The In-Between Time

It happened right when Maxx left for work this morning. It was that in-between time when it's neither night or day, when the light starts to reach my part of the world, but the sun has shown above the horizon...

I stepped outside with my coffee to greet the morning, and in that light, the growing things in my yard seemed so much more green than usual, giving off a luminescent glow, almost.

It was that magickal time, where we stand at a doorway between the worlds, between time. And I gave quiet thanks with a grateful heart that I was allowed, on this morning, to see the beauty around me before my neighborhood fully awakened.

A wise teacher once told me: "All things are perfect in their own time." I'll try to remember that.

Peace,
Amy

Mom's Lesson

Photo by Andrew Stern
When I carried my unborn children within my womb
I was full of hopes and dreams and wonder…
I wondered at the life we had created, growing within me
And the first seeds of love were planted when I learned of that life.

I wondered what this little one would do with his or her life
What kind of person he or she would be.
I wondered if this precious soul would achieve the dreams,
The hopes, the aspirations of its heart and dearly hoped it would be so.

I walked in the Valley of life and death
To bring the unborn through the birth canal to be born;
Flooded with relief at the first cry,
The long hours of pain and fear quickly forgotten.

As my children grew, I felt great joy in their first smiles, the first steps
I could kiss away the tears and the sores and the heartaches.
When they were little, my children thought I could fix anything
A toy, a scratch, a spill – no problem!

I did my best to protect my children from all that would bring them harm,
And from the bogeyman under the bed and in the closet or around the corner.
I did my best to teach them to protect themselves and to be kind to others.

Eventually all children grow up and become adults.
They make their own decisions and all I can do is watch
And hope and pray they will be the right decisions
And that they will not bring themselves undue harm.

I want to help them; I want to fix what they have done,
Sometimes I cannot. Sometimes I should not.
This I have learned. And maybe, as a Mother, this is my greatest lesson.
But still…

I cry, I weep, I sorrow when they fall and hope and pray they will get back up.
I hope… I pray… I love them unconditionally
Sometimes, that is all I can do
I can’t make everything better. Sometimes they have to do it themselves.

by Amy Branham
May 16, 2008

Who Cares?

Honestly, folks, aren't you sick and tired of hearing about what baseball players have used steroids and which ones haven't? I mean, really, don't we have more important things to worry about? And, more importantly, does't our Congress have more important things to investigate? Like, oh I don't know, the lies of Bush & Co. told to take us into war? The possibility that our President has committed treason while holding the highest office in the land?

I'm just sick and disgusted with our do-nothing Congress! They cave into the President's wishes time after time and give the spoiled brat what he wants even though the People are telling them not to. I can't help but wonder what the hell is going on and why they are doing this. Is someone paying them off that we don't know about?

They promised they would end the war, but they haven't done that. They promised they would take better care of our vets when they came home from the war, but that isn't happening either.

I'm irritated and downright angry that they are giving the telecom companies retroactive immunity for spying on American citizens illegally. Years ago I thought, well go ahead and spy on me. I'm doing nothing wrong. Now, even though I'm not breaking any laws whatsoever, it irritates me that, because I disagree with my government, they might and probably have, listen to my phone calls and read my emails (and I do have reason to believe this has occurred). This is an invasion of my privacy, plain and simple.

There are lots and lots of other things that are just getting under my skin right now, but I can't think straight, can't get my brain to shut down and I can't get my fingers to cooperate with my brain. Such a cunundrum...

Guess I'm just irritated today. Four years ago on this day was the worst day of my life -- or the second worst, I'm can't really decide. I learned my son was dead. It's pretty hard to try and have a positive outlook on this day. I just feel rotten...

Peace,
Amy

I Miss You...

A song written by Tom Chelston, whom I have come to know and associate with from time to time... Thanks, Tom.

Posted in loving memory of my son, Sgt. Jeremy R. Smith, who died four years ago this week in a car accident before he was to leave to go to Iraq with his Army unit.

I love you, Bud. I miss you.

And I'll never forget...

Love forever,
Mom

Letter to my Son

Dearest Jeremy,

Tomorrow would have been your 26th birthday. As I sit here and think about you, I wonder what your life would have been like had you lived, had you not been killed in that damn car accident before you were supposed to go to Iraq. I wonder how you would have been when you came home and I wonder what you'd be like now. I just wonder.

I wonder if you would have married by now and had a baby or two for me to bounce on my knee, cuddle with and read stories to. I wonder where you'd be living and what you'd be doing with your life by now. There are so many "I wonders"... I could go on all day.

When you were born, I never, ever, in my wildest dreams, expected this -- for our family to be so torn apart and torn up over your death at such a young age.

We miss you, Jeremy, every single day. I wish you were here, and sometimes I feel as though you are here, watching over your family. You sisters have told me of dreams of you where you are just there, sitting in a corner or in a chair watching, not participating. And it gives them comfort to know you are still there in some way.

I miss you with every beat of my heart. I miss your laugh, your smile, you sense of humor and your hugs. I miss your sense of needing to protect me and your sisters. I miss your bumming cigarettes from me and being annoying just to get my attention. I wish you were here to fix my computer problems...you know how computer illiterate I am!

I wish you were here to see and play with your nephew, Aiden. You would adore him just the way all the rest of us do. He'd really love his Uncle Jeremy, too.

We're all doing okay, really. The holidays are hard, especially Thanksgiving. At the end of the week Jaime and Aiden will be living back in Houston with us, so all of us will be close together again, which will be REALLY nice. Maxx is doing good. We've both been sick a lot this year and are now having a bout with the flu.

I know you're still out there in some form, somewhere... I feel your love and sometimes your touch. I hear your voice in my heart from time to time and I can definitely hear you say "Mother" in that way you said it when I do something really goofed up!

Know that I will love you, always and forever, until the day I die and join you wherever you are...

Love always,
Mom

Thanksgiving Memories

Well, we made it again, another year through Thanksgiving. On some of the online political groups I a part of, there has been much discussion about NOT celebrating Thanksgiving for one reason or another. One reason is because it has become a somewhat secular holiday. Another reason is because people think it is terrible to feast on meat or to participate in the overeating that comes with the day. Still other people feel guilty to indulge in so much when there are others who have so little.

I guess people can see what they want in any event or holiday. We each take away from our participation or lack of participation different things, depending on where we are coming from emotionally, mentally and physically.

My family has continued our tradition of cooking the turkey and stuffing ourselves with all the good foods we don't eat at any other time of the year. This year my daughters, Jaime and Dani, along with Aiden, joined Maxx and I as we journeyed to the home of Maxx's parents where we were joined by his brother and wife and their two children. It was a house full of people, to say the least. They are religious people, but they do not force it upon others and they are considerate of me and the feelings of my daughters and Maxx on this day, in particular. I deeply appreciated the moment they took to remember my son and to add that they knew it was a difficult day for us.

We made it through the day and I actually did pretty good until after the late feast, at which time I took the time out to step outside, smoke a cigarette by myself in the cold night air and remember the one who wasn't there with us anymore, my son, Jeremy. It was 26 years ago on Thanksgiving night, after all of the Thanksgiving feast had been finished, that my water broke and I went into active labor with my son. Eight hours later, in the early morning hours on the day after Thanksgiving, my beautiful son was born.

It doesn't matter what day of the month Jeremy's birthday falls on. For me, it is Thanksgiving and the day after that will be forever impressed on my memory.

Jeremy's last Thanksgiving home was also his 22nd birthday. He had planned to feast with his father, who had come down to see him off as Jeremy had to report for active duty in the Army the Saturday after Thanksgiving. Maxx and I had not planned any great Thanksgiving feast that year as I had to work and our daughters were both living in other cities. But Jeremy called and wanted to come to our house and stay after an argument with his father. Later that day, our Thanksgiving feast and Jeremy's birthday dinner consisted of spam and taters with gravy. Jeremy ate the dinner with us, however wary he might have been. He did not complain or make any faces or smart remarks. He just seemed to be happy to be with us.

We did not know, we could not have known, that it was his last Thanksgiving and birthday with us.

Two days later Maxx and I drove Jeremy to report for active duty in the Army Reserves, where he would receive training for the next two months before his unit left to go to Iraq.

Now Thanksgiving has a different meaning and importance for me. I will not feel guilty for participating in the feast nor for feeling grateful for those people in my life and things that I treasure so very dearly.

I have been homeless -- therefore I am grateful to have a home to live in.

I have been jobless -- I am grateful for the job I have.

I have spent many holidays without friend or family other than my kids -- I am grateful for the family that I am a part of and that they still put up with me!

I am very grateful to the Gods or whatever it is that is Divine that has seen fit to bless my life with two wonderful daughters and a stepdaughter. I am grateful to be blessed with three beautiful grandchildren and an incredibly patient son-in-law. I am blessed and thankful for a family of in-laws who are patient and kind even though I'm not sure they understand me. My in-laws are accepting of my crazy daughters and that means a great deal to me.

I am grateful from the depths of my heart for my delightful, kind, loving and amazing husband, Maxx, who still makes me laugh.

Yes, I mourn the one who isn't here among us anymore, I still miss him with all of my heart. I will miss him every single day of my life as long as I live. I am grateful to have been blessed to be Jeremy's mother. Thanksgiving Day, more than any other, symbolizes to me what was and what is the reality in my life.

In peace,
Amy

Memories and Thoughts

Yesterday, as I watched the news of the wildfires in California and FEMA coming to the rescue, I was reminded of my own experience with FEMA about five years or so ago. At the time my husband and I had just moved to a place called Canyon Lake, Texas, nestled in the Hill Country north of San Antonio and south of Austin. It's a nice place, really, where people go to retire or have summer vacation homes to escape city life. It's a tourist place without all the usual trappings of a tourist town and, at least when we lived there, there were very few chain restaurants or businesses. A traffic jam was more than three cars waiting at one of the few lights around the lake.

It's the kind of place where, if you are driving down the road and come up on someone who is going slower than you, the slower driver will pull over onto the shoulder and let you pass, waving as you go by. Life is different there. In the summer time the tourists come out to camp along the Guadalupe River downstream from the dam, rent inner tubes, and float down the river all day long. Young and old alike do this and enjoy the heck out of themselves. People come out to the lake with their boats and swim, fish and just relax.

Maxx and I moved there to escape the city life and to open a business of our own building custom cabinetry, hoping to get in on all the new home construction and some of the remodeling of the older homes in the area. There was a whole lot of that going on, though you wouldn't see it just on a drive through of the area. You really have to get off the main roads to find the new home construction or homes of any kind. We had opened the doors to our business in May and were having some success, though it was slow. We had expected that much and were prepared for it.

Then in July it started raining. It rained for days on end dumping at least three feet of rain in the region, most of it upstream from the dam, which could not hold the water. The water eventually went over the spillway creating a whole new gorge, destroyed hundreds of homes, and flooded the Guadalupe River downstream. On CNN we watched houses floating down the river as they were torn from their foundations. Almost all of the roads going in and out of Canyone Lake were flooded and the bridges were washed out.

Thank goodness we were safe, though it was close. We had flood water within one hundred feet of our shop, located on River Road near the river and just a mile from the canyon. The day the water went over the spillway, the volunteer emergency crews evacuated their little building in Sattler, which is the nearest town to the dam, saying they knew the water was going to go over the spillway and did not have any idea if it would flood the town or not, so they were getting out. That was pretty scary.

Everything we had was in that business we had opened. All of Maxx's equipment was in our little shop right there by the river. We had invested everything in this business and now it was in danger. We spent all day on the 4th of July, with the help of some good friends who lived nearby, moving anything and everything we could find and lift up into the rafters and on top of the office and bathroom in that shop, trying to get it out of the way of the expected flood waters. Then we sat and waited and watched.

Like I said, we did not get flooded, thank goodness. We did not loose anything directly to the flood. But it was the beginning of a nightmare that would last a good long time.

After the flood, FEMA showed up. They were really good about some things. They handed out water and food and blankets to the families left homeless out there. They were excellent at finding the news camera crews and reporters to let them know they were on the scene. The National Guard came out as well, to keep people out of the most severely flooded neighborhoods until the water resided.

After the emergency was over and the water started to recede, they told the business owners in the area that we could apply for loans and grants to help maintain our businesses and keep them going. We applied for a loan and grants to help us and were turned down because we did not have any money sitting in the bank as collateral, as were many, many other business owners out there who eventually just closed up shop, like us, and moved on.

Now you would think that with all those flooded homes there would have been many opportunities for us to get work and help out. But that was not the case. FEMA had a list of "approved" contractors -- most of whom did not even come from the area or even Texas at all -- for people to use. We were not among their "approved" contractors and they would not give information as to how to be added to that list. Also, many of the homes there were underinsured, but that didn't matter, either. As long as the homeowners had some kind of insurance, no matter how much or how little, they were not helped. That means that many homeowners did not have the money to rebuild or to restore their homes. The work was just not available.

The tourist season was gone for that year because of the severe flooding along the river, and that is the mainstay for the local economy out there. No tourists, no money and no economy. The roads and bridges that were flooded out had to be rebuilt and repaired. For many months afterwards, on drives around the area where the flooding had occurred, we saw strange things high up in the trees, like the pink hot tub hanging from one tree about 30 feet up in the air. There were clothes and ironing boards, dog houses and whole sections of fencing hanging from the trees. It was all very surreal.

We eventually lost our apartment, sold what we could in garage sales just to get money for food, and moved into our little shop. There was no hot water, no shower, no kitchen. We did have a sink and a toilet with running water. We used the water hose out back to wash our hair in the summer. The work trickled in, slowly, but there wasn't much. Jobs were scarce unless we wanted and could make the 40 mile drive one way into town, which was not feasible. We lost one of our vehicles, so we were down to only the work truck.

There was no money and we went bankrupt. For entertainment, we would sit in folding chairs in front of our shop at night and watch the bats flying around in the sky. The skies were gorgeous!

And, after a year and a half in Canyon Lake, we closed up shop and moved back to Houston using the money from a tax return and a job I was finally able to get that paid $7.50 an hour.

I hope FEMA is doing a better job and is helping people better now. I don't have much faith in that, though, after watching their response to Katrina. But I don't know... I have not had any contact with them since we left Canyon Lake, thank goodness.

How Do I....?

Usually I don't like to air my dirty family laundry publically. But today I am posting this because I know that some members of my family read this blog from time to time. And it is the ONLY means of communication I have with them. Please know I love you. I have always loved you. All I have ever wanted is to know that you loved me, too.

Your sister, your daughter, your niece,
Amy

Last night I received the news. My mother has Lou Gehrig’s disease. Apparently she has been bedridden for quite some time and now there is talk of inserting some kind of a tube. Her body has wasted away to almost nothing. The real clincher of this hideous disease is that, while the muscles of the body eventually become paralyzed, the patient’s brain continues to work and function normally, so the patient is very much aware of what is happening to him or her.

In any event, a family member called me last night to tell me – apparently against the wishes of the rest of my family from whom I have been estranged for over three years now, since my mother ran out on me just days before my son’s funeral and the day before the Army returned his body to me. Upon her return home to Idaho, she told the family some story – I do not know what – that caused both of my brothers and my step dad to refuse to talk to me or to return phone calls. Within a very short period of time, I lost not only my son but also half of my family.

It wasn’t the first time she ran out on me. It was just the last time I was willing to let her hurt me like that.

Now this family member thinks I should call my mom while there is still a chance to reconcile and make peace with each other.

I sat up most of the night thinking, crying, and talking with Maxx about this. Mom has known about this disease for awhile now and she has known how to get in touch with me to reconcile if she wanted to, yet she chose not to. My brothers could have gotten in touch with me if that had wanted to, yet they chose not to. And apparently the rest of the family felt that I shouldn’t be told about mom’s illness.

How do I reconcile all of this in my mind and in my heart? Right now I feel so damn hurt and so damn angry with mom, my brothers and my step dad. What the hell did I ever do to deserve them turning their backs on me? I have never known why mom left in the midst of planning Jeremy’s funeral. I have never been told what it was that mom said that, in fact, turned my whole family against me.

All I ever heard was from my brothers: “You can’t treat my mother like this. I won’t stand for it.” What the hell did I do? I was trying to plan a funeral for my son. I was trying to get through the worst hell I have ever experienced in my life the best that I could. It would have been nice to have a little understanding and kindness from my own mother, my brothers, and my step dad for a little while. But they couldn’t give that to me. So I had to mourn not only the death of my son but also the loss of the rest of my family, too.

The last time I saw my mom was when we went out to dinner on our way home from the funeral home where we had been making arrangements and met with my ex-husband and my daughters. Everything was fine at dinner, or at least as fine as they could be under the circumstances. When we got home, Maxx and I went into our bedroom to change our clothes and we got into a heated discussion, something that will happen to couples during times like that. And when we came out of the bedroom, Mom was gone. I assumed she had gone to her hotel room down the street from our house, and would call when she was ready. She never said goodbye. She never said she was leaving. She just left.

A couple of hours later I got a phone call from my brother, Andy, cussing me out because “his” mother was in a hotel room in a strange city all by herself and I shouldn’t be treating her that way. Mom was in a hotel room because we had asked her to go to one. We lived in a 900 square foot apartment and had nowhere to put mom other than on the couch in the living room. Under the circumstances we were in, Maxx and I weren’t sleeping and found ourselves up roaming around all night long. We felt mom would be more comfortable in a space of her own.

And then there was the drinking. She started drinking the night she came into town and got real ugly when she did. If she wanted to drink, that was fine, but I couldn’t tolerate it right then. I needed some kind of peace and it wasn’t happening with mom sitting in my living room drinking all night long and cussing, and waiting for me to leave the room so she could tell anyone within earshot what a terrible person I was.

We finally got hold of her on the phone and she said she was leaving the next morning. She had been drinking again. So we went over to the hotel and confiscated our car from the parking lot and took it home without telling her. We didn’t know what she was going to do. She had said she wanted one of us to take her to the airport the next morning. We told her we couldn’t because we had to be at the funeral home the next morning to wait for the arrival of Jeremy’s body from the Army.

This was later followed by a rather nasty email from my brother, George, on my birthday a couple of weeks later. It just also happened to be the day I was sitting at home waiting for the delivery of my son’s personal effects from the Army.

We haven’t talked in over three years. I couldn’t let this woman who had given birth to me hurt me any longer. She was my mother, for God’s sake, yet she couldn’t be kind to me, she couldn’t help me, she wouldn’t be there for my son’s funeral – her grandson.

And now, a well-intentioned family member wants me to reconcile with my mother before she dies. Why didn’t my mother make the attempt to reconcile with me? Why didn’t she call me when she could and just say, “I’m sorry. I love you, Sis”?

Why should I?

How do I?

Three Years II

Three years ago this morning my beautiful son's life ended just when he was beginning to get it together for the first time ever. Three years ago today I was home sick, listening to the local news and heard it was snowing in the Hill Country around Ft. Hood and thinking that Jeremy would be enjoying that, not knowing that the snow started about the same time he died.

Three years ago tonight the messenger of death knocked on my door to give me the devastating news that turned my life upside down, inside out.

A lot can happen in three years.

I love you, Bud. And I miss you today more than most...

Mom

Three Years

Three years ago today Jeremy was home with us, alive and well, on his last leave of absence before heading to Iraq. Three years ago we were at the Museum of Natural History looking at exhibits and laughing at stupid stuff. We went to the movies and on his last night home, fixed his favorite dinner, steak and baked potatoes.

Three years ago there were only about 500 soldiers dead from this war.

Three years ago most of the country still believed the lies President Bush & Co. told us about this war. We, as a country, were living in in the grip of Fear and dared not question our President.

Three years doesn't seem like much time, and in some ways it isn't. For me, it feels like a whole lifetime ago. Sometimes it's hard to remember Jeremy's voice, what he looked like, what he smelled like.

Three years ago more than 2500 other soldiers were still alive, their families still intact.

Are we really going to give this war another one year? Two years? Three years? How many more lives will be destroyed, families shattered while those on the Hill take their time playing the game of politics? We are people, our children are not pawns in some elaborate chess game.

Good God, I wish they'd wake up and listen to us! I wish they would find a backbone and some courage to do the right thing!

Peace,
Amy

Honor. Duty. Country

HONOR…DUTY…COUNTRY

These three words may be only words to you and to me, ordinary citizens of the United States of America. To our Servicemen and women, however, they are a code to live by as they serve our country. They live with honor. They do their duty and they serve their country.

These words are the words I had inscribed on my son’s headstone three years ago next month. They are the code he lived by, the words that helped to make him the fine young man he had become.

Honor. Duty. Country. They are the words, the code of honor and ethics they every person who serves this country, whether in the military or as elected representatives, should live by.

Today I am here to call upon the elected representatives of the United States of America to listen to the American people. We want the war in Iraq to end. We want our soldiers to come home. The American people have spoken, and we have told you loud and clear that we do not support this ill-begotten war. We do not trust our Commander in Chief any longer.

I realize that many of our elected officials, present company excepted, are riding the fence on this issue. Some, such as John Cornyn and Kay Bailey-Hutchison, are still firmly behind the President and support him for reasons I cannot understand. Maybe they are fearful of losing their jobs, of backing away from a fellow Texan, of cutting rank.

It is to these people that I speak. I tell you that it is time to muster up what courage you can find – and believe me, you can do it when you have to -- and take a stand against this war. You must take a stand and say that it is wrong. You must end this hideous nightmare and bring our troops home.

Let me tell you about courage. In doing so, I hope you will find even half the courage I tell you about.

All over this country tonight there are mothers and fathers who have kissed and hugged their beloved sons and daughters goodbye, wiped away their tears, and sent them off to battle. One of these mothers that I am friends with does not want to leave her home because she is afraid she will miss a phone call from her son who has been gone so long from his loving family. Another friend, when asked how her son was doing in Iraq had to answer, “I don’t know. I don’t know whether he is dead or alive”. This past week I received an email, forwarded from a colleague, from the wife of a helicopter pilot who was in the same unit as the helicopter that was shot down last weekend. She didn’t know if her husband was dead or alive and was terrified. It took days before she finally learned that he is alive. Many others were not so lucky. This takes a tremendous amount of courage. If the families of the soldiers you have sent into battle can live through sending their loved ones off into harm’s way, fearful every moment for their safety, you can find the courage to stand up against this war.

Let’s talk about the soldiers who do not know, sometimes, who the enemy is. Yet day after day, they put on the gear and go out onto the streets of Baghdad, Sadr City, and other parts of Iraq. They are doing the bidding of their Country, of their Commander in Chief who knows nothing of courage, honor, duty or integrity. These fine men and women in our military serve our country and do their duty in spite of everything. I know they are afraid. They are tired and battle weary. Yet they continue to do their duty day after day under circumstances which you can only have nightmares about. If the soldiers can courageously put their lives on the line every single moment of every single day for months, and in some cases, years, then you can and must find the courage to bring them home.

We can talk about the vets who return home from Iraq, only to be called upon to return time after time, again putting their lives on hold, their families and careers on the backburner. Many of them do not want to go, yet they go because duty calls. Or because their buddies are there. They go because they are people of honor and integrity the likes of which most of us will never again see in our lifetimes.

Let’s talk about the courage it takes to live the rest of your life after you have buried your only son who died so needlessly in this fool’s war. At first you do not believe that the person you spent the majority of your adult life rearing is dead. But you have to pick out the casket. You have to find a funeral home and a cemetery and make funeral arrangements. You have to write an obituary and make terrible phone calls that you know will crush the person on the other end of the line. And then you have to figure out how in the hell to make sense out of something that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

The President has asked us to give his plan a chance. I say he has run out of chances. The President thinks we should trust him. His trust ran out a long time ago.

The Bush Administration told us that Iraq had weapons of mass destruction. Turns out they had none.

The Bush Administration told us that Hussein had ties to Bin Laden and al Qaeda. Turns out that was a bold-faced lie.

The Bush Administration told us that we were going to Iraq to help the Iraqi people and bring about “regime change”. Saddam is now dead.

The Bush Administration told us that we needed to bring freedom and democracy to Iraq. They have had their elections. However, Iraq is in much worse shape now that it was before we, the American military and private civilian contractors, arrived.

We have accomplished the things that the President, his administration and the Republican controlled government said we should do. Now, it’s time for all of you to listen to We, the People of the United States of America, to end this war and to bring our soldiers home. You can find the courage and the strength to do this. It is your responsibility and your duty to listen to us and do the right thing by our brave men and women. Cut off funding for the war. Leave enough money for the speedy withdrawal of our troops and bring our sons and daughters home. They have done their duty for you. Now it’s time you did your duty for them.

HONOR…DUTY…COUNTRY… Three words to live by.

WHY?

Why?

Why is my son dead? From an insurgent’s bullet to his sweet head.

Why do I have to go on? Lying awake from dusk to dawn.Why does the pain never go away? Living with it everyday.

Why does the sun continue to shine? When darkness is only mine.

Why are we born just to die? Religion is the biggest lie.

Why, why, why?

Questions ever asked, answers never received.

Why do I feel so deceived?

By Cindy Sheehan, Gold Star Families for Peace

Mourning and Anger

Next month it will be three years since my handsome, crazy, smart, stubborn and amazing son died. As the anniversary of Jeremy's death approaches, I have done a lot of soul searching in a way that I have not been able to do before now. I guess as time goes by, the pure, raw emotion of burying my only son, the first-born of my womb has started to heal in some small way and I am able to look at the events surrounding Jeremy's death in a more rational way -- if that is at all possible.

That is not to say that the raw emotions are not there. They most certainly are. They are there, waiting to bubble up to the surface at any given moment, tripped off by a particularly touching commercial, the story of another human being who has gone through tough times, the death of another soldier. The circumstances don't matter so much as does the fact that I am still an injured and broken person in some way and probably will be for the rest of my natural life.

For some time I have been going to therapy to try and heal myself and become a more whole person again. One of the things I have learned about myself is that my personality type is of the kind that has a tendency to bury my emotions and to try and keep them buried as deep as possible. This is a protection mechanism, one that I am trying to learn to overcome as it is also a destructive pattern for me.

My therapist believes that I am repressing anger. For me, anger is something that I have not ever been allowed to feel in my life by those around me. At this time I have a partner who is not threatened by my feelings of anger and I am deeply grateful that he allows me the opportunity to take this emotion out, feel it, look at it, experience it. This process has been truly frightening for me to do, but I am doing it in the hope that someday I will be a more healthy person.

I am writing this entry today to tell you why I am angry. I hope that it will help others, specifically other Gold Star families, learn to deal with their anger and to know that it's okay. It's truly okay to be angry.

So, one might ask, what am I angry about? Well here goes.

I am angry that Jeremy is dead. I am angry at Jeremy for being dead. I am angry at the system of government that pulled Jeremy from his life of college and his family to serve in the military full time when he was a Reservist. If they had not done this, Jeremy would probably still be alive today. I am mad as hell at the man who calls himself President of this country and the so-called leaders of this country who have allowed him to do so for so long.

Most of all, though, I am angry as hell at my son. He did not listen to me when I told him to be careful and be safe the last time I saw him and hugged him goodbye. Five days later, he died in a car accident by his own hand because he was driving wrecklessly. He was injured so badly that we could not view or see his body when it was finally brought back to us by the Army.

I'm angry at Jeremy for being so wreckless and bringing about the greatest grief our family has ever known or will probably ever know for the rest of our lives. I am angry at him for creating this huge abyss in my heart that I fear ill never heal.

For all that I am angry, though, I would forgive Jeremy in a heartbeat and I would give up everything that I have to hug him one more tme, to touch his face, to hear his voice, to spend just one more moment with my precious son.

So, there you have it, the confession of the mother of a dead son. Love never dies, even when those we love leave this world. I have cried and cussed at Jeremy more than once, then begged him to forgive me and to just come back all in the same breath. I guess this means that I am human. And I am, hopefully, coming to a full healthy grip on the reality that is my life.

Peace,
Amy

Thanksgiving Memories

Let me first begin by saying I hate the holiday season. I truly do. And I always have. This time of year has never been a happy time for me and it has certainly never been filled with the happy happy joy joy feelings that we are "supposed" to have during this season.

But, I have gone through the motions of the holiday season for my children. While they were growing up, we sometimes spent the holidays with other members of our family or traveled to visit grandparents from time to time, but because we usually lived so far away from family, Thanksgiving and Christmas was usually a quiet affair at home.

Over the years I taught my daughters how to cook a turkey. They each learned to make deviled eggs and sweet potatos. Jaime, especially, has always loved the traditions that come during the holidays. The day after Thanksgiving our tree usually went up and the kids helped to decorate it.

Their father and I did our best to make the holidays good for them, the kids. Their father loved Christmas, as well, and insisted on buying the kids as many gifts as we possibly could. There were years when we couldn't afford much of anything, but they always got gifts from Santa.

This is the time of year when we are supposed to give thanks for our blessings -- and I have been blessed. I am grateful for my two daughters, Dani and Jaime, and for my stepdaughter, Aimee. I am grateful for the three beautiful grandchildren I have, Madison, Logan and Aiden. They are a true joy in my life. I am grateful for my sweet, kind husband, Maxx. I am grateful to have a warm home, a job, and a few friends. I also give thanks for my cats, but most especially the newest one, Raven, who is a wonderful companion to have and keeps me laughing.

My thoughts wander back to Thanksgiving 2003 in particular. It was Jeremy's last Thanksgiving and also his 22nd birthday. He was to spend the day with his dad, who had come to Houston, and I had to work. Because of this, Maxx and I did not plan anything special for Thanksgiving that year, just a quiet day at home. But Jeremy called that day and wanted to come over. The day was not going well for him.

Jeremy arrived at our house upset about something that had happened that day. I welcomed him with open arms, hugged and kissed him. Because it was too late in the day for a special birthday dinner, we had spam and potatos (comfort food for me and Maxx and what we had planned anyway).

I'll always feel bad that I didn't have something better to help Jeremy celebrate his birthday and Thanksgiving. He didn't complain, though. He was just happy to be with his mom and stepdad.

Two days later, on November 29, 2003, Maxx and I took Jeremy to Huntsville, Texas, to report for active duty.

God, I miss him. Most of all, this Thanksgiving, I am grateful to have been Jeremy's mom.

Two Years Ago Today

It's interesting how I mark the passage of time these days. Little things and events that occurred two years ago mean so much to me.

It was two years ago today, February 9, 2004, that I saw my only son, my first born child, for the very last time ever. Jeremy had come home for a final leave of absence from the Army before he was to leave for Iraq. At the time he didn't know exactly when his departure date was, but it would be soon.

Maxx and I picked him up in Huntsville, Texas and drove him in the late hours of a Thursday night. On the way home we had the usual chit chat of catching up with one another's lives that families have when they have been apart. Jeremy told me that he needed to do some laundry while he was home. Then he ventured to tell me and Maxx that he had lipstick on his collar from being at an adult club and he needed to try and get that off.

At the time, I laughed that Jeremy would tell us that. What could I say?

The next morning I got up and went to work as usual. Maxx was working on a project away from the house so he left as well. Jeremy got up with me. Later in the morning he got dressed, locked up the house and got in his car to go see one of his sisters and to go to the hospital to see his step great grandmother, Mimi. He loved that woman!

We spent a good weekend with Jeremy going to movies, the Museum of Natural Science and just generally doing things I hoped he would remember and help hold him up in what I knew would be hard days to come in the next year. The night before he had to go back we had a family dinner. Maxx grilled up some steaks (Jeremy's favorite) and we had one last family meal with him. Dani and her partner were there as well.

The next morning we had to take Jeremy back to Ft. Hood. It was a drizzly, dreary, chilly day as we drove through the Texas countryside from Houston to Ft. Hood. Jeremy sat in the truck next to me, watching Band of Brothers on the laptop he bought to take to Iraq a month previous. We stopped for smoke breaks every now and then and for food.

All I wanted was to be near my son, to enjoy his company as much as I possibly could. I knew, somewhere deep inside, that it would be my last opportunity.

That evening, in the hours just after the sun set, we arrived at the north gate of Ft. Hood and were allowed in to drop Jeremy off at his barracks. He directed us where to go. We parked on the side of the road next to a ditch that was between the road and the barracks. Jeremy got his bags out of the back of the truck and took them in while we waited for him. Then he came back out and we talked for a little while.

Then it was time to say goodbye to Jeremy.

Oh God, I remember it so vividly, like it happened this morning, still fresh in my mind. I remember hugging my only son, my first born child, as close and as tight as I could. I did not want to let go of him. I did not want him to go. I tried so hard to be strong for him, to not show my fear and my anxiety at sending him off to war. Dear God, there was nothing I could do to keep Jeremy from going to Iraq.

Finally, I let him go and, with tears streaming down my face, turned to get into the truck. I remember opening the door, looking at the inside of the door for a second, then turning and running back to my son, my sobs escaping. We hugged each other for the last time ever and I told him to please be careful and to stay safe. I told him I loved him.

Then Maxx and Jeremy hugged and said their goodbyes. We got in the truck and watched Jeremy disappear into the barracks.

This was the last time I saw my son -- ever. I never saw his body when it was returned to us seven days later in a wood box, his head damaged and mangled from the trees taking off the roof of the rental car he was driving. I wanted to remember Jeremy just the way he had been in life, not to have the image of his damaged head burned into my mind for the rest of my life.

I cried a cry from somewhere deep in my body after we left Jeremy that last night at Ft. Hood. For a long time on the drive home, I cried, deep sobs that I could not control. I knew I would not see my son again alive. Yet, I was powerless to do anything to stop what was his fate.

It still hurts as I remember and the tears have come so easily as I write this.

There is one truth that I have learned during the past two years and it is this: Love never dies. Just because a person we love has left this life, our love for them does not end. I can feel Jeremy's love, too, from somewhere beyond that veil of mortality, radiating back to me.

I love you, Bud.

Jeremy's Death Month

Time gets away from me sometimes and I forget to do updates and all the other things I need to do. I sure wish I didn't have to be a capitalist and work because it really gets in the way of my life! Okay, I'm kidding there, but am also halfway serious. I'm very grateful to even have a job these days.

So, it's time to play catch up and relate what's been going on, upcoming events, etc.

First and foremost, on the 13th of this month (February) is the second anniversary marking Jeremy's deathday. In some respects that day is harder to face this year than it was last year because I don't feel the absolute and all-consuming numbness I felt last year on the first anniversary. It's also harder because I miss my son more and more every single day and I feel so angry that he is gone from my life. As I sit here typing this, I look at a picture hanging by my computer of me and Jeremy taken just 14 months before he died. We are standing outside in front of our truck, arms around each other. Jeremy is wearing his favorite old, worn out hat and an Army T-shirt. And he is grinning that silly grin he had, the one where he was happy but he was trying to hide his smile.

On the 20th of this month, President's Day and also the second anniversary of the day we buried Jeremy, I am hosting a protest in Houston. Gold Star Families for Peace, Code Pink and Veterans for Peace, along with several other local groups, will be taking our protest to Barbara Bush. We want to ask her "Why did our sons die for your sons lies?" Cindy Sheehan, Dede Miller, Ann Wright, Mimi Kennedy and others will be joining us for this protest. Everyone is pretty excited about this.

Other things also on my mind this week. Did the irony escape everything that Corretta Scott King died the night before Samuel Alito was voted into the Supreme Court by the Senate? The wife of Martin Luther King, Jr., who carried on his hope and dream of equal civil rights for all died right before a Judge was empaneled who is probably the worst person ever to be there. This is certain to be a real crisis for civil rights and for our country as a whole.

Ahh, the times, they are a-changin'.

Crossroads

For the last week or so I've been thinking about the crossroads we each encounter at some point during our lives. These are the times when we come to a point where the decisions we make will greatly influence our lives for a long time to come.

For instance, in the Spring of 1986 I was pregnant with my youngest child, Jaime. Her father and I had split up for awhile and I took my two older kids, Jeremy and Danielle, to my family's home in Utah to stay for six weeks. The kids' dad and I were really struggling with some major differences in lifestyle choices, ethics, morals, finances, religion -- you name it, we were having problems with it. I desperately wanted to go back home to Seattle where we were living at the time. He didn't want me to come home because he was busy enjoying the single life.

Eventually I did go back home to pick up the pieces of my marriage and try to put it back together, which we were eventually able to do. We stayed together until the year 2000, when we finally divorced for the same basic reasons we had split up so many years before.

But.... what if I had stayed gone and divorced him at that point? What would have happened if I had stayed in Utah? My kids' lives and my life would most likely have been vastly different than it was and has been. Looking back now, all these years later, I know I could have saved myself and my children many years of heartache, sadness and goodness knows what all. There is absolutely no doubt in my life that had I divorced him then, our lives would be vastly better.

But I didn't and I can't go back and change the decisions I made. To be honest, I regret going back because I know what it has cost myself and my children. I went back because I was scared. I didn't know how to be a single mother. I didn't know how I could possibly take care of three small children all by myself and I had absolutely no resources whatsoever. I let my fear of the unknown guide me.

America is at one of those crossroads right now. We can continue to let King George and his court of jesters rule this country, taking away our civil liberties one by one, or we can Impeach him and his cohorts. We the People of the United States of America have a choice to make. Are we going to let fear rule us and run our lives? Or are we going to break out of that fear and do what needs to be done?

Al Gore said in his recent speech that fear drives out reason. He is absolutely right. As Americans, we must push past this fear that so many of us feel. We must follow our instincts and our hearts and do the right thing, even though we may fear what is to come, what might happen if we do. I fear even more what is happening right now and what will continue to happen if we don't fight back.

It's All Good!

The year 2005 has been quite a topsy turvey one in all aspects of my life. I am grateful for the changes, challenges, wins, defeats and most of all, for the many wonderful people I have encountered throughout the year.

It all started about the same as any other year. Except for my youngest daughter, Jaime, calling to tell me that she was pregnant on the day after New Year's. That was quite a shocker because she was (and still is) single and very, very young to be a mom. At the time she was 18.

A few weeks later Maxx was finally able to find full-time employment after being laid off for nearly three years from a major oil company. After he was laid off we left Houston for the Hill Country of Texas where we tried to make a living. During the time we were there we survived a 500-year flood (FEMA didn't do much of anything then, either, except follow the TV cameras around). For him to finally be working again was a tremendous relief for both of us.

In February it was a year since Jeremy's death. We had turned the wheel and come full circle through one of the toughest years I can remember in my life. In a few weeks it will be two years. I can't say it's getting any easier because I miss him more and more each passing day, but I will say that I'm learning to live with the knowledge that I'll never see him again in this lifetime.

Love for another human being does not stop when they die. It continues for as long as there are people on this earth who remember those who have passed to the summerland before us.

Early on in the year I stumbled across Gold Star Families for Peace and started corresponding with several members. I cannot express what a relief it was to finally find people who felt the way about the war that I did at that time. Honestly, there were times when I did feel that I was being unpatriotic and selfish because I didn't agree with the war and hated George Bush. I don't feel that way anymore.

In April Maxx and I were blessed by the arrival of our second granddaughter, Logan Marie. She is a beautiful little blonde haired, hazel eyed Gerber baby. Logan is one of the happiest little ones I've ever had the pleasure of being around.

June came around and I had a breakdown of sorts. I got tired of reading the bumper sticker on the local bubba's trucks that said "Freedom Ain't Free", so I sat down and vented via my keyboard and computer. I sent my essay to Cindy Sheehan and she forwarded it on to several venues where she was being published on a regular basis. That was the start of my writing. Before then I had become involved quietly and behind the scenes with writing letters to politicians, local groups, Senators, Congressmen/women, television, radio and newspapers.

The month of August, it seems, was a vortex of craziness for me. I started a new job and Jaime's baby was due. I was planning to go to the Veteran's for Peace convention in Dallas, Texas and to meet Cindy Sheehan for the first time. A few days before leaving, Cindy called me and said she wanted to go to Crawford to protest George Bush because he said our sons and American's sons and daughters were dying for a noble cause in Iraq. So, I drove to Dallas on a Friday morning, met Cindy (she was in her pajamas finishing breakfast in the cafeteria), attended a few sessions of the convention and got to meet a lot of really neat people. That night Cindy, Dede, Margaret, Sherry and myself went out to dinner.

The next morning, Saturday, August 6, 2005 is a day that will go down in the history books. I boarded the White Rose with Cindy and the Vets and we led a caravan of cars from Dallas to Crawford. The rest, they say, is history!

I stayed in Crawford that first night, but had to go home Sunday afternoon. I went back the next weekend and was shocked/surprised at the chagnes that had taken place in the few days I had been gone. It was stunning! I was moved to tears. All week long I had been watching the news reports, but they just didn't do what was going on there justice at all.

On August 18 my grandson, Aiden Russell, came into the world. I was in the delivery room with Aiden's Mama. It was a real joy to see my first grandson come into the world. He is a good baby and I adore him with all my heart!

Since August I have gone completely public with my activism, though some interesting things have also happened. I come from a very disconnected family and so does my husband. I know both of our families have seen my face on TV and have read the interviews I've given to newspapers. I know they've seen my picture in newspapers (one very prominently used across the country from the Cheney/DeLay fundraiser and protest). Yet, not one of our parents have said one thing or asked one question about it.

I have written alot, done alot, learned alot and met a lot of very fine people. This year I have been so very blessed in my life. Sometimes I sit in wonder and awe and am so grateful for my good fortune in meeting so many good, likeminded people. I look forward to 2006 and all that it may have to offer, the new experiences and the people. I find myself hopeful that there will be some resolution of the war in Iraq and this corrupt, shameful, criminal administration that is running our country right now.

As Jeremy used to say: "It's All Good!"

In Peace,
Amy

Honor. Duty. Country.

This picture is the site of Jeremy's accident, taken about three days later. I have not ever been there and have no intention at this time of ever going there.

Below is a document I sent via email and fax to my Congressmen/women and Senators. It also is on www.afterdowningstreet.org and went out to numerous friends to encourage all to write our elected representatives, tell them to use Jeremy's example of bravery and courage to do what is right for this country and end this war.

Today I want to tell you the story of the death of my son, Jeremy. I want you to know of his courage and bravery, the honor he showed in the final moments of his life. I hope that, through hearing his story, you will find the honor and courage to do what is right for our country in these turbulent times.

Sgt. Jeremy Russell Smith died on February 13, 2004 around 9:00 a.m. just outside of Ft. Hood, Texas. He was only 22 years old.

That morning, after roll call, Jeremy and his unit where dismissed from the base for a final 48-hour leave of absence before they were to leave for duty in Iraq. Jeremy and several of his buddies took a shuttle of some kind and went to a car rental place at the airport (in Killeen, I believe). Jeremy rented a 2003 Honda Accord. He and one of his buddies were on their way back to the North gate of Ft. Hood, in Gatesville, when he died.

The story I have been told by Jeremy’s buddies is that he and one of his friends were driving on Highway 36 to the base, on a two lane road. Now, if you haven’t ever been in that part of Texas, let me describe it for you. It is in the Hill Country, which is filled with two lane twisting, turning, winding roads. The roadsides are full of trees and fields for as far as you can see. It is truly beautiful country.

Apparently Jeremy was in a hurry to get back to the base. His friend, who was in the car behind him, told me that Jeremy passed a car in a no-passing zone. There was an 18-wheeler coming from the opposite direction and Jeremy saw it too late. He couldn’t get back into his lane without causing an accident. The only choice he had, the only chance he had, was to go off the road.
In a split second decision, Jeremy went off the road. He hit a stand of trees going 80 miles an hour. The impact broke his car into pieces and took at least four trees out with him. At least one of the trees hit Jeremy in the head, killing him instantly. Jeremy was wearing his seatbelt at the time of the accident. No one else was hurt in the accident.
At his funeral, I was presented with an Army Commendation Medal for Jeremy’s bravery and courage.
The Army taught Jeremy three things. Honor. Duty. Country. On that cold morning in February these things came into play. The honor he learned from the Army told him he could harm no one else. Jeremy made a mistake, he took responsibility for his mistake and for this he paid with his life. He knew it was a possibility when he went off that road. Every day for the rest of my life I will wonder what went through his mind in those final moments of his life. At least I know that my son died with honor, showing courage and bravery and took responsibility for his actions. In this I have some sense of peace in my grief.
Now, I ask of you, the leaders of this country, the people who have the power to end this war, to learn from Jeremy. You called him to leave his home, his family and his school to serve his country, to put himself in harm’s way in a foreign country. He did so willingly and without question. Even though he was scared to death of going into the hostile environment of Iraq, he wanted to go and help the people of that country have a better life. He believed what he was told by you, the leaders of this country, and he wanted to do his part. He showed his Honor, his Courage and Bravery. He walked the walk.

If you are still sitting on the fence, undecided or fearful of the consequences of admitting that you were wrong in sending our sons and daughters to war, remember Jeremy. You can pay no higher price for a bad decision than he did. The American people are waiting for you to stand up and speak out against this war. We are waiting for you to come forward and show your Honor, your Courage and your Bravery the way Jeremy did and the way so many others have and will continue to do.

It is not a noble to continue this war just to justify the deaths of so many who have already died for the lies of this war. It is not honoring them to “stay the course” when we know we are there for all the wrong reasons.

Remember these three words: HONOR. DUTY. COUNTRY. They are on Jeremy’s headstone at the Houston National Cemetery. He lived by those words. It’s time you did so as well.

Jeremy's birthday

The Un-Birthday

24 years ago today my son, Sgt. Jeremy R. Smith, was born. Today, in honor of his birthday, I went to see my son and wish him a happy un-birthday. You see, Jeremy is dead, taken away from his family and friends nearly twenty months ago. He was in the Army Reserves and was called to active duty. Two years ago, two days after Thanksgiving (which was his birthday that year – and the last he was to ever celebrate), his stepfather, Maxx, and I took him to report for active duty in Huntsville, TX.

For my family, holidays and birthdays are now marred by sadness and a bittersweet sense of longing for and memories of our beloved son and brother. Besides his parents (both birth parents and step parents), Jeremy left behind two younger sisters, Danielle and Jaime, who loved him dearly, four younger stepbrothers, and a myriad of other family members who loved him. I heard that one of his step cousins, who has the same first name as Jeremy, recently joined the Army Reserves and asked to be in the same unit Jeremy was in.

This morning, instead of waking Jeremy up the way I almost always did every year when he was growing up, by going in his room, kissing his silly face all over and singing “Happy Birthday!” to Jeremy, instead of opening presents and eating cake, Maxx and I went to the cemetery with balloons, flowers, a beer and a cigarette for our beloved son.

The holiday season in America is now in full swing. But for us and 2100+ other American families, there will be little of the joy they brought in the past. Our lives are changed forever, our holidays tainted, our hearts left aching.

For them, we must stop this evil, hideous war. One more death, American or Iraqi, is one too many.