Angels Here On Earth

Today is one of those days. One of those days when you realize, just how old you are. I mean, I don't walk around every day saying, wow, I'm 47 years old. But today, I know I am. It has crossed my mind several times.

I don't have any particular aches and pains. None that I don't have most everyday anyway. I know every day when I get out of bed, that I have a back. I know I have nerves gone bad in my feet, the very first step I take. Sign of the times. All of it.

Several of my girlfriends are struggling. Struggling with health issues of gigantic proportions. I "talk" to them most everyday. Making funnies and conversation for distraction. Hoping that it helps. Rolling out Prayer Trains for those who need one. Asking any and all to get on board.

Last I heard, these years were supposed to be our years of reckoning. Our kids are just about grown and independent. We're not tied down to anything but a work schedule. Some of us, not even that. Yet here we are, struggling to feel good. Some of us, struggling to simply stay alive. Sound dramatic? Over the top? It's not. It's real, for several girls that I have the honor of knowing personally.  It's far too real.

But nothing keeps them down. Their attitudes are so positive it makes one plain ashamed to whine about something as simple as sore feet and an aching back.

I have one friend struggling to get past the Chemo that has strapped her to a hospital bed for the better part of six months now. Only to get home, and somehow, fracture a rib, from the constant vomiting that comes with the treatments, as well as a cough from the bronchial infection she got along the way. And she still has 12 weeks of radiation to endure that will begin in the next month or so. And through all of that, for the past six months, it did not stop her from attending her daughter's college graduation, or from worrying about all of her other friends and their lives.

One friend just survived a double mastectomy.  Who will still have another surgery or two to go before it's done. And whose only goal, is to be able to function enough, to leave the house, and be in Andersonville on July 9th, to celebrate the life of her oldest son who was killed last summer in Afghanistan.

One friend who has suffered from Lupus most of her life. Yet, she struggles to maintain the day to day life everyone else enjoys without thought.  She goes into hiding when she needs to let her body "heal" and comes back out when she can.

One friend whose body has fought against her need for wellness on and off for the past few years. She's in the hospital now, trying to find out, what is causing her pain. Yet she is still worrying and thinking of everyone else in her life, as she always does.

One friend who suffered a horrendous childhood, only to suffer re-occurances of the damage into adulthood. But who is so strong, and willing to do, whatever it takes, to overcome the need and desire to come undone within herself. She will overcome and she will survive and she WILL break the chain of weakness.  Because hers is a story of success, not failure. A story of unquestionable love, not emotions of love in disguise.

One friend whose child has a taken a road of destruction. But she will remain strong, and help him the only way she knows how. Sometimes the most unpopular way of helping...with tough love and private tears. It's what he needs most. Not sympathy...but strength. He must see clear, bright and loving eyes in the daylight. We can hide our tears alone in the dark. And she will.

Age can make you susceptible to injury, pain and sickness. You never seem to think about it any of that, until it darkens your door, or the door of someone you care about. 

There is a plan for each of us. Someone else holds the blueprints to those plans. I don't sit in a pew every week. And I have to admit, until the last year or so, I didn't pray much at all. Now, I have a hard time remembering when my knees didn't hit the floor every day.

Was the plan for me, to see through all of you, what I have been missing? Was the plan for me, to see through all of you, what's important in life? Was the plan for me, to see through all of you, how empty my life has truly been? Or was the plan for me, to finally understand, through all of you, that we are all one. That the people we meet through our lives should stay in our lives. There's a reason why they come into our pathway. There was a reason thirty years ago and a reason now.

Throughout the day today, as the course of events have taken place, I have been overwhelmed with worry and love. Forced by association, to realize how precious life is, and remember to never take it for granted.

The strength with which each of my friends has pushed forward is astounding. The positiveness they maintain is shaming to the mere mortal. But are they just people, or are they those special ones we make reference to as Angels here on Earth. I have heard that saying all of my life. Maybe these special people were put here on this earth to show us. To lead us.  I am so proud to know all of these people. What a humbleness they have unconsciously bred among us all.

May God be with them through the rest of their struggles and victory's. Amen.

♫ Will It Go Round' In Circles ♫

I've always wondered if my family was the only one. If we were the only family whose pre-gatherings were spent anxiously anticipating what stories would be added to our volumes of other stories in our book of sometimes funny, sometimes not so funny, gatherings.  And the thing is, each family plots their own idea of what will happen each year. It's discussed in every 'full of people' vehicle traveling to the event. And I have no doubt, every family, in every vehicle, thinks the other family's are the crazy ones. The troublemakers. And for lack of  better words that suit me, the Shit Stirrers.

I have been watching these events for years now. Sometimes as a participant and others as an observer.  When you mix all the different people, from the same core family, with different personalities, you are bound to have some "commotion".  And in my particular immediate family, we are all comedians. Or shall I say, we think we are comedians. We even laugh at ourselves, slap the side of our legs and tell ourselves just how dang witty we are. I am sure other members of our 'extended' clan have other words for us and how we behave. And I'm pretty sure, funny isn't part of the description. Which only makes it more fun.

Now I've sort of made a silent promise to my people, to not discuss, tell on, or spill the beans on any of their psychotic selves. But I can talk about myself. Because I could care less what people think about me. Matter of fact, though my children deny it, I think I'm pretty much like most everybody else. The only difference is, I admit it.

So to get down to the nitty gritty of what makes this such a "show" when theses events happen at my home...to be quite frank...it's me. I'm the show.  I know this will come as shock to some of you. But I have a rather "frantic" personality. Every small task becomes hugely gigantic. I never remember everything I am supposed to have in order to perform my tasks. I always forget something. And as the law of Murphy will have it, what I have forgotten is ALWAYS one of the main things I am going to need. That I will NOT realize I do not have, until I am SMACK in the middle of needing it. We, my children and I,  like to call 'smack in the middle of needing it', The Crux. It's the very moment it all begins to come together, everything is happening at once. And it takes more hands than any one person has alone. The Crux. It can be magnificently successful. It can also be stunningly horrific.

Years ago, during one of the events scheduled to happen in my home, we had a crisis. I had undoubtedly forgotten something. And so it began. The reference to ...The Crux. I am sending my oldest child, who had just began driving, uptown for what I had forgotten. So of course, when he returned, I have lost time. I am running late, and to describe myself as frantically anxious is being kind. I was CRAZY.  And as all ebb and flows shall go, I drag everyone in my immediate hand grasp, into my crazy. When this begins, I want everybody on stand by. I may not need you, but I want you standing in front of me in the case that I do. I want your FULL attention to the grave and serious situation at hand.

To be able to perform these duties for me with success you must also have magical abilities. You must be able to read my mind. You must know, before I holler, "hand me that pot holder", that my roast is flaming up 2 feet high in my stove. You must know before I grab the full pitcher of tea, that someone has loosened the lid.  And be standing in front of me, before I scream out, GET THE MOP, as I'm spilling the whole gallon of tea on the floor. And I want to you to know before I fall and bust my behind, that I have previously dropped ice cubes on the floor, and now they have melted, and have a towel handy to dry it up. Because if you don't know all of these things in advance, it is as sure to be your fault, as it was mine. I know that is hard to understand, but trust me, it's true. It will be your fault.

And you MUST be able to calm me with humor. By batting back the insanity onto me, by ridiculously imitating me and my crazy. Sometimes simultaneously. You must be able to imitate me while I am doing it live and in person. Somehow, once I see myself, in you, I can begin to find the funny. Somehow, to watch you imitate my maniacal behavior, it calms me. And I too, begin to laugh. Because you are already laughing at me.

I wish I had a video of one of those events. Hell, I wish I had a video of our lives. I know that it would be a successful sitcom. Because we have no shame in our family. We all know we are the way we are. I dare to say, some of us revel in it. And although I have already stated that I have a silent promise not to reveal the crazy in our family, I can tell you behavior is learned. And I can also tell you my mother is the calm one. I think you will agree, I've revealed nothing.

This last thing I am going to share, is a real exchange between my oldest son and myself  today. He was not able to attend our Father's Day gathering. And in an effort, for him to not feel left out, I sent him a message that went like this:

Ma to J---Missing you today. When the Crux moment arrives..I will have no one to calm or contribute to ....my frantic.


Later that same day:
Ma to J----They've all gone home. 
P.S. Another successful holiday. No one died.

J to Ma----I love how our definition of "successful holiday" gets less and less ambitious every year. 

This is us. This is our lives. And I love every single minute of it. As I said, family's are learned behavior. Good and bad. Rational and irrational. Funny and hysterically funny. My Daddy taught me all of those things. And I love him for contributing to all of my quirky, crazy attributes. I wouldn't be me, without him. And my children, wouldn't be themselves without me. The cycle of crazy is wonderful. I hope it just keeps going round' and round, and round'.

Happy Father's Day Daddy. For it is you, from which all of our creative juices flow. I would not have it any other way. Hell, any ole' body can make everything go right. It is the truly gifted, that can take a near catastrophe and make it a funny story to tell for years and years and years.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims

Laughter IS The Best Medicine

That was then. This is now. That was never ending failure. This is glorious success. That one was my experience of losing face. This one is my absolute saving grace. I once was lost. But now I'm found.

I suppose this is how everyone feels when they've come from a failed relationship into a relationship that has flourished beyond their wildest imagination. Sometimes you just can't see the forest for the trees. Sometimes the grass IS greener on the other side. Because it has the proper nourishment. The right mixture of ingredients. To make it grow.

Today at work, I was talking to one of the engineering techs. A youngster. Everybody under thirty years old is a youngster to me now. I can remember when everybody over thirty was ancient.  I am sure I sounded ancient today. He thought I sounded like my husband. Which was a little scary. For both of us.

He took a three day road trip last week with my husband. To some job sites. As a learning/training experience. I am sure he got a three day earful of South Carolina, old man, Kornbread euphemisms. He probably heard use of several words he has never heard used that way in all of his twenty something years of life.

Today, I was trying to extend a little training myself. I was trying to explain how to talk to the customer in such a way, that he thought the idea was his, and he agreed with it when you were done. He wasn't quite getting it. So I started over. Took another tact. Almost instantly, I saw his eyes begin to glaze over, he lifted his hand in front of his face as if to ward off something coming his way. Something that was scaring him. Mentally. I was about to ask him what was wrong when he began to beg me to stop. Stop talking. And wanted to know, did I know, I had begun to sound just like my husband?! I began to laugh hysterically.

I laughed. Mostly because that was THE most ridiculous thing I had ever heard. And I laughed, because he was so dang serious. He just kept staring at me. Like I had somehow sat there and morphed myself into Mims.

No, I never would have thought that I would begin to speak like Mims. I have spent half of our 13 years of knowing each other, trying to get my children to STOP talking like him. I still prefer to think that it was me using common sense in my conversation, opposed to the actual use of words that startled that young man. Either way, it was an awakening for me as well.

They say, after so many years, you will BE your mate. You will think for each other. You will think before they think, what you know they will think. And all of that is alright. I've been reading his mind for a long time now.  However, I don't care anything about succumbing to his South Carolina dialect.

I was deemed to be Kornmuffin long before Kornbread Jr had a girlfriend who was tagged with that name. And I don't mind it so much. I don't care anything about having it plastered across the back window of my truck, but I don't mind being called that in passing. And I'm pretty sure, there will not be a time, anytime soon, that you will see me with a wad a chaw in my jaw.

But if in my later years, I began to slide into his slow, sure way of talking, that will be alright. For he is the missing piece to this jagged, jumbled up puzzle I call my life. My glorious, full of laughter, no shortage of raw humor, he takes such good care of me, life. I should have found his funny, beautiful face years ago. They say laughter adds years to your life. Just think how much longer I could have lived, had I found him first.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims

Forever and Ever....Amen

I'm having a day. As weird as it seems. As much as I was ready to see my Mims come home, now, I wonder, where my sanity was in wishing that. Geez. Most days, he is the most easy going man you could ever lay eyes on. But there are those days, that he wakes up, and he is the most unreasonable man in the world. He talks like a gypsy non-stop. Every day. But on the bad days, you spend your time walking around, needing plugs for your ears. For the endless, useless, negative diatribe spewing from him lips. Today is that day.

He woke up. Wheeling sideways out of his side of the bed. And that mouth, has not stopped yet. Why did you do this? Why did you do that? Why did you do it that way? Why didn't you think about it like he did? Why, why why??!!!!

Today, is also, my parents 51st wedding anniversary. It is with great wonderment and awe that I think about those two people. And wonder how, how in the world, they ever made it to see year number fifty-one. For eighteen years of my life. While I lived there. I wondered that. For the first thirteen years of  my first marriage, I wondered that. And now, eight years of a relationship/dating, and five years this July of being into my second marriage, I am still wondering. How in the heck, do any two people make it fifty one years together. How do people make it til the end of time, with the one they chose at the beginning of time?

Day in and day out. Three hundred and sixty five days of the year. Twenty four/seven. How? How do people do it? How do you get past the moods. The unreasonable. The crying. The insanity.  The uncalled for words. The sniping. And the rest of "this is how my day has been"?  I guess, you hope and pray, that what you had in the beginning will get you through. That the love you felt when you first met, will stretch and strengthen enough to hold until forever. To see you through no matter what comes your way. No matter how many bad days it takes before you see a good day.

No matter that money is tight. That they just laid off half of your work place. And you were one of them. No matter, that you have two children already, and surprise, you're now having three. No matter that you've done all you can do, and your eleven year old son will not behave in school. No matter that the A/C has gone out. It is 90 degrees in your house. And you have no money for a new one. And now between the heat and financial tension, you are at each others throats more than you think you can bear. No matter that he has cancer, and the medical bills are climbing out of control. No matter that the child you sent to college, is dropping out, and all that money was wasted. 

We're supposed to know in the beginning. We are supposed to know, this person is the one. We're supposed to know, we can live through anything and everything with this person. No matter how hard or trying our lives may become. I believe we all think that we know. I believe most of us truly want our relationships to succeed. Sometimes we get it right the first time. Sometimes, we just don't.

So for the people who do get it right. For the people who did pick the one person in this world they can withstand anything and everything with, together...I commend you. I applaud you. I congratulate you. And I envy you. For only you will know what true endurance means. Only you will know the true meaning of  "til death do us part".

But I will know love. I will know that I too, have finally found my one and only. I will know that I would go to the ends of this earth for this man I call Mims. I will know that I will need him all the rest of my days, and the rest of his. I will know, that through good times and bad, sickness and in health, nothing will part us but death. No matter that he drives me crazy some days. Like today. Because I am well aware, that he has my own crazy days to endure. I will know that there are some days, only he can make me smile. And I will know, that he will always be, the last face I want to see, when I close my eyes at night. The last hand I want to hold, before sleep takes me over.

So Happy Anniversary to my parents, David and Jean Mount. Today, June 4th, 2011, they celebrate fifty one years together. From the very beginning of only happiness. Through everything in between. Until now, the "golden years".  They have had a remarkable marriage. Full of everything a marriage is supposed to consist of...good times and bad. Arguments and solutions. Babies, children, teenagers, adults, then grandchildren. And finally, just themselves. Again. Like it was in the beginning. Just themselves, discovering each other, all over again. Much smarter, much wiser, more patient, and more forgiving. And they will see each other, through the rest, of their thick and thin days. Into what everyone calls, Forever.

 

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims

On The Road Again...

And here we go. With busy work..comes work road trips. Not that I'm ungrateful for the work. We have been slow for so long, I'm more than ready for it. For times to get back to normal. But with any building going up anywhere, there are going to be problems. Some minor, some not. Some merely hiccups. But either way, all of those instances call for a road trip. To prove our point, to soothe General Contractors, job site Erectors, and to make basic good use of our customer service promises. As the Quality Assurance Manager, that's where my husband comes in....W.D. Mims at your service.

Now maybe you're wondering what on earth any of that has to do with me. I'm only the Purchasing Manager. I just buy the steel.  I'm not responsible for fabricating it. I am in no way responsible for the correct measurements, length or camber in the joist. Nor am I responsible for any back rubbing or customer schmoozing.  But as the wife, not the employee, I am the one left responsible for everything on the home front. But mostly, when it's all said and done, all I'm going to be held responsible for, is the higher light bill that is certainly to come with these road trips. 

Yes, I will be burning extra lights. Inside and out. I don't do well when Mims isn't home. How I ever lived alone with two children for the better of nine years, I will never know. And for those of you thinking to yourselves, isn't Zach still going to be home? Wouldn't he provide some kind of solace and comfort? Bluntly put, NO. That big ole' brute of a boy provides NOTHING. He's barely here, day or night. And come bedtime, he doesn't know anything but sleep and the back of his eyelids. He doesn't know anything, hear anything, or see anything.

When I ask him to leave his door open, so he could hear me, should I need him, I am greeted with grumbling, mumbling, "you need to toughen up" words. These words from the mouth on the body I struggled for nine months to give birth. The child I stayed up nights for, lost sleep for, and have fought for, every step of his life. Tells his sweet, scared like a girl Mama, to toughen up. So, I have to stay awake until HE falls asleep, then I get BACK up and open his door. I'm not really sure why this brings me comfort. He sleeps like the dead, and I feel positive, should someone could come inside our home and take everything inside, including me, he would never hear it. It's a mind thing for me. The door is open. Whether it helps or not.

So besides the no account security guard I have staying with me, I will burn lights. Inside and out. We have three security lights set up strategically in our front, side and back yards. When I moved in with Mims in 05' he had one security light in the side yard. Because of his travels, and my wild imagination, we have added two more. It has slowed down my calls to the local police for "preventive drive-by requests", and increased our monthly light bill.  And should you chuckle to yourself, and think I haven't ever really called the local police...you'd be wrong. I have. And if I hear anything that I cannot identify or see, I will do so again. They get paid to listen and respond to people like me. I'm not ashamed to admit to anyone when I am scared. I refuse to be a hostage of fear in my own home.

And I have enough sense to know, the BB guns we keep by our front door will do no damage. They will only look scary until I have to pick one up to cock it. Anyone who knows guns/rifles, will know immediately they are dealing with an amateur. An amateur that has nothing but a squirrel shooter in her hands. And an amateur that barely knows how to use that! If you have to holler out, "hold on, let me get this baby pumped", it somewhat loses its fear factor.

And my neighbors, well, some of you already know that sad story.  The ones on the right side of us, I dearly love, but they are in the process of moving. They spend more time at their new home than this one. And the ones on the left side of us, I dearly dislike. And by the time I got across the street to my other neighbors house, whatever I was running from, would have me.

So between a son who sleeps like a stone, and no neighbors to speak of for comfort, I am on my own.  I will use my tax dollars to "borrow" the city police should I need to do so, and I will burn these lights at free will. And when the electric bill comes in, I will sprint to the mailbox to get to it first, hide it, and hope Mims doesn't remember to ask for it. And I will pray the next few days go by quickly, that the office has plenty of coffee, and that the inventory I must reconcile for the next three days goes smoothly. Because somehow, I already know, I am very likely to not have all my cylinders firing.  My Daisy Red Ryder BB gun yes, my brains however are questionable.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims

Fast Cars and Freedom

I never see him anymore. I've lost him to fishing, swimming in ponds, out-swimming gators, working, running with the boys, seeing his gal, and summer. He's as brown as dirt. His hair is turning lighter. He's lost his Winter weight. The extra pounds he strenuously tried to gain for Spring Football. If you can call ten pounds or so, Winter weight. He no sooner got his license to drive alone in March, and then he was gone.

School has been out less than a week. Once that count down began...it was on. Yesterday, in passing, (and I do not use that term lightly) I told him I was off this Tuesday. "Off!!!!" , he exclaimed. As he could already see visions of someone rearranging his plans. "WHY??!", he exclaimed again. I told him, not to worry, I had already planned to spend that day to myself. No need to panic. He nor his services/company would be required.

While he mows lawns for a living, I have to make an appointment to have my own lawn tended. It's hard to remember when the last time was he took out the trash. He never seems to be here when it's full. His room smells almost fresh again. He's never in it. I walk by, and it's just a dark, lifeless room anymore. A room that used to stay full of boys, Xbox game playing, guitar rifting, and unimaginable smells. He hates the smell of air fresheners. Which I would hide in various places in his room. Only for him to find them, and one by one, close them up. I went in his room yesterday, to place some clean clothes on his bed, and all those fresheners were where I left them and open. Our game of "hide the smell good" seems to be over. He's not here enough to care.

His shed that stayed closed up for most of Winter has been re-opened for business. The A/C in the window has been activated and the little refrigerator re-stocked.  I have seen some boys in and out of there. I heard remnants of music blasting one night last week. How sweet those loud drums and electric guitar sounded.  Zach and two of his friends stayed overnight in the shed. Lying air mattresses on a wooden floor as the hum of the A/C finally rocked them to sleep. At 2am, he said. My job of being head cook may soon be coming to an end. He's talking about buying a mini-grill for him, and his buds to cook food on. To save me some trouble.

He must not understand how this Mama stuff works. I like the trouble. I like the constant company and noise. Because I know, in a few years, it may be gone for good. I refuse to think about that right now. Refuse to rush time any faster than it is already speeding out of control on it's own.

My oldest son, who first moved away almost two years ago, calls two or three times a week now. He used to call almost every day. And while there were times, I found, I had nothing to discuss every single day, I miss not having anything to say now. His life is full of school, his friends, his boyfriend, and teaching.

I think I am entering the first phase of the empty nest. It feels like it. It feels like I heard it would be. The last one home. Turns sixteen and begins to drive. I think that's when it begins. It's just started, and the past few days I have felt a lot older than my 47 years of age. I'm homesick for my home the way it used to be. Busy, noisy and unkempt. It's sad to say, but as much as these kids love summer, I dread it. With school comes, classes, homework, regular sleeping hours, and my child, at home.

He spent the night off last night with plans of getting up early and going fishing/swimming this morning. I'm expecting him home within the next few hours. Starving to death and broke down tired. And I'll be glad to see him. He'll shower up, digging into the hamburgers I'll have ready and waiting, and fall asleep with a full stomach on the couch. His seat reclined, head back, and not a sound will come from him for several hours. But he'll be here with me. And that's all that matters.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims

Where Were You When....

That particular night, I was alternating between hysterical crying, gut wrenching pain, and anger. Earlier that day my oldest son had sent me a life altering email.  Now this may seem silly to a lot of you, but the email he sent was regarding Facebook, and our communication on such, that he was requesting to have ceased. It was one complete page of an email, because my son cannot say anything without complete detail.

By the time he was done, there was nothing left unsaid. No stone unturned. No doubt in my mind, how much our/my communication embarrassed him, and that it was to stop. Immediately. Josh and I have always been very, very close. Can and do talk about anything and everything. So that now, I was being told he was a professional adult, and my existence was an embarrassment to him, in his world, amongst his peers, was more than I could take. Every word was like a strike to my mid-section. I hadn't cried such a heart wrenching cry since I found out (without prior preparation) that my Daddy had to have open heart surgery. Joshua had already, the year before, moved away from home to go to Graduate school. Ripping my life and my heart apart. Now, I was being told, I could not communicate with him, because my "chitter chatter" was unworthy in his new world.

I gathered my humiliated pride and emailed him back. Advising that I completely understood his position on the matter and his request. And that his email and it's content were never to be discussed again. It would not be necessary. Because it would be a long time before his words would stop ringing in my head. You know, I had already heard other women, other parents talk about not being "friends" with their children on Facebook. I had even heard stories of them being deleted and blocked! How awful I had thought before. Now, I too, had been silenced.

At any rate, much later that same evening, everything began to fall apart again. It was close to midnight, or just after. I was still nursing my wounds by talking to anyone and everyone who was still skulking around on Facebook that Saturday night.  As a matter of fact, I distinctly remember talking to both Debbie Houston White and Charlotte Tomlinson Bolton back and forth for about an hour.  I admit I was feeling LARGELY sorry for myself. Wondering how I could have raised such an ungrateful and rude son. When suddenly, the pages of Facebook began to explode. Literally.

The next few minutes, would turn into several hours. I would learn that LCPL Daniel Gabriel "Gabe" Raney, the oldest son of long ago schoolmate, Penny Riley, had just been killed in combat. Or so everyone thought at the time. It would later, much later be known, he was killed during night drills. Which is another long story and is a large part of what drives her today.  But that night, all we knew, was she had just been notified of his Killed In Action status. Posts were flying everywhere. I could not read them fast enough. Comments coming from every direction. Pain seeping from the words that were being written. All of us girls, who had gone to school together, all those years ago, and many of us who had children somewhere around the same age, were sent reeling backward and our laptops burning up from the sudden commotion.

My anger and hurt turned into shock and disbelief. Gabe was my oldest sons age. He was the same age as my Joshua. My Joshua with whom I was so at odds with at that very minute.  I began to cry again. Hysterically again. I had left things between my son and myself so strained and angry.

My mind begin to whirl in every direction imaginable. What were the last words passed between Penny and Gabriel? When was the last time she spoke to him? Had it been days, weeks, or longer? Was she able to tell him how much she loved him? Was she able to have a real conversation, or was it a quick call in between his duties in Afghanistan.  Was it on a cell phone with bad reception, or could she hear him clearly enough to understand everything he said and hear every homesick word spoken?

In that few minutes, I knew I had to find my son. Call  him. And talk to him. And make whatever had been left wrong, or unsaid, right again. To let him know, I really didn't care anymore that he'd rather I didn't talk to him on Facebook where all his friends and peers could see. So what. I can do without that type of communication. How trivial all of that seemed now. Nothing was worth the words we passed or the anger and hurt it had caused. What if something happened before I could find him? Before I could talk to him again.

I frantically dialed his phone. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely push the buttons. It was late, but I knew he was out with friends. My fingers wouldn't work. I kept pushing the wrong numbers. The phone began to ring, and the voice mail message came on. I tried to compose myself enough to leave a message. I did not do a very good job. He called me right back. His own voice sounding scared and panicked from listening to my prior message. And when I heard his voice, I fell apart.

I was crying so hard, he thought something was wrong here. I was trying to tell him what had happened to my friends child, but the words would not come out of my mouth. I couldn't breath, and I couldn't stop crying long enough for him to understand. My son was alive, I was talking to him, but Penny could not. And would not, ever again. With every second that passed, I could feel her agonizing pain but could not imagine the depths.

What do you do, when that call comes, and your whole world falls apart? How do you talk? How do you make sense of the foreign sounding words coming out of your mouth? How do your ears stop exploding from the vile words that are going into your ear? And how, do you hang up the phone and move from the place you are standing when the call came in? How do you move your feet? And how do you go from one moment of peace, to the next of complete despair? And how, do you ever, get past, the death of your child?

I don't know the answers to any of those questions. I pray I never have to know. Penny Riley is one of the strongest women I will ever have the honor of knowing. I know the first few months were a life crumbling experience for her and her son Luke, Gabriel's younger brother. But she has picked herself up, and she has made it her life cause to hold, protect, and grieve with, family's of other war victims. War hero's who have not made it home alive.

The P.S. to this story is this.... that less than five months later, Penny was diagnosed with Breast Cancer. Radical treatment will be necessary. How this woman, has remained so strong and focused I will never know. She never stops. She never just sits down because she is tired or in pain. And she never forgets. She never lets us forget, what LCPL Gabriel Raney did for all of us. That he lived for all of us. That he died for all of us.

Rest in Peace, Gabe Raney. And may your mother's days of suffering soon pass. May she win this battle with Breast Cancer and be able to continue spreading the word of your sacrifices to anyone who will listen. Because you are a hero Gabriel Raney, and for all of us girls who went to school with her, and the family's of other fallen soldiers who are fortunate enough to know her, so is your Mama.

Let Freedom Ring.

copyright © 2011 Michelle Mount Mims