Rewind 8,760 Hours

This week has been hard for me.  It was a year ago that Brandon left for Basic Training. One year ago today Brandon and I sat eating cheap greasy Mexican food. The Army puts the recruits up in a hotel the night before they ship out to basic. In typical Brandon style, he had forgotten his check book and needed me to bring it to him. The upside, we had a chance to go to dinner one last time before I wouldn’t hear from him for weeks and even then just hand written letters. Although I was happy to see him, I remember thinking, “How is he ever going to make it in Bootcamp? He still needs his Mommy!”. Now I would give anything for a dinner date with him. I would drive to Canada if that’s what it took. We ended up at a Mexican place simply out of convenience. We were quiet as we ate and I felt a sense of righteousness getting these extra last minutes with my son that other Mothers weren’t getting – their boys didn’t need them to bring them things at the eleventh hour.   As I drove into the hotel parking lot to drop him off I started to cry which, until Brandon died, was out of character for me. He leaned his tall lanky body across the car hugged me and said, “Don’t cry, I’ll be fine.” We hugged, he let himself out of the car and strode into the hotel with just a glancing wave my way. I have often wondered if somewhere deep inside me I felt the churning of something massive coming my way. I’m not (or never was) a crier. But from the time Brandon signed up for Infantry I could be brought to tears at the mere thought of him being in harms way. So possibly this week signifies the creation of the beginning of the end.

Brandon was assigned to what would become known as “Delta 1-19” at Ft. Benning, Georgia. He was 2^nd Platoon, RN#202. For the first time in the history of Army Bootcamp the group’s family was allowed a Facebook page. It was a 'closed group' providing updates on what was happening, answering questions and allowing a connection with other families going through the same thing. After graduation the page was closed but a group of Mom’s formed a page that became my life line for weeks after Brandon died. These women had never met me, some had seen Brandon, but none had met him. Yet these women poured love and support to me in every way conceivable. They sent gifts, they collected money for the Paver at the Infantry Museum where Brandon graduated and Sue made the Tribute Video on You Tube. At night when I couldn’t sleep I would go to this page and read what they wrote and connect to these strangers. It was like having 24 Moms to pamper my shattered heart.

Now this week, I find myself on the other side powerlessly watching a fellow Army Mom have her world decimated by the death of her son. On June 20^th a fellow Delta 1-19 soldier was killed in Afghanistan. This family is not part of the Mom’s group I’m in, like I was, she is a stranger to us. The donations for the Paver have already begun. But, for me I have been transported back to those early hours and days after Brandon died. By now she has begun meeting with her Army representative. After all, like Brandon, her son is the property of the US Army and they will be involved in every detail of the upcoming events. The service is on Saturday. Logistically I know what her week holds; what time will the funeral be, decisions to be made on a casket or urn, choose a guest books for the funeral, choose what ‘feel good’ verse or poem to be copied onto the service handout, decide what songs to be played, what will the sequence of events be, clothes to wear to the funeral (big decision since whatever you wear you want to burn and never see again), favorite scripture, to have a pictorial video or poster done, meeting with a spiritual leader, where to have a reception, meetings with the Army representatives, the list goes on. And I know from experience, as horrible as it is to choose the precise urn for your child, she will look back and realize this is the easy part.

The hard part is learning how to wear your new wool sweater of grief that used to be known as your life. Everything about life becomes uncomfortable, nothing fits the same way. Things you have done for years all of a sudden don’t fit anymore. Every summer I look forward to winding my way through the singletrack trails on my mountain bike on the beautiful foothills where I live. Yet, this year, my bike hangs in the garage as lifeless as I feel. Maybe this other Mom isn’t a mountain biker (let’s hope she isn’t, mountain bikers are crazy). But she too will find herself in the grocery store realizing that as broken as she feels, no one will notice, no one will point and stare at the wool sweater she now wears. She will just wiggle slightly trying to find the comfort that anonymity can bring.

I don’t know this woman, I have no way of knowing how she will navigate her voyage. She will count the days that turn into months, the "Firsts" and she too will remember 8,760 hours ago when life was comfortable.

I do know that for each of us this journey is very different and that every day (often multiple times a day) I make a choice to hang in there a little longer. I’m strong you say? No, I am crippled and broken by the loss of my son. But I am what is left of Brandon for the world to experience and I owe him being the best representative I can be.