Squared

 You describe it all in detail, and I have so many feelings I don't know where to begin. I vacillate between wanting to run, die, and scream. I sit silent because what on earth could I possibly say? What words could ever be said to fix this shit show that you have forced me into? 

It's unfair and dishonest to say that I don't know you. I want to hurt you the way that you have hurt me, knowing full well that isn't possible and that breaking someone else does not un-break me. What the hell were you thinking? What were you wanting? What the hell was going on that you chose this? 

I have walked through a million nights of hell to be with you. I have fought all of your demons, been the punching bag to your rage, and kept you safe while you slept. I gave you every single ounce of all that I am, and this? This is what you choose?

I'm exhausted from discussing all of the details. I am exhausted from hearing it all. I am exhausted from feeling all of the ramifications of the punches and the blows. I don't think I'm strong enough to navigate this. But somehow, I'm still here. 

Loving you has been the greatest joy of my life. Being with you has been devastating. Isn't it strange that is how it works with us? I love, you destroy. I build, you break. You win, I lose. 

Where the hell am I in this? I have no idea. I feel like you put me in a canoe, pushed me away from the shore, and set the whole world on fire. I'm sitting there, feeling the heat of it all, helpless to stop it, and shattering into a thousand pieces with every blast of flame, every spark that flies into the sky, every building crumbling down. Why do you have the power to be so destructive to me? Why are you able to break me? Because I.love.you. Only you. Always you. I love the way you look in the morning. I love the way you get frustrated about stupid things. I love the way you can't handle things, but you try anyway. I love the way that you make me laugh like no one else on the planet. I love the feel of my head on your chest and the sound of your heart beating. I love that you tuck the blankets around me when I fall asleep. I love making you smile, or driving you crazy with all of my words and my thoughts and my ideas. I love thinking about you all day long. I love being next to you at night. I love that my heart skips a bit any and every single time you are near me. I love that as big and as hard as I love people, no one on this planet has ever held a candle to how much I fucking love you. I also hate it. I hate it so much because I am not safe with you. My heart has never been something that you have kept secure. You beat it over and over again, and I don't know if this destruction is something I can get past. I want to. I want to be able to say that you can't destroy my ability to love you. But I don't know... Maybe this is it. Maybe this choice was the final straw... 

I'm still here. Silent. Waiting until I know.

Cubed

 I was digging through a bin, looking for the jewelry tools so I could fix my necklace. Your red rosary was sitting there and it jingled in a way that caught my attention. I picked it up and saw "St Therese" on it. I remember when you asked me to fix it. I remember that I thought I had the right supplies. You wanted to take it with you to college, but I didn't have the right supplies. You left, and here it sat. I fixed it tonight. 

Raising children is like holding water in your hands. You cup them together and do your best to keep all of the water safe and sound. It trickles down the cracks or evaporates away until one day, you look down at your hands, and all that is there are the remnants of water that remind you of how full of water your hands once were. 

Every moment that I got to hold you was fantastic. Every time I got to listen to your beautiful mind or experience the intensity of your fabulous heart, there was a sparkle in my mind. It was like a star glowing in the sky or like jewelry sparkling in the sun. It's bizarre that I am sitting in your old room writing this entry. It's shitty that I don't get to see you every day anymore. I miss you. I've said a thousand times how angry I would be at you if you didn't go, and that remains true. I would be so sad if you stopped growing, thriving, and developing your identity on your own. But I remember when you were the tiniest creature and I could hold you close to my chest. I remember when you would say silly things and giggle like crazy. I remember watching you battle a body that was breaking and being terrified that God was going to take you to heaven before me. I remember when you cried because your best friend liked you, but you didn't like him back, and you hated hurting and disappointing him. I remember being helpless while a chemical broke your body and your mind, making me so absolutely angry that words can't even describe it. I remember when you hugged me in Bismarck and walked away. I remember sobbing because I knew that from that point forward, you and I would never have the same relationship we once had (not for the better or the worse, just different). 

I was never a mom before you. My journey of parenting is changing, and that is beautiful. It's funny what a broken rosary will do...

Grief

 I've been sitting here staring at this blinking cursor for an hour. The darkness into which I have fallen... I wonder sometimes, when you are evaluating me in the future, what my assigned role will be. The saint? The sinner? The strong? The broken? 

I died on December 10, 2022. My execution has been strong yet slow. The demise of everything I loved the most took seconds to come. Yet when the wave, or the avalanche, or nuclear bomb hit... well, you know what it all looked like. I wish for a million other things than this. I would rather rip off my flesh or anything but this, yet here we are. Here we've been...

I don't know how to breathe anymore. I don't know how to think, ask, or advocate. I don't know how to do anything anymore and it's the most pathetic way to feel. I look in the mirror, and I hate everything about myself. I hate the person I am now. I hate the way that I feel. I hate everything that is and I miss with every ounce of my being what was before and will never again be. 

People talk about surviving, and I have no fight in it. What is there to survive? Death? I hold onto the moment when I go to the grave, and my soul and my body cease their connection. I look forward to the release of this devastation, and the freedom to see it all unfazed, unfoggy, and clear. What do I do here, my loves? Who am I now? Who are we?

The Four

 Dearest Four,

    Tomorrow morning I will wake up and go to the hospital to have whatever this is that's growing inside of me removed. You four know full well that my body doesn't like general anesthesia and that all of this could end very badly. If you're reading this tomorrow, it's because it has. Of course, you could be reading this many years in the future. I may have been at your weddings, met your children, and poured more of my heart and soul into you over the years. We are never promised any amount of time, are we loves? I have also played the narrative over and over that this could be the beginning of a thousand hospital visits. It could be the entrance to more hell than I could ever care to watch you all have to see. I will hate every single second of being the body that causes you pain. I hope that dirty little word is not entering into our family, into the bubble of me and you. Of course, I don't know if it is... We will wait and see and hope.

    I have felt compelled to write something to you. C suggested I write it here, and that makes sense. I have adored every single second of being your mom. I know it's unnecessary for me to write that because you have heard me say it repeatedly. You four are the most fantastic human beings I have ever known, and what enormous gratitude I have at being able to experience you all up close and personal. I am the most fortunate woman to have been able to watch you grow in wisdom, intelligence, understanding, mercy, and love. If I have taught you anything in my short time on this earth, I hope it's that Love is the most precious thing on the planet. I beg you not to murder that. I beg you to keep your hearts raw and choose to love over and over again. When you miss me, go to Mass. Talk to me. I will be storming the gates of heaven, pestering all of the saints there, and advocating for you with every ounce of the fire and passion that I have exhibited on this planet. I was made to do that, and I will. 

    Look out for each other. Don't turn your backs on each other, and choose to be broken and raw together. You will need each other as you age more than you can ever fathom. Don't let your differences get in the way you process emotions and choose to live your lives; nor your personalities destroy that. No one on this earth will ever understand what it was like to grow up in our family but the four of you. No one. Protect the intimacy of being siblings. Guard it like it's a precious jewel. 

    Be kind to each other. I know you will all be feeling feelings that will be difficult to process. I know that some of you will be so incredibly angry that it will be hard to see straight. Be forgiving, be kind. 

    Pray. Please pray. Rage pray, cry pray, beg pray, and pour it all out on God. He is big enough, mighty enough, and He loves you enough to handle your feelings. He is, was, and always will be, for you. 

    Your father is going to be a mess. Talk to him. Don't alienate him. Go to therapy. Real therapy. Don't give up on each other. Don't let what I have loved the most on this planet be destroyed.

    It's okay to feel feelings of joy and laughter. It's okay to laugh. You know how much I love laughter, and your laughter is my favorite of all. Please laugh. Laugh about how ridiculous I have been. Talk about all of the times I was unfair. Remember that I was just as much of a mess as anyone else. Point out that sometimes I could be enormously fucked up. Don't put me on a pedestal that I don't deserve. But also don't ever forget that loving you has been the greatest joy of my life. I have never experienced such an immaculate treasure. When God looked through to my soul and saw all of the via dolorosa's that I would have to walk, He knew that four little people would bring me overwhelming joy, so He brought you to me. We have had so many fabulous memories. I have loved all of our conversations. I have loved hearing about your days. I have hurt with you, laughed with you, broken with you. I have treasured watching your minds work. I love how much you love learning. Please never stop doing that. 

    Ending this feels impossible. There's so much that I want to say, but I can't find the words. Thank you for being my children. Thank you for trusting me with your hearts and your secrets. Thank you for being such fantastic people. Please take the beautifulness that makes you you out into the world. You are amazing! I love you!

Crucifixion

 The past three weeks and two days have been a literal hell for me. The pain I have experienced and am currently walking through is so mind-boggling, so difficult to put to paper, that I can hardly stop the bouts of enormous sobs that wash over me. I have alternating periods of complete silence where I feel like I can't move, or think, or breathe. I have been shot in the back, and I'm still moving through the free fall to the cold hard earth. Or maybe I have finally hit the earth and felt the double impact of my body banging against the ground. Regardless, the trauma is immense.

I could sit for hours and try to explain to you my thoughts but it's unnecessary. You are all four walking through this simultaneously, an experience that only works to further the impact on my spirit. Not only is my whole heart destroyed, but my eyes are also forced to watch you all suffer as well. 

I told you that it's like a nuclear bomb was dropped in the center of us. I'm at the epicenter, my body is mangled, broken, destroyed, aged a hundred years, and all around the center of the epicenter is all of you: also broken, mangled, and aged. The only thing still standing is the Cross which holds our Savior. My mangled flesh is wrapped around it with its whole being. Christ is all I can hold on to.

The images that have been flooding my brain on repeat are equally devastating. The pain of this experience is unrivaled. I hate how angry you are. I hate how broken you all feel. I wish I could scream loud enough in order to take it away. I wish I could cry more, starve myself longer, or fight with my fists to any level which would make you finally feel complete. I know that is not possible.

I have reminded you, daily, how much you are loved, and how many adults you have in your life that would drop anything to support you. I have tried to check in with how you are feeling and whether or not you are okay, all while trying to see through the haze that is covering my own eyes. 

We are not alone.

Every single image that floods my mind gets tacked on to that Cross holding us all together. Every single sin is each mark that lashed our Savior. All of the emotional agony and grief that we feel is exactly the anguish that He felt in the garden, at the lashings, and while He hung... I hate that this hurt is hurting Him so much. But in a moment where I was genuinely wishing for the end of my beating heart, I heard Him cry out to me: put this on Me! And then the crucified Jesus flashed into my brain. I argued with Him and said that I don't want to hurt Him anymore. And He said Putting it on Me is the only way to heal you. So I did. And I heaved the heaviest sobs while I did so. I have spent so much time imagining myself reducing His suffering. Wanting to Love so vastly that the evil the world throws out is reduced. Even if my broken self is but a drop in the bucket, love never dies. So I resolved to love as much as I humanely could, despite how much evil remains inside of me.

Jesus climbed up on a Cross so that this enormous wound, this vast hole, the perpetuating injury could be made whole, entire, and complete. I know how much anger you feel. I know how abandoned and hurt you are. I know how scared you all feel. I cannot possibly imagine wholeness, or completeness, or ever feeling joy in my heart again, to be honest, but I know I will. Because my joy is not in humanity. My love does not come from people. All that I am is wrapped up in the One who jumped out of a perfectly good heaven, to come here to be with us. 

I know you all won't be reading this until I'm gone, and I find an element of comfort in that. Maybe when you're reading this, you will be experiencing your own nuclear bomb, and these words can give you some comfort. I have no idea. All I can say is what I keep saying to myself: run to Jesus. Run with all that you have. He is the only safe place you will ever find, and He will never hurt you.

Her.

America,    

    I have two best friends: one that I am married to, and one that I am not. You know an awful lot about the one that I am married to, but I don't talk about BA as much. I will attempt to do so now.

    I am not one prone to a lot of labels. Calling someone a "best" anything is something I am generally opposed to doing. I think that a best friend is something hard fought to win. It comes with responsibility, dedication, commitment, and loyalty. I don't just offer those commitments out willy-nilly. When I met BA, my whole family decided that she was my "best friend." It took me a while to get on board. 

    She and I are a lot alike. As we grew in our friendship, the similarities kept on coming. Where we are different, it compliments. I am heavily prone to the dramatic (anyone surprised!?) while she is super even-keeled. I panic, she reflects. We are both passionate, focused, incredibly smart bad mofos handling life like bosses (haha). She can make me laugh so hard it hurts. She can take a dark and cloudy emotional day and remind the inner-hot-mess-of-myself that she is not alone, and she'll be okay. She inspires the shit out of me. She navigates life with such wisdom and grace, and it annoys me (on occasion) that she doesn't see it in herself. It's a privilege to walk with her while she loves our God, her husband, and her children, while tackling new challenges, seeking out answers, and navigating the hurdles of growing older.

    I do not hold the eloquence in writing that she does (she's an author), so I struggle to describe her. She was the greatest gift that Fort Benning ever gave me. I know that I can call her and rant and rave about my pitiful life (cue tiny violins), and she will support me, my marriage, my motherhood, my Catholicism, and my femininity. She doesn't judge me when I utter a plethora of curse words in one sentence, and a genuine prayer in the next. She totally accepts my personal obsession with Moses, as someone who sees it almost as clearly as my husband and children do (but she's not under any contractual obligations to accept it. LOL!). 

    I told her today that we can go for weeks without talking, but no matter what she's my best friend. Like it or not! Sort of like the blood-in-blood-out vibe of my marriage. LOL! I wish, with all of my heart that we could live in the same city again, but even if that is not meant to be, I know that in Heaven (when we get there) we will be laughing, talking, and having the world's best time. 

    She's amazing, America! What's some things you cherish about your best friend?

September

I'm sitting here on our couch, wearing your ring, wrapped up in your ghost. I'm rounding the bend to forty. A significant age. You were not here for my 18th, 21st, or my 25th birthdays either. I feel the air leave my chest and it's as if the inhale hesitates to come. I'm here and you're there and I keep telling myself that we chose this, that I chose this, but it isn't helping at all because the air doesn't want to fill my lungs and my heart doesn't want to beat and my eyes don't want to stop leaking. 

All I want is you.

It's lame and pathetic. I have a million things to be grateful for. I have a million moments to stay rooted and present in. I have so many experiences that I am living here and now. I hate that I feel like I'm living in pause between the moments where you are on the phone and when we hang up. I hate how physically my body aches for you. I am so fortunate that God has given me so many arms to hug. I am so grateful that our children are such fantastic, beautiful, glorious, magnificent creatures and that while you are away the five of us get to deepen our bond and connection to each other. I always wish you could see how amazing they are in these moments when you're away. They have a bravery, courage, and dedication that is outstanding to see. Of course they have all of these things when you're here too. It's probably that my eyes spotlight it more when they are not so focused on you...

Moments like right now I want to give up. I want to say screw it to all of our plans and directions. I want to say I'm tired of this lifestyle, throw in the towel, and move on to a different life. These moments make me hate in a way that I have never hated before. Because, Love, this love moves my heart through such overwhelming grief that I feel like I can't breathe. 

You know, better than anyone, how much I loathe any sense of weakness in myself. You also know how utterly weak I am for you. It's bizarre how much I love that, though. Love, though it moves me to the greatest depths of despair, is the most profound gift that I can pour out of myself. I will empty my flesh of everything I am, if it gives me one more moment of sustenance to love more. Love hurts so much, Love, that I am moved through weakness and sorrow to something I can never adequately put to words.

Today I poured out all of the hurt around my birthday to you. I cried and cried and I hated feeling that way but I have always known that I can be selfish, broken, shattered with you and you will hold it. You will let me be all of those things and you will listen so that I can pick myself up by the boot straps and keep on going. I love that today you didn't remind me that we, as a family, chose this. I love that you didn't say that I need to think about all of the wonderful people that I will have to share that day with. I love that you didn't tell me that this is the military way, or that I need to toughen up, or that I should feel any differently than I feel. You let me be angry and hurt and sad. You sat with me while I cried, half a world apart. 

My birthday will be hard because despite all that I know will never happen, I will still be aching for the door to open and you to be standing there. I'm glad that my heart longs for that so desperately. I'm glad that after twenty years of loving you like a crazed individual that has not changed. I hope our children have loves like this. I hope they have passion that never dies, affection that never dries up, and butterflies that still dance around in their stomachs even after so much time. 

I love you, Love. I'll be seeing you.