all the lights on in the whole house. You could stay in the shower as long as you wanted and use a new towel every day. I’d let you look over my shoulder in the kitchen and give endless suggestions about my cooking. I would let you leave your clothes all over the floor and when you needed to do laundry, I wouldn’t get upset when you threw my clean clothes from the dryer onto the floor. You could park behind my car or even have my spot in the driveway. Heck, you could have my car. I would make you chicken and rice and chocolate chip cookies every day. I would go to the mall with you and endure your endless shopping trips, I might even admit that your dog is smarter than mine just to give you that satisfaction. I would hug you more and force you to hug me back, I would drop everything I was doing whenever you needed me, I would tell you how much happiness you bring me and how proud I am of you. I would tell you how much I love you, but that you already know.

My sweet Jake, It was one year ago today that we were at Fort Stewart in Georgia for your basic training graduation. You were so happy, so full of life and so ready to start this next chapter. I could clearly see the bond you had with your brothers whom you suffered and succeeded with. I could see the love you had for them. You had your whole life ahead of you and you were making plans for it. I’ve never seen you so excited about life than at this time.

I survived over 4 months of missing you and worrying about you with such little contact. This was the longest I had ever gone without you in my life and it was so difficult, but I knew you were coming home and I counted the days. When you deployed, It started all over again and now it’s been 8 months (twice as long) without you, but this time you aren’t coming back. I can’t wait for you and count the days. I suppose it’s now your turn to wait for me and count the days. I would count with you if I knew, but these things are left to the Lord and my job is to have faith in Him and His will.

Oh Jake, life without you is so hard. I promise I’m trying my best to be happy. I can finally laugh without guilt and smile at pictures of you and memories of the fun . I’m getting there, but know that my grief is equivalent to the love I have for you, so I don’t think it is possible to ever be “over this”, but it is possible to commune with the Lord and talk to you, hoping you hear me. If you have any power to do so, please hear me every time I pass a picture of you in the house or see a butterfly, because I tell you, “I love you”.

There have been countless times when I have been proud of you and happy with the choices you have made during your short life. You have been my joy and those proud mother moments will never end, because I know you better than anyone. I know how hard you have tried and will always try to be the person the Lord sent you here to be, and the person He is helping you to be in the hereafter. Happy graduation day, Jake! I am so grateful that I get to be your mom forever and ever!

We’ve had good friends visiting this week from Denver and I am actually laughing. I’ve had times since Jake’s death when I have experienced guilt and shame because I find myself smiling or laughing about something. I’ve felt as if I am dishonoring Jake somehow. I force myself to consciously remember that his love for life is the same as mine has been, and I would not want him to suppress that trait if he was the survivor. I can enjoy the day, but like I’ve said before, grief demands to be felt, so I laugh with my friends in the day and cry when I go to bed at night. That’s okay for now.

I found a Gold Star family facebook page where I can find and offer support and understanding to other survivors. Someone recently posted this, “Our son XXXX was KIA in the Afghanistan at the age of 21 almost three years ago, September 28th 2011. Since the fourth of July I have found out I have pancreatic and liver cancer. I went in to the University of XXXX last week and they cut me up but did not finish the operation as they found cancer in liver. I am not giving up hope but at the same time I Know I may have a lot shorter life than I thought. I have been doing a lot of thinking on how I can and should have lived my life better. When I look back on the last three years I wish I had not been as sad and enjoyed life more.” I don’t want to make this mistake.

A couple of nights ago, we were out at our new (almost ours) property, and I was thinking about how happy I am when I’m there. I guess it’s because I feel Jake’s presence. This land is a gift from him and it gives me joy knowing that it is meant for me to be happy while I am still here without him. I sometimes hear his voice telling me to be happy, to not feel guilty and that he is happy. So like my friend said in his facebook post, I will try my best to live my life better for Jake, and to find happiness, letting go of the guilt and shame that would make Jake so sad. Simple lessons take so long to learn when grieving.

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.