My chant

“Ben is dead, Ben is dead, Ben is dead” is the little chant that echoes in my head at various times throughout the day.  It pulls me back into the present so that I can focus on the life that goes on without him.   That chant also reaffirms my new responsibilities and it led me to have this conversation with Jack and Jenna just yesterday…..

“Jack, you’re in charge of the plug.  Jenna, you’re in charge of the phone.  So if Mommy electrocutes herself…… Jack please pull the plug and Jenna, you dial 911.”   “Ok” they both replied as they stood by waiting and watching.

Well, I didn’t electrocute myself and now my porch looks clean and fresh after I sprayed it down with the power washer.  It was the first time I had ever used the little machine that I had pulled from a cobwebbed corner of the garage. It took me a little bit to figure it out but I was successful.  That’s how it is these days.  In the past, I would have left that porch dirty with the idea that Ben would clean it when he returned home but with my little chant always to remind me, it is now my responsibility alone.  Afterwards there were no feelings of great accomplishment or satisfaction just that the job was complete.  It was another check in the box on the endless list of things to do.  It wasn’t until later when Katie told me that the porch looked good that I actually felt something.  I felt a small happiness.  The porch did look good and better yet my 13 year old who never acknowledges anything told me so.  I was content for a brief moment until I looked up at the rain gutters then my little chant starting singing again.  “OK, Jack you’re in charge of holding the ladder…….”

Quiet

My husband was shot and killed in Afghanistan. The events preceding, during and immediately after his death occurred far away from our home in North Carolina.  The people that surrounded him during this period are all strangers to me.  Personal accounts or exacting details of the event have not been shared.  What I do know, is that my experience with his death is very far removed from the frantic, loud, brutal and ugly reality of it all.  For me it has been very quiet.  I was informed by soft spoken Marines.  I was escorted to Dover to witness the dignified transfer where the electric hum of the platform being lowered with Ben’s flag covered remains was oddly out of place. I welcomed him home to Cherry Point and then quietly followed behind his hearse to the funeral home where Marines silently stood guard at his casket while friends and family spoke to me in hushed tones.  His memorial service and eventual burial at Arlington were so touching and beautiful and yet so quiet.  It is what I seek and crave the most now.  I find myself often withdrawing from others in order to find that quiet.  It gives me peace and calms me.   I question myself if I really need to know the intricate details of Ben’s death.  The NCIS agent recently reached out to me and inquired if I had any questions and what would be a good time to call.  It was unsettling to me. I don’t want to have a conversation with this man.  What exactly is there to say?  I do know I would like to know the time of the shooting as well as the time of Ben’s death.  When complete, I would also like the investigation report as it is devoid of human emotion.  I emailed him back my questions and request.  It of course was met with silence which I warmly embraced. 

Last dance

Ben loved to dance.  The first night I met him, he was going down to Mexico to dance.  A few weeks later I was in Mexico with him sweating it out on the dance floor until the early morning hours.  Neither of us were very skilled but it was fun.  We had some great times on the dance floor over the years but I have to confess as I got older I was less inclined to stay out past midnight.  Ben never slept and so on occasion I think I disappointed him when I said that I was done for the evening.  We went to Aruba together before he left for Afghanistan.  One night there was a huge crowd at a bar on the beach and the music was playing.  We joined in and had a great time.  On the way home, Ben thanked me for staying out late and dancing with him.  I was taken aback when he said this to me at the time and I think about it often now that he is gone.  It touched me so deeply that after so many years together he still spoke the words that acknowledged his appreciation for me and of our time together.  I will forever cherish him, our life together and continue to dance with him in my heart and memories. 

Cheerleading, prayer, death and strength

A few weeks ago, Katie came home from cheer practice bursting with excitement.  She shared with everyone that it had been determined that she would be a flyer this year.  A flyer is a person that is lifted into the air when the squad is performing stunts.  I was a little surprised, as last year she was happy to provide support as a base and had no interest in being a flyer.  I supported her news and was excited for her.  Last night at the football game, all the girls did a super job and there was Katie being elevated so high during the various stunts throughout the game.  During one stunt, when she alone was being supported high over the heads of the other girls, I saw her there, so strong against the bright blue sky.  In that one moment, I thought it was a perfect reflection of her life and time.  It demonstrated how she had supported others and now it was her time to be supported.  It reflected that by the power of many prayers, my daughter was lifted up closer to God, her father and how she has drawn strength from that experience.  Yes, cheerleading, God, death and prayer….it all correlates!  At least I didn’t identify with a cow!  But I guess I’m just a little bit like Jenna these days, making connections in unusual ways. I think it is all about how we make sense of the world and our experiences.  It is how we are able to cope and continue on in our life journey. 

Making connections

I took Jenna on a fieldtrip to a small family farm yesterday. We had the opportunity to feed and pet the farm animals. The farmer shared about each of the animals and how they came to her farm. She shared the story of a 10 week old cow named Standford. Standford's mother had died a few days after he was born and the previous owner didn't want to bottle feed him so he was sold. Jenna looked at me and excited said, "That's just like me, Mommy! Daddy died a few days after my birthday". I smiled and hugged her tight.

Mommy, you’re a widow now. Yes Jenna, I answered. Well, what does that make me, she inquired?

Tired

Life is making me so tired these days.  It really is a sad statement since I am not doing anything but living my life day by day yet I find it draining.  Maybe because it just seems so boring.  I find myself not looking forward to anything.  Then again, what is there to look forward to?  My day consists of waking up, going  to work, picking  up the kids,  eating dinner, toting the kids to various activities, watching  TV and then going to bed alone.  On the weekends, I prepare the house and kids to get ready to do it all over again on Monday morning.  It used to be that I would lead this life in anticipation of the next phone call, email or letter.  I was always counting down the days to homecoming, always knowing that this parallel life would not last forever but now….. I just don’t know.  Maybe this is my forever life and I just need to go to bed a little bit earlier so I’m not so tired anymore.    

Unbelievable

My husband is dead.  It still seems so unbelievable to me.  The reality of his death just seems so crazy.    I remember that feeling of shock and disbelief that I felt when I saw the Marines at the door.  The intense suddenness of that news delivered in one short sentence was and is too startling to truly comprehend.  I think though that is the way death often is. 

Getting ready for Arlington

I will bury my husband in four days at Arlington National Cemetery.  I am not ready to bury him but it needs to be done and it is where he needs to be.  I have found comfort looking at, talking to and touching the beautiful wooden box that holds his ashes over the past three months.  I don’t want to put Ben in the ground but then again I don’t want him gathering dust in our home.  Ben’s burial will be the final display of military pomp and circumstance.  He deserves all of it.  I am so proud of him and his service to our country.  My handler told me that there will be “a lot of brass” at the burial.  I really don’t care.  I really wish they wouldn’t come. I’m curious what Ben would think of it all. He reached out to many of them for assistance and guidance in regards to this Afghan advisor billet. He didn’t get much response or support so why would they give it now?

Notes

I have been writing thank you notes to the wonderful people that have reached out to my family these past months.  It has been hard.  I didn’t think it was going to be so hard.  In fact, I can’t get over how hard it is and how much I cry.  I cry remembering good times with good friends.  I cry at the thought that someone else is grieving the loss of my husband.  I cry at the thoughtfulness of strangers writing to me and acknowledging his sacrifice.  I cry at the kindness of others when they share a special memory or story about my husband.  It has been hard yet it is good to feel so much and to remember. Writing these notes allows me personal and intimate time with my thoughts and feelings.  It is a sad and heartbreaking journey that is so tender and private.  One that makes me feel so loved yet so alone. 

Ben still owes me an L

When we were living in California, I decided that Ben should buy me a BMW when I finished my master’s degree.  It was one of those things that you say when you are young and living in So Cal. When Ben heard this though, he was very excited.  In the following weeks he would bombard me with all sorts of number sequences such as 535, 335, 328 and 540.  He wanted to know which BMW I was interested in.  I never could answer that question. Those little numbers didn’t mean anything to me.   All I knew at the time was just BMW.  One day, however, that all changed.  I was taking my daily walk with my students when I spied this beautiful blue BMW.  I knew that this was the one car that I wanted.  I quickly looked at the number sequence and memorized it so I could share my discovery with Ben.  Later that night, I excitedly repeated the numbers to Ben.  He exploded with laughter.  You see, I had stated BMW 740 iL.  I had no idea that this car was one of the most expensive luxury models that BMW sold.  I personally didn’t think it was that funny!  Anyway, life went on for many years and it became a family joke.  I don’t know exactly when he decided that he was actually going to buy me one.  I also really do not know how he kept it a secret but he did.  One day while driving with Ben, he pulled into a gas station and pulled around back.  Sitting there was a beautiful BMW.  He simply said “that’s yours.”  I didn’t really believe him but sure enough he had bought me my BMW.  He had bought me my 740i off of EBay and had it shipped down to us.  He had arranged everything.  It was perfect in every way but most of all because it was a gift from him.  In the years that followed, however, I would occasionally tease him that he still owed me an L.  

This week sorta sucks and it's not even over yet!

On Monday morning bright and early at 0800, my children and I reported to the DEERS / Rapids office to get our new IDs.  It was a rather quick and easy process.  The young Marine that was helping us said few words after I presented him with my ID, and the dreaded DD 1300.  But then again, what is there to say?  My children and I efficiently filled up the empty airspace with grief humor which always goes over well in all situations.  We are never at a loss for words!  The Marine worked diligently and soon after presented us with our new IDs.  We are now card carrying members of the “DEC” club.  It is pretty sobering to say the least.  I have to say though at least my children still retain “child” status in relationship to their father.  I’m stuck with “DB.”  I am now a beneficiary.  I get that I am no longer married and so therefore not a spouse, wife or ever a dependent but it just sorta sucks.

On Tuesday morning I encountered a spouse who was very vocal about her feelings of why a service member would willingly go to Afghanistan.  According to her views, a service member would only go for the money.  She stated that if a service member would have a choice to go or stay home with family, the decision would only be made to go because of the increase in pay.  I stood and listened, all the while biting the inside of my lip and digging my nails into my arm in order to keep it together.  Honor, courage, commitment, service to Corps and County…..I guess that never crossed her mind.  Anyway, that just sucked.

On Wednesday, I mistakenly deleted the answering machines not at home message that Ben made.  I will no longer be able to hear his voice.  As soon as I realized my mistake, my chest tightened up, I found it hard to breath and I sobbed.  I am glad that no one was home to witness me or what I had done because it really, really sucks…..

Anger

Soon after my husband died, I attended the annual conference for TAP’S (Tragedy Assistance Program for Survivors) up in Washington, DC.  Admiral Mike Mullen, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was a guest speaker.  Afterwards his wife sought me out in the audience as Admiral Mullen had just finished writing my sympathy card that morning.  She insisted that I speak with her husband.  She took my hand and guided me over to him.  We spoke briefly.  He asked me how my husband had died and then went on to comment that it was unusual to come across the death of a LtCol.  

Today I read an article about a mentor advisor team in Afghanistan that is being led by a USMC Captain.  This news coupled with the words of the Admiral, fueled my first bit of anger toward Ben's death.  It made me cry heavy, hot tears.  My anger lashed out in all directions. Why is a team being led by a Captain?  Is this the same type of leadership billet that my husband had filled just a few weeks ago? Did my husband die while doing a job that a Marine 10 years his junior could have done?  If so, why was his name put up against that position and given no other options.  It was literally a dead end job for him. 

Or on the other hand...... Did the United States Marine Corps run out of Field Officers that could be a team leader?  Are they too busy taking up space and tripping over each other at our FOBs in Afghanistan? Maybe they are too busy with their own career advancements to think about actually leading Marines. 

All of this just makes me angry but I have to let it go. 


Buddha says "Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned."

I get it.....

Flagpole

Yesterday evening, my neighborhood, Carolina Colours dedicated a flagpole in memory of my husband.  The dedication ceremony was well attended by many neighbors wearing red in honor of our military.  My children hoisted the first flag.  I spoke briefly at the ceremony and wanted to share a little bit of my comments....


I came across this quote recently.  I thought it was very fitting for today's occasion. 


"The flag doesn't wave because the wind blows it.  It waves with the last breath of every service member that has given his life for this grand and great nation."


So today as my children raise our nation's flag up the newly dedicated flagpole, I will remember my husband and all those who have fallen in defense of our country.  I will also honor their service and be forever grateful for the sacrifice they have made. 

The beginning.....

Ben and I met in Yuma, AZ.  I had moved there to begin my teaching career.  He was stationed at MCAS Yuma.  One Friday night, my roommate and I started talking about our college days and specifically what we would drink in college.  Needless to say, we eventually went to the store and purchased everything we had just discussed.  Somehow we ended up sitting and drinking out on our steps at our apartment complex.  We were just talking with neighbors and friends.  We were just enjoying ourselves on such a beautiful evening.  One of the friends spied Ben walking across the complex.  He was there to meet a friend as they were heading down to Mexico.  Both of them joined us on the stairs.  Ben sat down next to me.  We talked and laughed.  I did reach out to touch his leg a few times. I remember telling bad jokes and giving him such a hard time about going to Mexico.  At some point during that evening, I actually pulled my hoodie down over my head and pulled the strings so hard that only a small portion of my face was showing but we still continued to talk and laugh.  Eventually he left with his friend and that was it.  A few nights later, however, his friend was having a party and invited Ben.  Ben proceeded to ask if that “Leafa chick” was going to be there.  What in the world transpired between us on those steps that made him interested in seeing me again?  Was it the bad jokes, the leg touching or the unexpected “hoodie incident”?   Anyway, for whatever reason, we both attended the party and that was truly our beginning.  He drove me home after a relentless string of hints that I needed a ride.   We sat in his car and talked for hours.  We felt no urgency to leave or to say goodnight.  It wasn’t a comfortable or relaxed experience though.   I was on edge.  Just sitting there and talking with him was so exhilarating and at the same time frightening. I had never felt such a strong connection with anyone before in my life. The air that surrounded us was so dynamic. You could almost see sparks.  It felt like there was a magnetic current running through the air charging  us as we breathed.  One would think that we would have jumped right into a romantic relationship soon after that night but that was not how our journey began.  Instead, we became friends.   Each of us had unfinished personal stories that needed  closure before beginning our own.  So we took our time as friends, talking, laughing and waiting for the next  step to begin. 

Thinking....

I woke up, got dressed and went to work this morning.  I didn’t want to.  These days I just want to sit and do nothing but think.  Thinking, however, drives me crazy.  My mind rushes from one thought to another.  It focuses on one thought or idea and then cleverly builds a grand plan that is then so easily swept aside as a new thought penetrates my brain.  I just wish all this thinking would burn more calories.  Being a widow is bad enough but then adding fat to the equation, just makes it worse.  Ben was supposed to be deployed for a year.  I was supposed to have a year to get my ass back into shape.  I was just coming out of the “eat everything in sight because Ben just left and I don’t have to start exercising just yet because I have a year to get into shape” mode and then he went and died on me. I need to get back into the gym......maybe tomorrow.  But for now, I sit here thinking and waiting for my first shipment of NutriSystem to arrive while eating some delicious chocolate truffles.  Maybe thinking isn't so bad after all!

Paperwork

There is always paperwork to do both before and after death.  I remember just a few months ago, Ben walking into my office and handing me a form.  It was one that we had filled out before.  It was the one that documents "What are my wishes if I should come home in a box" form.  For some reason, I was always the one assigned to completing that task.  I quickly proceeded to fill out the form and kidded him that I would take him home to NJ for a good Catholic burial with extra incense.  I them came to the question of whom would escort him home.  I looked at him and he said, "You already know."   I then proceeded to write the name of one bad ass, gun-slinging Marine that Ben had the greatest respect for.  After the notification knock on the door and days that followed, it gave me great comfort that such a good, hardcharging Marine was going to accompany my husband home.  On the day of Ben's return home, however, after seeing this Marine's face and looking into his eyes, my heart ached.  The anguish that I could see beneath his cool, collected exterior was so raw.  It pained me to my very core.  It reflected my own soul.  Afterwards, we spoke a few useless words and then he was gone.  I prayed for him that evening and every night since.  No words could ever convey my gratitude to this Marine.  My family is forever thankful to him for bringing Ben home but also for being such a bad ass Marine because that made all the difference to Ben and to his family. 

Support from the Jersey Shore......

Just received this picture from my brothers...... It made me smile and lifted my heart!

It hurts to breathe....

My stomach hurts, my hands are shaking and all I want to do is cry. I miss my husband and the life we had together. I don't want to do it all alone. I keep telling my children that we will never "move on" yet we will "go on" and continue to carry Ben in our hearts. He died for our freedoms and way of life so we should live life to the fullest and honor his sacrifice. Today, however, I just want to run away.