Dinosaurs Rock!

As the months of summer allow me some much needed freedom of mind, I can’t help but wander back in time. I wish for moments that will never be again, but know deep down in my heart that there are many moments that sustain this broken heart.

Shane loved dinosaurs! When I say loved dinosaurs, this just might be an understatement. Shane, even at a young age, knew the names of the dinosaurs – from the allosaurus to the stegosaurus, to the velociraptor to the triceratops, to the apatosaurus to the brontosaurus, all the way up to the mighty tyrannosaurus rex.

When Beth and Shane were little, one of their favorite movies to watch was The Land Before Time. The movie tells the tale of five orphan dinosaurs, who band together while traveling the land. They form their own little family, while facing the odds of survival, and realize their strengths (individually and as a group). 

Did I mention that Shane loved dinosaurs?

Beth and Shane are three years apart in age. Beth has always played the role of big sister with such responsibility and determination. Beth could even be found playing dinosaurs with Shane, even though she might have enjoyed doing something else.

I can’t recall the exact month, but Beth and Shane were young (five and two years of age). It was late in the afternoon when I realized that it was awfully quiet in the house. I went into the family room; the television was on, but no Beth and no Shane. I wandered down the hall and came upon the partially closed bathroom door. I peeked into the bathroom and couldn’t believe my eyes. There on the bathroom countertop sat the two lovely darlings. Beth was very close to Shane, but I couldn’t see what she was doing. I did notice the huge smile on Shane’s face. And then…I noticed his green arms! Yes, that’s right – Beth was transforming Shane into a dinosaur!!!

Beth had gathered up every green marker she could abscond and was having the time of her life. Shane was in his glory becoming a T-Rex! I can’t believe I didn’t grab my camera and capture that moment on film. Instead, it is one of those magnificent moments that are captured only in my heart and mind.

I believe it took a few hours of soaking in the bathtub (playing with dinosaurs) and many changes of the water before the green disappeared. The T-Rex Shane was slowing fading amongst the bubbles and washcloth. The last of the dinosaur green bath water circled the drain, just a few drops left in the tub.

I will not let Shane’s sense of honor and duty fade, nor will my memories circle the drain. Instead, I will try to do my best on any given day; as I continue to “put one foot in front of the other.”

peace-

Shane’s Mammy and Beth’s Momma

Screaming Eagles

A couple of weeks ago I was driving on the expressway; it was one of those ghastly gray summer days. The clouds hung low like a sheet settling on a bed.  I was in a contemplative mood, listening to one of my “sad” playlists. As I was driving, approaching Selfridge Air National Guard Base, “These Days,” by the Black Keys was filling my mind. Out of the rain clouds, a transport helicopter appeared, and it looked so forlorn, so mystical.  And then tears streamed down my face, and I wasn’t quite sure why. Why did this helicopter upset me? I teach near the base, so it is not uncommon for me to see the various planes and helicopters in the sky.

I forced myself to confront this demon of a helicopter, and then I realized why I was so upset. I was saddened because I knew so little about Shane’s life in Afghanistan. I know he didn’t want me to worry, didn’t want me to lose sleep, didn’t want me to know about… so, he seldom discussed any of his missions. Instead, when we had the opportunity to chat on facebook we would talk about music, the weather, or how my day was going. This was the way Shane wanted it, so I respected his wishes. I always believed that when Shane came home he would write a best selling novel about his experience, and that would be the way that I would hear about his life in a god-forsaken country.

Before I finished my errands, I stopped and sent a message. Doc is one of Shane’s dearest brothers-in-arms; he also is the medic in Shane’s platoon. So, I asked Doc if Shane ever had to repel out of a helicopter. Doc, always gracious, responded that day with the following message.

Doc gave me his permission to share the story on this blog.

“Kitty I want you to know that I would be more than happy to answer any of your questions, anytime. It's funny you should ask that. I was just thinking about our first real mission. Shane and I were selected to be on D.A.R.T. (downed aircraft recovery team). There was a huge resupply going into an area that was real hot and was very low on food and other supplies. So they were sending in 9 Chinook helicopters loaded with supply. Which is quite dangerous because of how long it will take to do this, the enemy could move in and attack. Chinooks are not very quiet. There were only a total of 12 of us on the team. We were only going to get spun up if a chopper went down. Well, we got spun up.....and it was AWESOME! Shane and I sat right across from each other on the Blackhawk, doors wide open, wind blowing through the cabin, pitch black, and about 8000 ft in the air. We would swoop in and out of the valley around ridges. I remember looking over at Shane (remember we are full kit, all our gear, weapon and night vision goggles down on our faces we look like hardcore aliens) and he smiles huge and gives me a thumbs up. I knew exactly what he was thinking because I felt exactly the same. This is why were here! This is what we do! It was an adrenalin rush and feeling like no other. Shane never fast roped out of a bird. But again no one has in Afghanistan because of the terrain. He did do a lot of Air Assault missions where we rush off a bird that touches down for a few seconds. That was how we surprised the enemy. And Kitty I am not just saying this when I say he was one of the best at it.”

Doc’s response filled my heart with pride; a pride that helps mend this slowly healing heart.

Yesterday, I was again out running errands, traveling the same expressway, listening to a different playlist, more upbeat. “Hey, Soul Sister,” by Train was filling the Jeep. This time there were big fluffy pillows dancing in the azure sky. A jet from Selfridge pierced the clouds, a solo jet, demanding control of the sky. I watched with awe and amazement, as the jet angled into one of those big sweeping turns. My eyes did not fill with tears, instead they filled with wonder and deep appreciation for all the sacrifices our military make to keep us safe.

When Shane was passionate about something – he gave it his all. This is the Shane that the Army had – one hell of a soldier. A man so proud to be part of the legacy of the 101^st Airborne Division, 1/327^th, Bravo Company, a Bushmaster! A man that paid the ultimate price to help make the world a safer place. A man that I proudly call, my son, my Shane Michael, my Moe…

As Doc concluded (Doc has a real name, and it is Hector, but he will always be Doc), “Kitty, I also wanted you to know that some of us were sitting around talking, and we realized that we all had the same feeling in our gut. The company is not the same without Shane there. We miss him very much. Some of us find it hard to express ourselves, but believe me we talk about him all the time.”

I believe you, Doc! I talk to Shane and about Shane all the time. I am grateful to have a loving family and wonderful friends that share stories and fond memories of Shane. We have all been truly blest to have had Shane in our lives.

As we continue to live our lives without Shane, remember to “put one foot in front of the other,” as we strive to heal and stay strong.

Peace-

Always and forever,

Shane’s Mammy and Beth’s Momma

4th of July: Independence Day

As the Fourth of July approaches my mind cannot help but wander back to when Beth and Shane were little. We always had our families over for the big holiday; we are fortunate that the Kronners and the Reiferts actually get along and genuinely like one another. Kurt would spend the day cooking on the barbeque, all the kids would swim or play on the swing set or play a game of volleyball, soccer, or wiffle ball or a wicked squirt gun fight. Then the big search for just the right stick to roast marshmallows for s’mores. The day would be filled with love and laughter, that was, until evening approached and the mosquitoes would look for their victims. I would bring out the bug spray and blankets to try and save an itch or two. And then the magic would fill the sky. 

We would sit huddled together to watch the fireworks. Kurt would put on a display of sound and colors. As the fireworks lit up the sky we would ooh and ah and clap with delight. I remember watching Shane and the intensity in his eyes. Maybe he realized at a young age the true meaning of the day – the meaning beyond the picnics and fireworks...

I was blessed to have both my children as students in the classroom. I remember in American literature when we were studying the works from the writers (Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson, and Thomas Paine) of the revolution. Shane’s enthusiasm was apparent – when he was interested in a topic, he truly was interested! I always have quotes on my chalkboard or dry erase board. During this time of study, I placed on the board one of Thomas Paine’s most famous quotes from The Crisis, “These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.” And years later, Shane posts part of that same quote on facebook. Only this time – he is with the 101^st Airborne Division, 1/327^th, a Bushmaster.

I went to the cemetery a couple of days ago and read The Crisis, but this time the meaning was much deeper and the sorrow was much greater.

Recently, I met for drinks with some of Shane’s friends. Allie, Mary, and Shane were true friends. Mary, one of my former students, was kind enough to share part of a facebook message that Shane had sent her.  It reads, “I'm very proud to be where I am in life right now. This is by far the hardest thing I've ever done, probably will ever do but none of that matters. I've learned how to survive with nothing, the true meanings of tired and hungry, new tolerances for pain and how to ignore the kind that doesn't get a chance to go away, that I can work under stress with a smile, that I'll do anything for my brothers, but most importantly, I've learned what kind of man I am; and that reason alone makes it all worth it. I know that if I don't come home from Afghanistan, that I'm sure as shit going out standing giving ‘em hell. I know my enemy will breath a well earned sigh of relief should that day come. I have really become someone else when I put my uniform on every day. I walk taller and harder, I speak louder and deeper, I smile less if you believe that, and don a look of seriousness and determination. It’s a lot of responsibility to represent those who have worn that uniform before me, and I won't let them down. Men like me have given us 235 years of freedom, and for that I know the hardships are paid for in full. When I go out in the real world and see some kids or teenagers living care free in the moment, that’s when I know it’s worth it.”

So, as we celebrate this Fourth of July, remember to be truly thankful for sacrifices that our members of the military make for our opportunities of freedom. When I will look to the sky this Independence Day, I will search for that special star. The one that has that special twinkle – the one that guides me in my quest to be strong.

Always and forever,

Shane’s Mammy and Beth’s Momma

Thanks for Nothing, Tax Dollars OR How Not to Honor the Dead

This past Thursday, my immediate family and I attended the State of Michigan's 17th Annual Memorial Day Service, held in Lansing and at the Governor's residence. I didn't really know what to expect from the event. I knew Shane and the other Michigan soldiers who had died within the past year would be honored. Governor Snyder would sign the Gold Star License Plate bills into law. Some people would talk. We would eat some lunch. Maybe we would be sad, maybe we wouldn't.

So we traveled to Lansing. I was on edge that morning. I'm sure my mother knew that it was because the event would make me emotional, but I was not yet aware of that and thought that I would be just fine.

We watched Governor Snyder sign the Gold Star License Plate bill into law. Senator John Pappageorge made a speech before the signing about how people used to live in the front of their houses but now our license plates would serve as the front of our houses, to let people know what had happened to our loved ones, to pay their respects. It was fitting. It was respectful.

Then it was time for the actual presentation. We had received the sort of booklet that one normally receives at events like these. There are probably over a dozen littered around our house from various events. I don't know why we keep things like this; I never look at them again after the event, but there is a feeling that getting rid of them would be slightly sacreligious. That it might take a piece of Shane away. So they are kept and tucked into corners and placed into piles, only to be found months later when cleaning. They do not suffer the fate of old magazines, which are thrown in the trash when a certain amount of time passes. Instead, these pamphlets are saved from the trash heap or recycling bin, for the mere fact that that have a very specific name within their pages.

So we were given booklets. And they had pictures of the Michigan casualties from within the past year, along with some words about the men. Shane's write-up was inaccurate and did not mention that he had received a Bronze Star. It was also partially plagarized, which I will always find to be incredibly lazy and annoying. This stuck me as an indication of sloppiness, hastiness, not quite caring enough-iness.I flipped through the booklet after we had taken our seats and made it all the way up to the first speaker before I started crying. She was a Gold Star Mother, speaking about when two soldiers had come to tell her that her son had been killed. Her words were not touching to me. She was not a great orator. But still, I fled the room and perched myself on a ledge in the bathroom.

My mother followed me, making sure that I was okay. I, apparently, was not. I told her that I didn't understand why I was getting so emotional. That I was tired of being sad all the time. That I was tired of people making me sad. I told her to please go back and sit with my father. That I would not be returning but that I would be fine and mill around the Capitol Building. Finally assured that I was temporarily okay, she went back to her seat. I found my way into the old Michigan Supreme Court courtroom. As I sat in the grand room, marveling at the architecture and intricate designs painted on the walls, I could hear the first speaker still droning on, although I could not hear her actual words. At least fifteen minutes had passed since I had the room. I didn't know how she was still talking, or what she would possibly be talking about that the other Gold Star Families in the room -- who made up a strong majority of the audience -- had not experienced in some form or another themselves. And that's really when it hit me. That I had been crying not because of that woman's story, but because of my family's story. Because my mother had gone through a day when two soldiers came to the door. And my father and I received phone calls from my mother informing us of the terrible news that same day. And that woman behind the podium was bringing all that up, when I had found a way to cope and to manage and to filter through the feelings of everything that had happened since those two soldiers came to our front door. I became angry that I was being brought backward in my grief process. But more than angry, I lacked understanding. I didn't understand why the speaker was telling a story that had already been experienced by her audience. And then I found myself wondering what sort of things I would have been talking about. It would have been about Shane's life. About the sort of person he was. About how I was sure that everyone would love to give back being a Gold Star Family if they could just have a couple of seconds with their loved one. It wouldn't have been about the day the soldiers told my mother Shane was never coming home as a living, breathing person. It wouldn't have been about the funeral. It wouldn't have been about the burial. It wouldn't have been about the aftermath of any of that.

But no one asked me to speak, so I guess I'm speaking here.

After the speaking ceased and the doors opened, I was reunited with my parents. They said it was very touching when Senator Phil Pavlov placed a flag honoring Shane in a basket during some sort of ceremony. My mother said that a little girl had been eating her boogers. This made me smile and become slightly grossed out, as boogers have never sounded appetizing to me. And we piled in the car to head to the Governor's residence.

The residence is in a beautiful neighborhood, with perfectly manicured lawns and old homes. All of the Gold Star Families were made to park in a shoddy lot with cracked cement. This lot was located a fair distance from the actual residence. It was also raining and had been raining for the past few days. We schlepped our way in the rain to the Governor's residence, where we were escorted in. While the original invitation to the event had informed us that the luncheon was to take place outside, I thought that surely this plan had changed, due to the cold and rainy weather. I figured that furniture would have been moved around to accommodate the families or that we would be a basement of some sort.

But I was wrong.

We were shown right on out of the house and into the backyard. To a tent. Without side protection from the rain. Without anything to soak up the rain water that was an inch deep in the cold grass. With rows of chairs and a podium, not round or square tables. With bodies crammed together because of the cold. With people sitting in those rows of chairs with plates of food on their laps.

I was disgusted. I was horrified. I was temporarily stuck thinking that maybe I was at a 4H Fair, but then realized that at 4H Fairs there are always barns to take shelter in when it rains. And then I realized that my feet were soaking wet. I looked at my mother and father. Thankfully, my father was the first to say that it was time to go, taking the words out of mine and my mother's mouths. We walked back through the house and out the front door. We appeared in the driveway and my father pointed out that I had mud all over my leg. I found it fitting.

And so we left.

I'm disgusted that Governor Snyder put on such an abortion of an event for Michigan's Gold Star Families and Veterans. While I'm sure that he did not personally put the event together, someone who works for him did. And it was awful. It was disrespectful. It was in no way, shape, or form an event that CEOs or Representatives or Senators would have been invited to and expected to just accept. I don't know how or why other people stayed standing in that cold rain. Maybe they thought it was lovely. I thought it would have been better to have nothing at all than to have the "luncheon" they were trying to pass off. Luncheons involve tables. They involve small talk. They involve getting to know people and sharing stories. They do not involve rows of chairs in water-soaked grass, listening to someone drone on at a podium while people struggle to eat off of their laps.

So I don't think I'll be attending another one of those types of services. I don't need them. I don't like them. I don't want to hear someone else's version of my and family's experiences. I don't need a ceremony for Shane. I have a ceremony for him every single day. One that doesn't involve being soggy or sitting in uncomfortable chairs or inaccurate information. My ceremony involves love and happy memories and sometimes sad memories and knowing that I will always be carrying a piece of Shane inside of my heart, as will my mother and my father and anyone else who wants to hold Shane dear.

Graduation

Tomorrow, I will graduate from law school. When I began law school, I admittedly had no idea what I was doing or what I had gotten myself into. I knew that it would be tough, but I did not realize that it would change the way I looked at the world, the way I thought, and the way I engaged with others.

Along the way, I read more books and cases and statutes than I ever thought possible. Certain semesters, I spent 14 hour days at school. About once a year, I had horrible moments when I doubted everything about myself and didn't think that I was smart enough to be at law school. I met other people who also want to be lawyers, some of whom will be very bad lawyers, and some of whom will be very good and honest lawyers. Some of those in the latter category became my dearest friends, who I consider to be family and understand me in a way that few people do.

Most importantly, I found myself at law school, and finding myself meant that I know what type of lawyer I want to be, even though job prospects are currently few and far between for my colleagues and myself. I will be hardworking and advocate zealously for my clients, no matter if that client is a multi-million dollar corporation or a single person. I will not be consumed by a need to make money, but instead a need to feel that I am making someone else's life better and to be content with my career. I will be ethical and remember that legal decisions impact real human lives and I must always be able to sleep with myself at night.

I should feel pretty good about myself and about my graduation tomorrow. Instead, I'm weepy and edgy. I don't want to have to put on a cap and gown and hood and smile. I don't want to pose for photographs. I don't want to be involved a ceremony or sit with my fellow graduates or be handed a piece of paper. But mostly, I don't want to look up in the audience only to find that the person I want to be at my graduation the most isn't there, knowing that he should be.

And when I say "should be," I mean that in the literal sense, because Shane would be home from Afghanistan right now. And his leave time would have started. And he would have been sitting in the audience and I would have been able to find him in a sea of faces. And once I had found him I would have waved frantically, and mouthed "Hi, buddy," and grinned like an idiot. And he would've smiled and shaken him head slightly at how goofy I looked and waved back.

The last contact that I ever had with Shane was a text message that I received on November 5, 2010, at 9:33 p.m. my time:


Hey found out we're all supposed to leave here no later than April 18. My leave starts may 13! Love you. Gonna sleep after guard sooo tired

I responded:

That's awesome, buddy! I think I graduate that day! Love you so much! Sweet dreams.

Shane was in an area that's eight or eight and half hours ahead of my time. Meaning he sent that message at either 5:33 or 6:03 a.m. on November 6, 2010. I know now that he didn't go to sleep, even though he was so tired. I'll never know why, and I'll always be a little bit sore at him for not just going to sleep. Instead, as I read later in reports, he went to the gym, and then he became involved in a firefight, during which he was killed.

Within an hour of sending me that message, he was killed. Of course, I didn't find out until the middle of the afternoon my time on November 6, 2010, that Shane had been killed. So I had half a day where I thought that my brother was going to be home for my graduation. Ever since he left for Afghanistan, I had it in my mind that he wouldn't be there. But that half a day of knowing that he would be at the ceremony has made the last week and the upcoming tomorrow torturous for me.

So tomorrow will be tough. I won't be happy like I should be. I might get weepy. But I will go and I will put on a cap and gown and hood and smile. And I will pose for photographs. And I will be involved a ceremony and sit with my fellow graduates and be handed a piece of paper. And I will probably still look up in the audience, knowing that he won't be there but having to look anyways, just in case, for the person I want to be at my graduation the most, not being able to find him, knowing that he should be there. 

Sometimes it amazes me how much Shane can still be at the forefront of my thoughts when I have so many other things on my mind. When Shane first died, I wondered if he would fade from my memory with time. So far, he hasn't. It's been less than 6 months since he was killed, so maybe eventually his memory will fade. But there are so many times that I catch myself thinking that he's still alive. I hear a song and think how I need to tell him about it. I remember something silly from our childhood and want to recollect with him. I'm feeling really anxious and want him to talk to me to remind me to calm down and that everything is okay. And then I'll remember how I can't do any of those things and I feel pained.

One Year Ago...

Spring Break! Spring Break is usually a time of revitalizing my weary soul. Last year I traveled to Fort Campbell and Nashville. I traveled by myself – the first time ever! I was going to have a mini vacation with Shane before he deployed in May. We all took separate turns – Beth, then me, and then Kurt to visit Shane before he left for Afghanistan. Shane did not want us to watch him actually leave, so we each spent time with Shane before that day in May.

Driving to Fort Campbell I witnessed spring opening up before my very eyes. The drive soothed my soul as I watched green leaves appear on trees and flowers blooming along the roads.

The first night we stayed near Fort Campbell and Shane showed me around the area. I got to see a part of his life that I knew so little about. Then the next two nights we went to Nashville. This was my first visit to Nashville, and I fell in love with the town. Music was always so important to Shane, and we experienced so much music. We talked about everything under the sun. We laughed and shed a few tears because I vowed to be strong.

On Sunday I needed to return home because school was on Monday. I remember checking out of the hotel, and Shane and I each got into our cars. I remember I was in front and he was right behind me. I remember leaving the parking structure with Shane in my rear view mirror. I remember going down the street to the stop sign. I remember having to turn left. I remember Shane having to turn right. I remember watching Shane in my rear view mirror going further and further away. And then I could no longer contain my tears.

Today we went to the cemetery – it is a beautiful setting. Usually I watch the deer and the geese around the lake, but today the deer must have been napping. And then I remembered my life a year ago.

Today, in my rear view mirror, I watched Shane’s headstone getting further and further away. How different my life is today. One year ago – so much has changed…

I will cherish the memories that Shane gave each of us. I will take the “gifts” he gave me and continue to strive to do my best on each given day. I will continue to “put one foot in front of the other.”

Always and forever,

Shane’s mammy and Beth’s momma

Being Strong

Today, I choose to be strong instead of weak. I choose to get out of bed, to shower, to be a functioning human being. It would be great to take the day off of life -- have a personal day. This would be weak and slightly pathetic. And I refuse to be pathetic. Yes, today will be tough. But Shane was a strong person and so am I. And I will continue to be strong in his absence.

"I'm still willing to continue living with the burden of this memory. Even though this is a painful memory, even though this memory makes my heart ache. Sometimes I almost want to ask God to let me forget this memory. But as long as I try to be strong and not run away, doing my best, there will finally be someday...there will be finally be someday I can overcome this painful memory. I believe I can. I believe I can do it. There is no memory that can be forgotten, there is not that kind of memory. Always in my heart."

-- Natsuki Takaya

"I thought this wouldn't hurt a lot, I guess not"

Shane and I are driving in the car somewhere. I am driving, like always, because Shane doesn't like to drive. He is sitting in the passenger seat. I declare that it's my turn to pick some music. 


I put on one of my favorite songs, "Kids" by MGMT. Shane has never heard this song, as far as I am aware. At the time, I've never heard the song played on the radio. 


The first 15 seconds or so of the song play. I'm nervous for Shane's opinion because I'm sharing a song that means something to me.


"What is this? More of your terrible world music?"


My heart sinks. 


"Oh, come on! This is my favorite song. It's good! It's MGMT! And it's not world music."

"I don't know; I think it's more of your world music that you try to get me to listen to."


"Fine you don't have to like it but I'm listening to the whole song."


Shane had hurt my feelings without knowing that he had done so. Granted, I didn't write or perform the song. But it really meant something to me and I wanted the song to mean something to Shane, too. It was the sort of song that I could listen to while laying in the grass on a sunny day, looking at clouds and thinking about absolutely nothing.

*          *          *          *          *

I find myself in the car again. I am driving alone, like always. Well over a year has past since Shane and I listened to "Kids" in the car.

I had grabbed Shane's ipod off of the table before I left the house and I'm listening to that on shuffle. Some of the songs are familiar. Some I've never heard. Some are too violent. Some make me too sad. There's a lot of skipping around while I'm driving. A few songs have played, but nothing of note, and I'm on the expressway. A familiar intro comes on, one with the sound of children's voices, and my eyes immediately well up to the point that a normal person might consider pulling over. But I've gotten so used to crying in the car that it seems almost unnatural to not cry. The song is "Kids," by MGMT. A song that Shane called my "terrible world music." And it's on Shane's ipod.

What does this mean, I ask myself. Why is it on Shane's ipod? Did he like the song? Why would it be on his ipod if he didn't like it?

I'll never get the answers to any of my questions. I'll never know why Shane had "Kids" on his ipod. I know that he purchased the song -- the entire album it's on, actually -- but that's all I know. In my mind, I think Shane remembered me playing the song in the car. That he downloaded the album at some point because he wasn't really a "singles" kind of guy. He would have listened to the entire album, from start to finish, because that's what Shane did with every album he ever purchased. And when he listened to the album or a song from it, he thought of me, because I think of him every time I listen to a song that he brought me to.

That could all be a lie that I made up to make myself feel closer to my brother. But, it could also be a fact that makes me feel closer to my brother. I'll never know for sure which one it is, but I know now that every time I listen to "Kids," I will think of Shane.