Make A Change Monday - Saying Goodbye

 

The movers are here.

Don and I are moving to Kansas (Fort Leavenworth) this week. We've known it for months, been planning the logistics of it for weeks, but now it is actually REAL and I'm having mixed emotions. I have not kept it a secret that Fayetteville is not my favorite town in the world. I am ready for a new adventure, ready to try another part of the country, ready to have my husband home and on a RIDICULOUSLY easy school schedule for a year. I was ready to leave this place and never look back. But then I started having to say goodbye.

Don and I have said goodbye over 100 times in the past two weeks. 100 little heartbreaks. 100 times we've wondered if we'll ever see that smile or feel this hug again. 100 brave faces while we act like we are used to this. 100 "thank God for Facebook" jokes. From Don's incredibly supportive boss and coworkers to other Army families we've known for over 10 years (best thing about moving? the chance to be reunited with old friends at every post!). From new babies we've loved since before they were born to children we've watched grow up right in front of our eyes. From old friends who have seen us at our best and our worst to new friends who have become like family, to my actual family who we have been blessed to live close to for the first time since I moved away from home 20 years ago.

These are some of the memories we've made here.

So while I'm not sad to be leaving Fayetteville, I am sad to have to say goodbye. My heart is a little emptier today, my spirit a little lonelier. We have an incredibly rich life and I wouldn't change it for the world - but sometimes I wish it hurt just a little less.

Gratitude, Attitude and Angry Beth

Last week the country recognized/celebrated/honored Veterans in a variety of ways. I have to admit that Veterans Day is not usually a big deal in our household – most of the people we know are veterans, and we/they appreciate each other every day. However – a strange series of events made this year a little bit different, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same.

Thursday – I was coming back from a business trip and stopped at a restaurant in the Atlanta airport for dinner.  When I was paying the bill the waitress asked to see an ID with my credit card.  I pulled out my military ID and handed it to her, and when she stared at it for longer than normal I reached up to flip it over for her (thinking she might have been looking for my birthdate or some other info that is on the back). Instead, she reached out and grabbed my hand with tears in her eyes.  “Thank you Major” she said. “Thank you so much for everything you do for this country.” I didn’t feel like I could take praise that wasn’t for me. I wanted to explain to her that I was a wife, not a soldier. I even got as far as saying “I’m married to a Major…” but she was not to be stopped. She went on, holding my hand, telling me she couldn’t imagine how much my family had sacrificed and how grateful she was for the chance to thank me. In that moment – even though she was thanking me “by mistake”, I took in all the love that she and most of America have for my husband, our friends, our family.  Teary eyed myself, I whispered “thank you”. We hugged (as well as two women can over a small table in a crowded airport restaurant) and I headed home, filled with gratitude.

Friday – Don was lucky enough to be in the Veterans Day parade in NYC. He was also lucky enough to be in the same room with my boyfriend (Tom Selleck) and didn’t get a photo, but that is a story for another time.  Anyhoo – at one point he needed cash and walked away from the crowd and on to another street to find an ATM. When he told me what happened next he described it as “emotional” (and those of you who know him will be surprised he even knows what that word means) – but as he was walking down what turned out to be Wall Street he was stopped by no fewer than ten people. Wall Street guys in their expensive suits, people coming from the Occupy Wall Street protests, doormen, teenagers – Americans from every walk of life, every political belief, every generation stopped this lone soldier to thank him for his service.  I leave the house and see 20 soldiers before I get to the grocery store. These people may have gone their whole lives without meeting someone in uniform, and when they saw their chance they were proud and grateful to take it. The moment meant a lot to Don, and to me as well.

Then came Saturday.

Don and I attended the wedding of a fantastic, lovely, precious, wonderful couple. The groom (Sean) was stationed with Don in Alaska, so the wedding was also a reunion of some of our other Alaska dudes.  The ceremony was amazing, filled with love and gratitude (not the least of which being that Sean made it home from deployment in time).  The reception was festive, welcoming, filled with laughter and dancing and a coming together of families. While we were sitting around the table I felt a small pang, because it was with this group of men that Don lost one of his PLs and our friend – 1LT Colby J. Umbrell. Just three weeks earlier we were at a wedding where there was no best man, because CPL Benjamin S. Kopp also made the ultimate sacrifice for his country. When you are part of the military family, sometimes festive occasions are also sprinkled with sadness, so I didn’t think my “pang” was out of the ordinary.

At one point in the night two guys at our table leaned forward and told us that one of Sean’s friends (for the sake of this story I’m going to call him Pita – as in Pain In The Ass) had made some incredibly derogatory, ignorant, inaccurate comments about soldiers.  Not the war – the soldiers. To guys he KNEW were soldiers. They had walked away from the conversation but were pointing him out to Don and I as a “stay away from that douchebag” heads up - which was all fine and good until we got on the shuttle to go back to the hotel, and Pita was sitting two rows behind us. Our friend Chris was chatting up the girl sitting next to him, and out of nowhere Pita decided to “cock block” (for lack of a better term) Chris by embarrassing him in front of everyone else on the bus.

People who know me well know a side of my personality called “Angry Beth”.  She RARELY comes out, but when she does it is because she feels like someone she cares about is being hurt in some way. It is NOT pretty.  I am embarrassed about what transpired over the next ten minutes or so, but after what the guys had said about Pita and what I had just seen him to do Chris, Angry Beth appeared. I won’t go in to details, but it started on the bus, continued in the parking lot, and then he was dumb/drunk/something enough to follow me up the stairs trailed by Don and one of our other Alaska buddies, Brandon. Don was literally inches away from getting me in to our hotel room and Pita on his way when Pita intimated that people like Don and Brandon didn’t care about their friends getting killed and that he (Pita) was a better friend to Sean because he DID care.

For a moment I think I actually, literally, lost my mind. Don and Brandon had to physically step between me and Pita and pull me in to the room (like I said – not my proudest moment). Brandon stayed behind to get me under control while Don went back out in the hall to make Pita go away.

Then something happened that I never in a million years would have expected.

I started sobbing.

Most Americans don’t know that when a soldier is killed during a deployment, it is the women who deal with what happens stateside. With the exception of maybe one or two guys from the unit, soldiers do not get to come home for the funerals of their friends/men, so the wives represent their husbands however they can. If the families are local the wives make meals and help with arrangements. If the families live somewhere else the wives still try to help as much as they can, and Don and I agreed a long time ago that I would attend every funeral as long as I was physically able – no matter the cost or distance or heartbreak.  I have had the most amazing and devastating honor of attending five funerals over the past few years. I have stood over five flag draped coffins and whispered my goodbyes. Held the hands of five grieving families who will never be truly whole again. Felt the tremor of five twenty-one gun salutes ringing in my ears as I thought my heart was going to break right out of my chest. Five times I have seen my worst nightmare played out in front of me, and then gone home to an empty house wondering if the next knock on the door would be for me because my husband was still in the place that was sending his men home in body bags. Five weddings we will never go to. Five voices we will never hear again.

Over the last ten years I think America has done a good job of teaching itself the whole “even if you don’t support the war, you support the troops” mentality. I am fine with people who don’t even think about the war and our troops at all.  I have even been ok with knowing that there were a few crackpots out there and have prided myself on knowing what I would say/do if I ever came across one.  On Saturday though, I was blindsided. Blindsided because someone who appeared so “normal” could be so ignorant and hateful.  Someone who claims to support the troops but thinks so little of soldiers that he could look them in the eye and discredit their sacrifice, belittle their losses, and question their loyalty to one another. The realization that there were people like him out there was just more than my war weary heart could bear.

The next thing I knew I was standing in our hotel room, my body wracked with sobs, my face buried in my hands, repeating over and over to Brandon “I watched them put Colby’s body in the ground – does this guy have any idea what that feels like?” Then I started listing off the names of the funerals I had been to and telling their stories as Brandon put his arms around me and let me cry away years of sadness. “Doesn’t he know our hearts are broken?” To suddenly have all of this emotion surprised me, and I’m sure it surprised the bejeebies out of Brandon. Don didn’t know what to do with me either when he came back in the room, but they were both total troopers as I sniffled my way through my apologies and tried to pull myself together so we could go meet up with the rest of our friends.

About twenty minutes after we arrived Pita came up to me and asked if we could talk. He told me that he and Don had been out in the hallway when he heard my sobbing through the door. He’d heard every word I’d said and wanted me to know that he was completely overwhelmed by my grief, and embarrassed that he had been so wrong about “us”. His worst nightmare, he explained, was losing Sean, but it had never even occurred to him that military families like ours have been through it not once, but two, three, four and five times over. Wives bury their friends while laying awake nights worrying about their own husbands. Parents hold their breath every time the phone rings or there is a knock on the door. 99% of America has no idea what it feels like – and I pray they never have to. It is a heavy honor to bear, and a lesson I hope Pita takes with him as he moves back out in to a world void of Angry Beths.

So here’s to the waitress in the Atlanta airport and the people on the streets of Manhattan for honoring this country's veterans in ways both large and small. Here’s to Brandon and Sean and Chris and the other men we love like they are our own kids. Here’s to Don – a man of incredible talent and honor and dedication – to his men, his country, and his wife. And here’s to Pita – for bringing me to the point of no return where I found my grief and let go of years of anger and pain, even if it was in a horrendous, train wreck sort of way in the lobby of a Hampton Inn.  Thank you for the gift of clarity – I hope I have given you just a little of the same.

What America Means to Me

Ok...so I couldn't wait until tomorrow to honor my husband.  :)  Happy Veterans Day babe - to you, the men you fight beside, and the ones you've lost.  Prouder than any words could explain.

(text from layout - written in 2005) I grew up in the Washington DC area.  I rarely visited any of the monuments or went to the museums unless we had company from out of town.  Our family went to the Independence Day and Memorial Day concerts on the Mall every year.  We wore our red, white and blue outfits.  We sang patriotic songs.  Our church always prayed for our nation's leaders and military people serving overseas.  I had friends whose dads worked at the Pentagon or in some other branch of government.  That was what America meant to me.

Then I moved to the South and started working in a job that put me in close contact with members of the military.  My roommate was a pilot, my boyfriend was a navigator, all of my friends were in the Air Force.  I dutifully sent them care packages when they were gone.  I watered their plants.  I picked them up in the middle of the night when they came home.  We never talked about where they were, or what they were doing, or what it meant.  My political views started to change a little.  I became more interested in the news.  I supported my friends and began to understand a little bit about military life.  That was what America meant to me.

Then I met my husband.  We moved to Hawaii.  In August 2001 he left for Ranger School.  We had no contact for three months.  On September 11, 2001 our world changed forever.  I sat on my couch for two days and wept.  I prayed for the families of those who had been killed.  I donated money to a fund for New York City firefighters and police officers.  I put up an American flag in our window.  I waited anxiously for my husband to come home to me - knowing that it wouldn't be for long.  That we were at war.  That was what America meant to me.

I have sent my husband off to war four* times since we've been married.  I have received hundreds of cards from school children to send to his men because they would be far away from home at Christmas.  I have prayed every night to just see his face or hear his voice one more time.  I have walked to the other side of the street when I have seen protestors downtown.  I have shipped care packages from men and women at a Senior Center who wanted to do something for the troops.  I have argued with people I love about the need for this war.  I have received emails from strangers to thank me for my sacrifice and my husband for his bravery.  I have wept at the feeling of his arms around me after so many months of being apart.  I have taken photographs of signs and yellow ribbons all over town.  I have held my husband as we've mourned the loss of one of his soldiers.  I have thanked God that I live in a country where I am free - where we are all free - to do and say and feel all of these things without fear.  THAT is what America means to me.

*note - that number is now nine.

Defining Fred

Over the last 15 years or so I have had the honor of being surrounded by veterans.  I used to say that I didn't really understand or appreciate America until I married one, but looking back, the seeds of patriotism and devotion to this country were planted in me many years before.  This Veteran's Day weekend, while I honor those who have served and remember those who have fallen,  I wanted to share my feelings about two veterans specifically.  So tomorrow, my husband, but today...Fred.

(text from layout) It has always been hard to "define" Fred. Although he and Grandma never married, they lived together for almost 40 years as husband and wife.  Although he wasn't really my grandfather, I wasn't very close to my biological grandfather, so Fred seemed pretty "real" to me.  Everyone else in our family, it seemed, saw Fred as the resident grouch.  According to them - he never wanted to be in our photos.  When the whole family came to visit he spent most of his time in his workshop.  Didn't have too many kind words to say.  Didn't really seem to care about us.  Drove my grandmother crazy.  Wasn't even close to his own children.  But that isn't the Fred I remember.

Somewhere in one of my mother's scrapbooks there is a picture of Fred and I at the house some Christmas when I was small.  It is a rarity to be sure.  Fred is holding me in his arms, and we are both smiling.  Touching and smiling were not things Fred did often.  When we look at that photo my mother tells me that I was Fred's favorite because I was the oldest grandchild and a girl.  But I don't think that was the reason.  I think it was because when I would come to visit in the summers, I would sit with him at the table after dinner and listen to his war stories.  I think it was because I would go on car rides with him to visit his brother and sister-in-law.  I think it was because he was able to convince me that mustard tastes good.   I can remember so clearly the faded military tattoos on his arms, the smell of his tobacco, how he talked to the cat, the way he made me laugh when he wasn't trying to be funny.  That is the Fred I remember.

The last time I saw Fred was a few months before he died.  I had been in Denver visiting and Fred was helping me load my luggage in to the car.  We had gone through this routine dozens of times over the years, but this time - although I didn't know it would be the last time - something told me to hug him.  It was awkward.  It was short, and afterwards I thought it was probably silly and that he didn't like it.  But now I think that hug encompassed an entire lifetime of what we were never able to say to each other.  That I loved him - and in his own way - he loved me too.

After Fred died I specifically asked Grandma for his picture (left), his ID and his dog tags.  They had been hanging in his workshop for as long as I could remember so I knew they had to mean a great deal to him - but strangely enough no one else had wanted them.  These little things define for me the man he was, the memories he shared, the life he led.  And I think he would be proud that I have found my own brave soldier to grow old with, to sit around the table with and listen to stories, while eating lots and lots of mustard.

Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day and Advent Musings

Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day and Advent...two things you don't usually see together.  But several years ago while Don was deployed during the holidays I was asked to write an Advent devotional for a booklet that was being created in the church where I grew up. 

Those of you who know me in person know that I am quick with the sarcasm and comedy, but my faith is something I hold very close and sharing it publicly isn't one of my strengths.  Allowed to pick the date of my choosing I selected December 7th, Pearl Harbor Remembrance Day, which that year also happened to be the second Sunday in Advent.  I figured with the military theme I was sure to be inspired, but what poured out on the page surprised me.  I have kept that Advent Devotional with me through three moves and five more deployments - and discovered it again this weekend as I was unpacking our Christmas decorations, so I share it with you here.

Thinking of all the military families who will have an empty seat at their table this season...

There is nothing love cannot face; there is no limit to its faith, its hope, and its endurance.  Love will never come to an end. -I Corinthians 13:7-8

It is funny what it takes for some people to fully understand God's love.  I grew up in church, this church in fact.  I was confirmed at Grace, volunteered at Grace, worked at Grace, got married at Grace.  But once I moved away and Don and I got wrapped up in our everyday lives we didn't make the time to go to church, and - to be honest, I didn't think much about God.  I still said my prayers every night and came to church when I was visiting my folks, but that was it...until I sent Don off to war.  It has been hard.  I miss him, I'm scared for him, and there are many people in this world who don't believe in what he is doing.  But we love this country so much that he is willing to sacrifice everything for its people, and I am willing to give it my most precious gift - my husband.  God loves us SO MUCH that he gave his only begotten son to a world where many people STILL don't believe, in hopes that we might know forgiveness, eternal life, and the true love of Christ.  Does that make me like God or Don like Jesus?  Of course not.  But now I have a real, tangible idea of how much God loves me - loves all of us.  Now I understand how powerful that depth of love is - and I am awed by it, I am humbled by it, but most of all, I am blessed by it.  We all are!

Dear God, Help us to feel your love for us always.  In our joys let us feel your glory, in our sorrows let us feel your comfort.  Thank you for being our strength and our salvation.  Amen.

Workin' with Wishblade

I am not a computer genius.  Shocking - I know.  But even this technologically stunted crafter can use the Wishblade - and I LOVE it!!!  Every time I create something I am amazed at what it can do and how easy it is to use. Case in point - these notecards I created for an FRG fundraiser.

To begin, I open my Wishblade file that has the crest divided in to individual parts (thanks Sandy Clements for putting this file together for me!)

Now of course I could cut just one, but to create cards (and this is where I start LOVING IT even more) I can just copy each individual piece over and over and over again and cut them all out from the same piece of paper like I did here with the green heart portion:

To save even MORE time, before I begin cutting I run my cardstock through my Creatopia (you can also use your Xyron 900).  What does that do?  It turns all of these small pieces in to STICKERS!!  So no matter how small or intricate your die cut - you don't have to worry about getting adhesive on the back.  It is already done for you!  I cut all of my pieces and then head on over to my scrap table to start assembling the cards.

Each card comes together like a dream!!  Now that each piece is a sticker I am literally just putting together a puzzle on piece at a time.  I layer each piece, not having to worry about waiting for glue to dry or the edges not sticking, and since I have everything laid out in front of me in sheets I'm also not trying to pick up little tiny pieces that have fallen on the floor!

Add a little ribbon for a finishing touch - and voila!

The Wishblade allowed me to create this one-of-a-kind card set (10 cards) in less than an hour from start to finish.  Imagine what you could create for your school, church, social group, business - especially with the holidays coming!  Get crafting my friends!

prayers and miracles

I apologize that I have been absent the last few days.  As some of you may know by now - one of Don's soldiers, Benjamin Kopp, died yesterday from injuries he received during combat on 10 July.  While I originally started this blog as more of a "craft" site with some other things thrown in - life has a way of redirecting you when it needs to.

I'm still grasping at my own emotions - but am honored to share the thoughts of Ben's mom Jill here with you.  Jill started a website for Ben last week and it has been a Godsend for those of us who needed to connect with him somehow - even if only through cyberspace.  Today Jill posted this entry and I am humbled by her faith and her courage.  In just a few short days she has given hundreds if not thousands of us a glimpse in to true, everlasting, unconditional love - for Ben, for God, for her family, and for all of us mourning him today.

Thank you Jill and Ben - for giving us your most precious gift.

Hello Prayer Warriors,
Since arriving at Walter Reed Army Medical Center on Tuesday 7/14 to be with Ben, he has not been conscious. This has not kept us from talking to him or holding his hand and feeling his presence. From his initial injury, Ben's condition was very serious. The core issues being loss of blood, which lead to cardiac arrest which deprived his brain of oxygen, making it difficult for the body to maintain and perform to a level of normalcy that all of us know. From point of injury on to Germany and then here at WRAMC, his care has been top notch.

I created this web site on Sunday 7/12 and released it to the masses about 1pm CST. As I write this it's Saturday night 7/18 and I see this site has been visited 5510 times. I am amazed beyond words. It can be shouted from the mountain tops (pick one), that the world is held together by love. If you ever doubted it, please re-read what I just wrote. The messages here of prayer and hope and love and encouragement are all written here for my son, Ben. He started this, not me. Ben made this happen because he has shared his love and friendship with so many and if you knew Ben through me, its because he shared his love with me and I with you because I love him.

Many of these messages have offered prayers of healing and recovery and for a miracle to make happen something extraordinary. From day one, I have whispered to Ben the number of prayers being said and told him to be strong. He's a fighter and if anyone could overcome odds and claim a miracle he could.  I learned some time ago that while God always answers prayers they may not be in the manner we've asked for them. When it became apparent that Ben's condition was as critical as it was, I told him that it was up to him to decide if he wanted the prayers and the miracle for himself or if they should go to someone else. I knew Ben would let me know.
In the middle of that night, his condition grew worse and his body couldn't recover. The doctors began preparing us to make a decision. In their best medical opinion, Ben's brain could not sustain itself to any level of normalcy and if he survived, his qaulity of life would be poor, at best. There would be no walking, no speaking, no talking, in need of 100% care. WE ALL KNOW BEN WOULD NOT WANT THIS. We came to terms with the reality of his fate and began talking about organ donation. As I contemplated this, I realized that there are families out there whose loved ones need new organs and tissue in order to continue living AND THEY PRAY AND ASK GOD EVERYDAY FOR MIRACLES! It was an enlightening moment to say the least. BEN chose to give them away. He chose to give them to people who still have a chance to live their lives with a sense of normalcy because of his very young and healthy organs! The prayers and miracles weve all been asking for were not meant for Ben. There is no question that many of them were used and will continue to be used to hold me and all of you up. The love and support I have received has been phenomenal. I cannot express words  powerful enough to say thank you with the deep sincerity I feel towards all of you.

You have probably reasoned by what I have just said that Ben has passed on. I am saddened to say he has.

There will be a service in Minnesota and Ben has also requested to be laid to rest at Arlington National Cemetary. I am going to honor those wishes. I have no details about these services yet. I will post them here when they are finalized.

Please continue to say prayers for all of the men and women who so proudly serve our country. Ben had a deep love of country and has just left a legacy of heroism for all of us to cherish. Be as proud of him as I was as his mother. I have been blessed for 21 years with a beautiful young man who came to be loved by thousands. I thank God for sharing him with me and for allowing him to die proud.

Please say a special prayer for the men of Ben's unit who remain somewhere out there. They need us! They need our prayers! They are fighting in Ben's honor and won't give up, just like he never did!

RLTW!!!!

God Bless Ben! God Bless All of you.Jill

God Bless America...and Colby Umbrell

Tuesday, June 3 2008 - We had a project at IRW that was behind schedule. It was coming along, but it had caused a lot of frustration and angst.  Don had recently returned from a long deployment and we were home visiting our families - but the stress of this project had caused me to be grouchy and I’d been sneaking off to do work instead of spending precious and rare free time with my husband. If you’d asked me on Sunday to name some things I was grateful for – I would have been hard pressed to give you a list. 

Then came Monday.  On Monday something happened to me that Oprah would call an “ah-ha” moment.  I would call it a “God slapping me upside the head telling me to get a grip” moment - which is probably one of the many reasons why she has a tv show and I…uh…don’t.

This is a picture of our friend Colby Umbrell a few summers ago. I took the picture while we were making fun of Don because he had asked Colby to come over to "help" move the entertainment center (in the background), and Colby had essentially strapped it on his back and carried it up the stairs by himself. I know bosses aren't supposed to have favorites, but Don had really taken to Colby and we both treated him like a cross between our kid brother and our son - from making sure he had enough to eat to teasing him about his lovelife, and I wouldn't be half surprised if they were giving each other wedgies at work.  A few nights before the guys left for Iraq, Don and I took them out to dinner and while the other boys shamelessly hit on the...uh..."loose" girls at the table next to us, Colby hung back with me, making sure that I didn't feel left out.

On May 3, 2007, 1LT Colby Umbrell was killed by an EFP in Mussayib, Iraq while he and Don were on that 14-month deployment. Yesterday – Monday - I took Don to Arlington National Cemetery to visit Colby’s grave. For those of you who have never been to Arlington…it is a humbling, overwhelming, inspiring, heart-wrenching journey. Once you have lost someone dear to you it also becomes personal - a place of sadness and pride, of questions and of healing. But I am ashamed to say that even while we were driving there I was thinking about work. I was not thinking of my husband or how he was feeling, I was not thinking of Colby, I was not thinking of the stories of sacrifice and braveness all around us. I was thinking about that project and was completely wrapped up in my own head. I was missing the moment.

As we drove through Arlington to Colby’s gravesite Don got quiet, and when we arrived he asked me if he could be alone. So I stepped a few feet away…and as I stood there watching my husband mourn his friend, listening to the wind rustle through the trees and the birds singing and the tinkling of a red, white and blue windchime that someone had hung from a tree – I was suddenly overwhelmed with…I don’t know if you’d call it a new perspective or an epiphany or a good hard God-slap – but the best word I can think of...is gratitude.

Now – my friends will tell you that I am not the most introspective person in the world. I speak my mind more often than I should, I am quick to react (positively and negatively) and I believe in actions more than words or ideas. But at that moment – in that place – I was reminded that if you do not come at the world with a sense of gratitude…you will spend your whole life worrying about the little things and miss what really matters. Even though I’ve heard that for years from talk shows and self-help books and well-meaning motivational speakers, it never really “took” until we were standing there – Don and I – saying goodbye to a friend and finding our own sense of peace.

July 4 2009 - Since that day a year ago a lot has changed - for us and for this country.  The economy seems to be in a free-fall, Don is deployed again, my dad's health is deteriorating, some days our house seems to be falling down around me - and there are times when I just want to throw in the towel and wallow in self-pity and a big ol' tub of ice cream.  But I wear Colby's bracelet around my wrist every day as a reminder, and in the end I am brought back to that afternoon at Arlington - and I remember everything I have to be grateful for.  Don came home, when so many did not.  My family loves me, and I have a chance everyday to make sure they know how much I love them.  This house I complain about shelters me from the sun and the rain and gives me a place to safely lay my head at night.  I am here - and I know that I am blessed beyond measure.

So to Colby...I know how much you touched the lives of the people around you, but I want you to know that this is the gift you gave me.  You have changed me in ways I can't even begin to measure - thank you for helping me find my way back to what really matters.

To Mark, Nancy and Casey...thinking of you today - thank you for sharing Colby with us.

Currahee - one word, two soldiers, one miracle

I think this video speaks for itself. God Bless Lt. Brian Bennett and every man and woman who proudly calls themselves part of the military family. Have a great weekend everybody!