Tag Archives: military mom

My Loss, His Gain

21 Aug

In putting my best foot forward to be present with the living, I am sacrificing the energy needed to write from an emotionally connected place. Shoot, in truth to be present with the living, I have to daily deny the connection to my heartbreak. For me it is a one or the other. Connected to my loss I exist on a superficial level with everything else, consequently (as I have previously written) my ability to recall events and conversations suffers. Connected to my today and being present with a purpose, I give up my right to mourn. Though I have thought of many blog posts to write since spring, when it comes down to it, I “don’t want to go there!” The “there” is so painful and anguish filled for me. I still can’t believe this is our Bent reality–I don’t want this reality thus in partnership with the Kübler-Ross model, I’m lingering in the stage of denial. It’s safe here. He’ll come back. He’s not buried in Miramar National Cemetery. We are the Bent 4, not the Bent 3. His suffering did not exist. We are not hurting.

Yet, this summer…

I have been keenly aware of Cole’s suffering as result of his brain tumor and the surgery to remove it. And in allowing myself to consider, no understand and feel, the degree to which he suffered I can fully comprehend that my loss is truly Cole’s gain.

…happiness is a choice I make daily, that’s all.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l9bX5mzdihs

 

Veterans, The Least of These?

9 Nov

A scripture exerpt: Then they themselves also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see You hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not take care of You?’ “Then He will answer them, Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.’ ~Matthew 25


 

*Personal Disclaimer: My mind is full of so many details and directions. I will attempt to briefly lay out the gist and hope for a cohesive presence.

It is inconceivable to me that our veteran’s suffer at the hands of a medical system inadequately established to care for the men and women who offer their body, mind and often times spirit in sacrifice for the rest of us. Why are the powers-that-be not reorganizing this health care system to better accommodate the needs at hand? I exhale loudly as I contemplate the complexity of the question. The profound respire of frustration.

You see I sat with my son for each and every appointment he had at the VA. There were many and at various locations–Los Angeles, Long Beach, Laguna Niguel. Hoped for Palo Alto, but denied. Looked into La Jolla, denied. We would bring our own lunch cooler, games and the best patience we could muster. Neurology, for example: After the 3 to 4 hour wait, we would meet with a resident doctor from the local University California system. The resident would take notes. Another hour and then the specialist would enter the room. Despite the notes from the resident, the same questions would fly. And result? Nothing. “Sorry but I don’t think the VA will approve that treatment. I’ll submit the request but it is doubtful. I’ll see you back here in another month.” And commonly the appointment is re-scheduled because the speciliast has to travel to teach.  What in the world is the VA doing using military veterans as tools for the educational system? The UC system is impacted in and of itself, let alone sharing it’s depletion with the VA. …it boils my blood.

I am getting closer to sharing Cole’s story, or at least pulling back the veil in snipets. His story is complex and well layered. He was on the front lines in Afghanistan with a malignant brain tumor, but was told he had mental illness. Three Army hospitals failed to extend the proper diagnostics to catch the tumor early on. In fact it was Cole who sensed the issue, but only after grappling for months with what the Marine Corps was telling him–that he was subpar. And of course they would think that, the Army hospitals were confirming as much. His tumor was discovered here in our home hospital, only after Cole insisted in the ER that he would not leave without a CT scan. End scene.

This morning my husband asked the most unusual question, “Would you want to hike up to the flag pole with me today?” Now if you know me, you know that I LOVE to hike. You would also know that Brian (my other half) does not. So when he asked me, and being I had the day off from work, I jumped at the chance and gave an emphatic, positive reply. Being that Veteran’s Day is heading toward us this week, my heart is a bit sensitive. Veteran’s Day also falls the day before our daughter’s birthday. These two dates are bitter sweet for our family. Without Cole by our side, celebrations of any kind are. And the flag pole hike is one that I have traversed with Cole alone, prior to his tumor discovery. So this morning as I was retracing steps long ago taken with my son by my side, and being the very trail is named “Patriot Trail,” additionally the flag waving atop the ridgeline was secured as an Eagle Scout project (Cole earned his Eagle Scout in January of 2009) my mind was busy in pondering. I thought of our own story, layered and well suited for a lawsuit or two. But as I think of the legal road, I can’t escape the question, “for what and to whom would that benefit?” I can sue the Army, Marine Corps and VA but that won’t bring Cole back to our family. Sure a little financial gain is a temptation, I won’t lie. Especially as expenses from the experience mount. But the gain of financial security seems pointless when Cole’s story is the unfortunate story of many of our veteran’s. No, I must hang on and invest the energy needed to “tell the tale” for the greater good–the men and women still living.

One of Cole’s best friends from the Corps is one such person. In Texas he is currently experiencing the same “run around” for a condition that should (and could) easily be remidied. When I think of my calling as a servant of The Most High, I cannot forget the living. And as such I remember the words of Jesus as written in the book of Matthew. Of course with teaching from Jesus there are multiple lessons imparted, though I am honing in on “the least of these.” Essentially Jesus is saying to those he is teaching that when considering people of lesser circumstances, you are simultaneously considering the Heavenly Father. And should you disregard those facing unfortunate pathways, you also disregard God. Thus to garner favor for the Bent family only feels wrong, when so many are presently living Cole’s story. Which brings me to my next question, “how did our military veteran’s get relegated to the category of ‘least of these’?” The idea of it sickens my soul.

This Veteran’s Day I will visit the grave of my son. I will hate every minute of it. But amidst my sorrow and longing for his return I will also seek strength. Strength to find the path of action which will lead to reform. Our military service people deserve it.

Patriot Trail San Juan Capistrano

Rivka at the Flag Pole on Patriot Trail

 

Mostly Dead

16 May

I live daily in smiles and gaiety, it be the nature of the job.  How do you do? Looking good! While trying my best not to snob.  It’s not the intent to go snobbery’s way though silence is often construed.  But giving a care when denying the quest of remembering the mostly dead crew.

Images hear I of spring.  Glorious season of change.  Rebirth, renounce, re-anything just simply reminders of pain.  To mourn a loss in person not so good for the socialite call.  Hence I write it all down, renounce with a frown and chase the blues to the ball.  Pardon me while I am bleeding, excuse the stink in my eye.  Oh how was your day?  Oh mine? It’s ok, notice ye not the piteous reply. Moving within the same madness, reflections all view the igual. No soy la que quire el platica, sino el silencio sensual. One need not worry their insight and think my soul inherently gloom but giving a care when denying the quest of remembering the mostly dead crew.

What meaneth here this nonsense?  Who need take the time to dispel?  Again worry ye not, the girl’s not gone to pot just know her heart’s in a swell.  Meandering down to the watering hole in knowing the questions do fly.  Barista not wanting to filter the irritable look in the eye.  Giveth me the drink I choose Bessie, ask me not the cordial reply.  Just leave me alone, drink my blackness down cold and a lemon loaf too on the fly.  Don’t worry your pretty head Bessie, Jack think not your joy now subdued.  But giving a care when denying the quest of remembering the mostly dead crew.

•√•

So I’m not really one who enjoys the abstract–not in art, nor music, nor prose.  But sometimes it just works, at least for the writer, in this case me.  The nonsensical lyrical presentation above is vehicle for the swirling of thoughts, the allowance to pull together the mushroom cloud and compact it to the location of its present state.  The idea is to “let a little of the air seep out of the balloon” of grief. The above writing is not reflected of the pure thoughts within me.  Not “pure” as in “clean.”  But pure as in my own.  The writing is muddled, influenced and therefore hiding.  After all, isn’t that what the abstract allows, obfuscation? Isn’t the above more fun to read, albeit perplexing, but more fun than finding this page and having me write: Hi, my name is Rivka and today sucks!  Quite frankly, if I am at the place where that statement is all I can say, I assure you I will remain silent.

Breaking it down:

Today is May 16, 2015.  The Bent 4 became the Bent 3 on May 17, 2013.  On May 16, 2013 I had dread upon my heart for what I perceived to be the failing health of my son.  On May 17, 2013 my perception proved true. None of these facts make me feel the better in writing them down.

Tomorrow, May 17 2015, my niece graduates with her undergrad degree and a dear friend of our family will wed.  Both celebratory occasions will occur without our physical presence though our hearts are joyously united to their happiness.  We, the Bent 3 are still not fully adjusted to our outcome.  So sorry to disappoint.  Actually, just as I wrote the sentence down I realized I am not sorry at all.  Sorry I’m not sorry.  I don’t mind that my sorrow offends, let it.  I don’t mind that I’m cloistered and blue, for giving a care is not my intent while remembering the mostly dead crew.