A Hero's Stone

This is dedicated to my uncle and hero, SSgt. Charles E. Owens. It's a bit long, but worth every word.

A Hero’s Stone

The flag was never meant to be raised alone,
neither laid to rest unseen.
I will always stand at attention
with the cloth pressed to my heart,
as the Music fades away.
His last words run through my hands
slipping away into the ground.
The bugle sounds--
cracking the last shred of my strength,
raining soft bullets onto the grass.

One phone call made
never answered
Red then Green then
crash and Sparks then
shouts and flames
alarms then a silent chest.
A knock then silence.
Then gasps and sobs.
Brokenly told, pulled
through stuttering lips.

Expecting numbness,
the piercing brought it all
crashing down.
A brave smile holding
tears at bay.
Grieving in red, white, and blue,
then grey and black cloth.
Gathering together relieves for a time,
broken together we are somehow whole,
but each heart bears the pain alone.

Stark white rock out of lush green,
eagle, globe, and anchor etching
the heart of a hero in stone.
A cowboy melody speaks of the past,
and the voice of an angel reminds us of a future.
Stoic faces masking devastation,
lift the joyous burden
if for only a brief moment.
Laying in peace,
leaving only pieces behind.

Hugs and silent tears
sobs and blank looks
One shovel full.
Then another joins.
Sounding of finality,
soil on wood and metal.
Is it over?
Please make it stop.
Then it’s done and we wish
to hold on a moment more.

Walking away,
No one know where to.
Of course back to the church, the house,
climb into our cars.
Back to our jobs and families and school
and the rest of our lives.
But never the same.
Leaving him in the ground
but holding him in our hearts.

But the story doesn’t end,
can’t stop,
the memory will never cease.
Riding a horse,
watching a John Wayne,
hearing the rev of a Camaro.
Seeing the uniform--
paralyzes me in grief,
yet prods me to run and embrace
each one.

Trudging uphill in the rain.
It’s his voice pushing me forward.
No time for excuses.
No room for weakness.
No excuses for lies.
No weakness that can’t be made strong.
Slipping and stumbling in the mud,
his voice swims before mine:
You ARE good enough.
You are STRONG.

Climbing out of the car,
stepping through the grass,
reverently touching the white stone.
Finally letting the tears
soothe the ache.
Curling into a ball,
rocking, nearly praying,
wishing he was here.

Here to counsel and teach.
Here to see the changing world.
Here to tell me to suck it up
or let it out.
Here to see me fall in love,
and to help me sweep up my broken heart.
Here to ride off into the sunset.
Here to bring music back into the house.
Here to watch her dance and play.
Here to march at Her side.

A flagpole,
cookie dough ice cream,
that old cowboy hat
and shiny revolver.
And his music--
Oh, the Music.
All the music in me
crashed with him into
that earthly plot,
suddenly silenced.

His music is everywhere.
Everywhere.
In Nana’s voice and the cowboy yodel.
In the angel’s song.
In Elvis and Sousa,
the morning wake-up call,
the evening lullaby.
I can’t sing anymore,
it isn’t right.
All the music belonged to him.

Sprawled out on the grass again,
turning brown this time of year.
Wishing once again that he could
tell me the Answer.
As if there was only One,
to a single question.
Tracing the worn letters,
outlining the man above and below.

Some days run like clockwork,
others seem broken.
Waking up just before dawn
with a streaked face
and damp pillow.
Even now, as the days,
and months,
and years go by.
Never sure if we, if I,
will ever stop mourning.

One day, with another’s hand in mine,
I will make the oh-so familiar
walk to the weathered stone.
And I’ll introduce the rest of my life
to you: The hero.
To my music,
to the one who showed me
how to find that love;
the love that changes it all
back to how it was always supposed to be.

And one day I will hold
small hands in mine
as I guide them between the rows.
To tell them why they
carry your name.
I will tell of your
mischief and courage,
your love and loss.
And then I will place
their hands on the globe
to feel the heart of a hero.

Someday, when I’m bent and wrinkled,
I will find my way
back to the music.
I will hear the horns and drums
as my cheek brushes the grass.
And you will hear the words I whisper,
ever so softly, ever so true.

“I did not forget you.
I always came back.
You asked me to be true.
So I did as you asked.
Semper Fi.
Always Faithful.”

On Our Own Mortality

Right behind public speaking and snakes (and the fear of the dark and flying? depending on who you ask), people admit to being afraid of death. But why? Especially since we know we must all die, at some point, in some way? It is likely we fear the death of loved ones around us because we fear the feeling of loss and their absence in our lives. But also because as we experience the loss of those we love, our own mortality is clearly outlined- the realization that mortal death is, in fact, inevitable. For many it is the unknown, the uncontrollable change of circumstance, the fear that after working so hard to figure out this life we will still stand unprepared for what comes next. Your religious beliefs obviously play a role in this conversation: whether you believe in heaven or hell, in eternal punishment, or if you believe that everything ends when you take your last mortal breath. For more on my beliefs on that matter click here.

For so many more"the fear of death follows from the fear of life" as Mark Twain so simply stated. Perhaps we are afraid of death because we start to realize, in this contemplation of our own mortality, that we have not lived the way we planned. We realize that we have regrets and grudges, fears that have held us back, or decisions we wish we could redo. Dead-end jobs, a preoccupation with money or material possessions, or just inappropriate priorities. We might wish we had spent more time with our families laughing and telling stories, that we'd learned to let things go and forgive, or that we had truly learned to love. As Morrie Schwartz put it, " When you learn how to die, you learn how to live."

Now to where I was heading. It is one thing to sit near the end of your life, prolonged by modern medicine and technology, surrounded by family and friends, and to reflect on your mistakes and what you would have done differently. It is quite another to contemplate an imminent death in your youth, before you feel as though you've even started to live. Perhaps while just finishing your education and figuring out a career. Maybe while you still resent your parents and haven't had children of your own to finally understand their love. And you fear that you've never loved, not really, not completely without reserve- or that even if you have loved you will never know if it was the kind that could last through hardship and heartaches. Even beyond all that, the dying youth fears that they have left nothing behind to say that they were here, that they made a difference, that even in their young, incomplete experience they had something incredible to say or contribute.

So, what should be done? If a young individual knows they will die, has some warning, indication, or diagnosis, how should they live out their remaining time? Go crazy- skydiving, bungee jumping, travel the world? Or do they keep working and studying in an effort to leave something more tangible? Should they work hard to find love and be loved in return or should they distance themselves in an attempt to alleviate the pain of their eventual absence? And all the things that we've tried so hard to learn, in the belief that one day we would pass it onto our children, do those things matter anymore? If we have no children, no spouse, how can we continue on? For as we've seen many times, life has to go on after death. People go back to work and back to their own worries and problems. For your parents and siblings and friends, your death will become a part of their life, but it will not define them. But maybe, like I said before, in dying we learn how to live, or at least how we wanted to or should have lived. And just maybe we will leave that awareness in those around us.

Now, before you wonder, I am not dying. Merely contemplating mortality and all that accompanies it. What I'm really after here is some feedback. What do you think? Are you living life that way you feel you should- fulfilling dreams, learning to love? **And how would you handle death if you were in the position of the young individual? What would you do?

"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live." ~Norman Cousins

April Showers Bring May....

After weeks of Utah struggling to accept the arrival of spring, it has burst with full force into spring! And with the celebrated arrival of spring many changes have come my way, good and not so good. Winter semester ended here at BYU and I bid adieu to some of dear roommates. Then, all of a sudden I was biding farewell to my charming, though idiosyncratic, house due to the incompetency of my landlady. Sad, but good change for me. This past year held lots of heartache for me, most of which I dealt with in that house- sometimes laying in my bed crying and other times sitting in the front room laughing. This change is already helping me to meet more people and be full of joy again. Along with the other changes, my mother and siblings will be moving back to Indiana on June 1st and I will be helping them move. I will get to see my sister, Cortney, who lives back east. And more delays with the publishing company, but patience has always been a virtue, right?
I've come to realize just how individual our life's paths are now. Growing up we experience life with friends and classmates, going through the stages and phases together. Learning to drive and starting to date are shared with this entire group of people who shared our high school's crazy gym teacher, the local hang-out spots, and all the markers of coming of age. What a shock to realize in college that it will never be like that. People start to move at different paces in various directions. My friends are scattered abroad traveling or serving church missions, some are getting married and having kids already, others are finishing school, doing internships, and finding careers. And that is part of their path. Looking from the outside at others lives it appears so effortless this transition from one stage to another, always at the right time and right place. It's a bit trickier doing it in your own life. No one else knows of all the waiting, preparing, sweat and tears, loneliness and deep thought that goes into trying to figure out where I'm supposed to be next. People, much older and wiser I suppose (and they do too), tell you to wait and be patient, that all good things come in time. They must have forgotten. Or maybe not everyone struggles like this with the preparing stage. Maybe they don't have friends who ditch them for boys and missions, sometimes even rightfully so. Maybe they grasp more peace about this part of life than I.
Anyways, it's good to be back to blogging after my moving madness. And here is an excerpt I absolutely loved from recent writing. It just came out of my heart straight onto the paper.

"When the first rays of light warm my face at dawn, it is you kissing my face as you exit my dreams. And at night the twinkling of the lamp is you beckoning me to slip back into our dreams. At the end of all the love songs, in the few moments of silence after the music has stopped but before the song is over, you are there singing me to sleep. And you are in the kitchen with me as I experiment with new recipes- laughing with me over the mishaps and savoring new discoveries. The smell of books, both old and new, comes with the hope of finding you in each new adventure and journey through the pages. You must know that it is you in every breath and blink, every daydream and though, every recipe and story. It always is You."

P.S. 64 days til Emilee's wedding!!

All About Choices

It is a beautiful Sunday, but instead of sitting in church like I usually am, I am drinking gatorade and eating cough drops. You know what is coming- West Side Story! But first, this is a good chance to me to discuss the feminist problem that has developed and how it affects me.

As defined by Wikipedia: "Feminism is a collection of movements aimed at defining, establishing and defending equal political, economic, and social rights and equal opportunities for women. Its concepts overlap with those of women's rights." Basically, allow women the natural political, economic, and social rights as men. Various waves of feminism focused on different aspects from the workplace, home, political involvement, sexuality, and education. Unfortunately it has taken hundreds of years for women to be granted the rights and privileges most men take for granted.

I sit here, near my college campus, working several jobs and paying my own bills. I will graduate in the coming year and obtain my bachelors of science then possibly go on to medical school. Opportunities are abundant, not just for me, but for women around the world. But as women feel a bit more liberated they are turning up their noses at those who choose the traditional roles of wife and mother. In a recent discussion (ok, it became more of an argument), I was labeled "simple-minded" and "uninformed" in my desire to have a family.

Have we gone so far as to forget what the whole point was? That women have the opportunity to choose.

In Mona Lisa Smile, a 2003 movie starring Julia Roberts, a women's college in the 1950's struggles with expectation and appearances. One of my favorite scenes takes place between Katharine(Julia Roberts) and Joan (Julia Stiles). Joan was accepted to law school, but tells her professor that she has eloped and won't be going. And while I believe that women can have careers and families simultaneously, the sentiments they struggle with still continue today.

Joan Brandwyn: It was my choice, not to go. He would have supported it.
Katherine Watson: But you don't have to choose!
J: No, I have to. I want a home, I want a family! That's not something I'll sacrifice.
K: No one's asking you to sacrifice that, Joan. I just want you to understand that you can do both.
J: Do you think I'll wake up one morning and regret not being a lawyer?
K-Yes, I'm afraid that you will.
J-Not as much as I'd regret not having a family, not being there to raise them. I know exactly what I'm doing and it doesn't make me any less smart. This must seem terrible to you.
K-I didn't say that.
J-Sure you did. You always do. You stand in class and tell us to look beyond the image, but you don't. To you a housewife is someone who sold her soul for a center hall colonial. She has no depth, no intellect, no interests. You're the one who said I could do anything I wanted. This is what I want.

Being a woman is incredible. I know we are powerful, intelligent, compassionate, ambitious, and talented. Just look at Margaret Thatcher, Indira Ghandi, Eleanor Roosevelt, Carleton Fiorina, Andrea Jung, Elisabeth I, Golda Meir, Oprah Winfrey, Mary Shelley, and many many more. If you don't know who those women are, look them up.

And for those who think religion requires women to be submissive check this video out.


Now I'm going to get back to coughing and watching Maria and Tony!

Memories

A green recliner in a smoky corner,
the smoke that smells nostalgic before despicable.
Behind the chair is the hidden stash,
of M&Ms, crackers, cigs, and black licorice.
Things he really shouldn't have,
at least the meter says so every time he pricks his finger.
Positioned perfectly before the screen so not
to miss a John Wayne,
telling me to forget the druggie Beatles
for the charming Elvis he remembers so well.

And the music of the family,
standing at attention with twinkling eyes.
Laughter filling the entire room
until everyone was a part of it.
Sitting at a cafe in the capital city,
talking to me like an equal.
Hearing me out and talking it through.
Driving past a flag turned on it's end,
made us both turn right around.

Eating bubble gum push-pops and,
running through the fields.
Changing the thermostat seven times a day,
packing everything up once more.
Whispering secrets late late at night,
and sneaking to the kitchen for a snack.
Early morning car rides and classes,
standing up to the punks on the bus.
Fighting about a boy,
never having to say I told you so.
Phone calls are plenty- growing up together,
being grown apart.

Some Dreams Are a Little Too Real

Have you ever woken up, rather jolted out of a dream? Have you ever gone back to sleep just to figure out how it ends, to find the key, to grasp that one detail you need when you wake up? I've always been a dreamer, literally and figuratively. I have really vivid dreams and I tend to remember them long after I wake up. Now, I don't believe dreams are psychic visions, but I also believe they can contain truth and knowledge our conscious brain may not have full access to. Last night's dream may forever be imprinted on my memory.


There was this beautiful baby girl, more perfect than any I've ever encountered. And I've seen a lot of babies being an older sibling, a babysitter, a nanny, a friend, etc and I love them. Never have I found a baby I would call unattractive, but this baby was exquisite. Dark curly hair and deep blue eyes- eyes that will one day become green and gold. She had this adorable half smile and as she looked up at me while I rocked and fed her it was as though she was speaking to my soul. And I was singing to her, a lullaby I made up and can barely remember now that I'm awake. For a moment I raised her up and looked up at her only to realize she didn't have a name yet. So I went back to rocking her, mentally going through the baby name list I've made over the years. Not a Kelly Anne or an Emilee Nicole. Not Anne Marie or Nancy Rae. I woke up panicking that I didn't know her name so I did what every sane woman would do. I went back to sleep to figure it out.

This picture really doesn't do her justice.

Her name is Brooklyn Rose.

Letter to Me

Recently for an assignment I wrote a letter to myself as an eight year-old. It was an interesting experience- both what I wrote and the journey of reliving some childhood experiences. But it was also a cathartic exercise, so I wanted to share some of what I wrote. Please don't take any of this personally.

"Right now you've decided that everyone will eventually disappoint or even abandon you. People aren't perfect dear, not adults, not parents, not even you. People make mistakes, disappoint you- especially people you love. But not everyone will let you down, not everyone will hurt you, not everyone will put the responsibility on your shoulders and leave. Kristi, you need to know that it's okay to not get everything right, to mess up and try again. You're allowed to say that you're struggling, hurt, angry...it's part of the process.... You need to allow people to see the vulnerable part of you or they will never really know you...

Try not to wait for what you expected and instead love what you're given. It may not be the timetable you had in mind, but Heavenly Father is the master planner. Let go a little bit and trust more- it's worth it in the end."

Interesting to realize that some of that I still need to hear and some of it I needed to be able to admit. Upon my graduation a couple years ago, a sweet lady gave me an interesting book- What I Know Now, a book of powerful women writing to their younger selves. It's worth a look.

What would you tell yourself looking back? What wisdom have you gained over the years?