Knottie's Niche» Gold Star

One Step Left

Knottie — Sat, 02 Apr 2011 00:44:24 +0000

If you have followed my blog for anytime you know about the “sign” that was made in Iraq by the LT of the engineering team Micheal had been escorting that day. That sign was hung on the FOB barracks in Memory of Micheal in April 2008 and when the guys came home I knew that a new group of Micheal’s Brothers were going t walk beneath that sign daily and remember him also.

About a year and a half ago I got the burr to bring the sign home. I would soon find out my son’s LT had already made the arrangements and in fact the sign was in the US at Ft Riley. The FOB it once was on had been dismantled and the Iraqis had taken control of the security in that area.. a success. ( BTW the Iraqi’s took over the JSS one year to the day after my son was killed. )

I then began the next step of the mission of getting the sign home to the 1-502^nd and my son’s military family. It was not made for me but for his brothers and as much as it honors him it honors them also. About a year ago the sign got to Bravo Co with the help of a 1SG and Col. and a very very kind CSM.

At that point the sign was entrusted to Micheal’s Platoon Leader Sgt. Les Fuller. Sgt. Fuller took it home and began the job of staining and polyurethane coating the sign to preserve it. Well today sgt Fuller finished the work on the sign. And it is GORGEOUS.. He and LT Watrin have truly honored my son.

Now we have one step left in the journey of this memorial to my son.. to get the barracks at Ft Campbell named for my son and the sign hung. No that is not true.. two steps are left.. I need to touch this sign.. I need to run my fingers along the letters. Then we can hang it and name a barracks.

This year I’m angry..

Knottie — Thu, 24 Feb 2011 01:10:56 +0000

Tomorrow marks three years since the Sgt. And Chaplain knocked on the door and uttered the most horrific words a military family can hear. The first year I was sad.. just plain sad. Last year I was sad and sentimental. This year I had made up my mind to celebrate my sweet son. But instead I’m mad as hell. The anger is so intense it physically hurts. I know the healthy thing to do is to channel the anger into something positive, which is what I usually do. Everyone who knows me knows I am all about turning the poison into medicine. But right now I just want to be mad. I want to scream and yell and hit someone and demand they tell me why I can’t hug my son. Why wasn’t he the best man at his brother’s wedding.. or there to convince him to take a little time and think it through more. I want to know why I can’t call him and tell him he is going to be an Uncle. I want to know why this nation is so damned ungrateful ( and yes I know many are grateful but more are not) I am just so angry. It’s not fair dammit! I shouldn’t be going to eat Chinese Thursday to remember him I should be packing a care package to send to him or having lunch with him. I should be calling him for no real reason and just checking on him.

I shouldn’t visit his grave and talking to people for a documentary trying to explain this young man to them. How do you explain who a person was.. How unique how special how individual… in words. Hearing about Micheal is not going to ever be the same experience as meeting him. But we will try. We will honor him through our memories and stories. And maybe someone will hear his story and try to be a better person in life to honor him. Or at least be grateful to be an American who had someone like him fight and die for them.

Tonight I build the walls to get me through tomorrow. This year we have one of his brothers in arms with us. And we will all sit and tell stories and look at pictures and celebrate Pokey. There will be hurt, sadness, laughter, tears and this year anger.

I miss you my sweet son..

I’m Humbled to be an American

Knottie — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 01:25:26 +0000

**I wrote this on my other blog just about one year ago… it still stands true and I felt it was a good time to share it again*

I often hear people speak about how proud they are to be an American. Well I’m humbled to be an American. I’m humbled to be a mother and wife. I am humbled to be able to write and have others read my words. Too often we get so caught up in our pride that we forget to appreciate what we have and be humbled by it.

Only in America does a woman such as myself have the freedom to chose to be a stay at home mom or have a career or both. Only in this amazing Nation do I have a voice that is equal to all others. When I put my pride down long enough to truly look at where I live I am HUMBLED. Humbled by the prosperity and liberty of this nation. Humbled that so many people of different mindset and beliefs can work side by side. Humbled that I can blog my thoughts and others feel they are worthy of reading.

I have been heard often saying I am a proud Army mom. But again when I put my pride aside I become humbled to be a part of such a honorable group. I am humbled that in return for my son’s service I was embraced by some of the most caring and honorable men and women in the world. I humbled that they call me one of their own. It rocks me to the core to realize that just by reaching out in my love for my son I was embraced. Truly humbling is that these men and women, who serve our Nation in the military, do not know me personally or you personally yet they put their lives on the line daily to protect our rights and freedoms. Stop and think about that.. be humbled that perfect strangers are willing to do this for you.

I am humbled to have been blessed with children who will have opportunities that other young people in the world will never have. They were give the chance to get an education that offered them the tools to grow and become who they are. Education is a tool that every single American is given and how you use that tool, what you put into determines what you will take from it. It is humbling that we are all given this precious tool. It is sad so many are so proud they forget to invest themselves in it.

I am humbled that jobs are available. Oh it may not pay as much as you want or you may not like your job but the work is there. It is humbling that we have the means to provide for ourselves. It is humbling to know that the harder I am willing to work the more benefits I will get.

I’m humbled to know that is my family becomes ill that I can seek out medical care for them. Yes there is the hassle of insurance paperwork and a bill will have to be paid but the care is there. Medication is a few blocks away. I don’t have sit by helpless watching those I love sick or suffering. It’s humbling to know that help is available. Even to those who will struggle to pay the bill for it.

I’m humbled to have a government that I have a voice in. I don’t like a lot of the things my government does but where else in the world can I speak out in dismay and not fear questioning my government. I can vote. I have a say. I may be out numbered by my fellow Americans in that vote but in the end I got my say. Not only that I can call my representatives and voice verbally to them how I feel about the job they are doing. It’s humbling to realize my representatives are a phone call or fax away.

Yes I am humbled to be an American. For when we allow pride to guide us we do not appreciate the true blessing of what we have. We forget to tend it and care for and begin to take it for granted. All our freedoms, all our liberties, all our blessings are lost to greed, envy and gluttony when we are not humbled by them. We become lazy in our vigilance of these blessings and fall to false values.

Today do not be a proud American .. be a humble one.

This Gold Star Means Something

Knottie — Thu, 27 Jan 2011 04:36:15 +0000

“As a child I always worked hard for a Gold Star..Now I have one and I don’t want it”

Next month on Feb 24^th I will be marking the third year of my family being Gold Stars. We never wanted to be Gold Stars… no one wants to be. In the past years I faced far too often people who have no idea what this Gold Star means. Early on I had a mother on an Army mom support group demand to know why I thought I was so special as to give myself a gold star and demand to know how she too could get one. I stepped away from my computer in tears after reading that email praying this woman never got one. She was very contrite upon being educated. I have had people ask me if my Gold Star service flag in my window was a “Jewish” thing. My husband has been teased by co-workers about how he must be so special to receive a Gold Star parent license plate.

These are just a few of my stories. I have heard similar stories from other Gold star families. So it now my mission to educate the American public…

Since WW1 when our nation has been at war, service flags have been flown in the windows of military families. These flags are a message to the community… it is bordered in Red and the center is a field of white…in the field of white is a Star for each member of the family serving. A Blue Star represents someone serving. A Silver Star means that someone in that family has been wounded in combat. A Gold Star is representative of a Fallen family member.

Imagine a family, who has buried someone they love very much who fought and died for this nation, having to explain repeatedly what the Gold Star they display or wear means. Imagine the pain they feel when people make truly innocent comments that in reality make us feel they do not care that there are men and women fighting and dying for this nation… for them! It’s not anger that makes me write this but pain. You see my son died for something he believed completely in, this Nation, and there are people who are so unaware that lives have been given they don’t even know what a 100 year old symbol born in this nation means. It’s not just the Gold Star we need to educate people on but the real sacrifice and great love of nation that bore that star.

A New Year

Knottie — Mon, 27 Dec 2010 03:41:45 +0000

For nearly three years now there have been several big boxes of cards, letters, newspaper clippings and other things attached to Micheal’s passing sitting in my room. I never had the heart to really go through it all nor dd I have the heart to put them away properly. On occasion I would read a few of the cards and notes. There was also a box of Micheal’s things. Shoes, clothes.. stuff. It just sat there in our bedroom. Today I decided it was time to store it all. There is no way I can give it away or throw it way but its time to move it to storage so I have.

When I began the project I had no idea how emotional it was going to be. I was just cleaning after all. No big deal.. Its almost as if I kept them all handy just in case he came home (or I woke up) and I could show him how loved and missed he was. But it hit me that he will never read the kind words.. he will never need his swim trunks or backpack again.. But its been nearly three years and its time for our bedroom to be ours again. Not a storage room. I will forever have the memorial table in the livingroom and I will keep the very special pesonal affects in the chest the Army had made for us.

I suppose I am doing this now because of a few reasons.. one is the New Year is upon us and I want to start it off fresh with a new attitude. Its time for me to fully focus on moving forward and stop hanging on to the pain…time to make my grief a companion and not a burden. Also my second oldest son got married a few days before Christmas. He and his wife have reminded me of the importance of seeking joy and hope. I know they will have struggles but I also know that struggles help us grow and appreciate the blessings in our lives all the more. Losing Micheal was and still is my hardest struggle.. but I need to focus on the blessings and lessons of it. Not just the pain of it.

So the bedroom is cleaned out.. and some of my daily reminders are packed away. The pain is still with me and always will be but the heavy burden of allowing it to clutter my life is some what lifted.

It Saddens Me Greatly

Knottie — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 04:21:49 +0000

On Nov.4^th 2010 Sgt. Jason James McCluskey gave his life in the line of duty. He was 26 years old. On Nov.13^th, 2010 his family and friends gathered to say their final farewells to him. His funeral should have been solemn occasion…It should have been a send off done with honor and dignity. But Westboro Baptist church showed up to protest and the counter protesters came to “protect” the family. The tires of Westboro Baptist church’s van were slashed, motorcycles revved to drown out the chants of WBC and Sgt McCluskey’s dignified farewell was turned into a protest war zone. And that saddens me greatly.. for him, for his family and for America.

Over the past few days I have read and heard great glee from people about the counter protest..But when I asked these people what was the soldier’s name they can’t answer… You see Sgt McCluskey was forgotten and lost in it all. It became a “Look what we did” travesty.

I’ve been the family who had to worry and wonder if the lunatics from Westboro would show up. (And yes they did show up but my town had an ordinance that required a protest permit 14 days in advance and they did not get perform their abuse on my family. It also lead them to find a State law around all similar local ordinances. ) I now wonder if the counter protesters behavior is any better. There is a core of people in these groups who understand that this is not a battle or a show it is about allowing the families to grieve in private and with dignity. But there is now a much larger element whom are just there to react to these lunatics. And in their reaction to Westboro Baptist Church they behave no better.

It’s shameful to have allow this young heroes funeral to become such a circus of bad behavior. So I am asking those who set out to “protect” the families of our Fallen Heroes in the future.. please ask yourself if you are responding in a dignified and honorable manner or are you just being the same kind of attention whore as Westboro Baptist church?

Rest in Peace Jason James McCluskey.. Take luck my Soldier son.. Someone remembers, Someone cares, Someone whispers your name in their prayers

My Companion… Grief

Knottie — Sun, 10 Oct 2010 05:42:33 +0000

She was no longer wrestling with the grief, but could sit down with it as a lasting companion and make it a sharer in her thoughts. ~George Eliot

I have spent over 2 and a half years reading quotes looking for that one pearl of wisdom that will make it ok. I read this quote some months ago and at that time I thought I had achieved this.. or something close to it. At least I presented to the world that I had and if you tell a lie enough you begin to believe it yourself. I at least realized that I needed to make my grief and hurt a companion because it will be with me for all my days. Lately though as I talk to other Gold Star parents and widows I wonder if this is truly possible.. can we make grief our companion? Does this hurt ever become something of a comfort to us? I have to wonder that if we ever stop hurting, does it mean we have forgotten? And if that is true should we not embrace the grief and its pain, make it our companion and find comfort in it on some level?

So here I sit at nearly 1 in the morning.. missing my son terribly and reading the comments of other mothers who are enduring the same pain for their own sons and daughters as my mind wonders to trying to find some possible answer to how to live with this never ending pain. Trying to find some words of comfort for them also and the I only conclusion I can come to is that we need to embrace the pain and grief. Find comfort in it and accept it as our companion. Let it share our thoughts and know that it will be with us always. And because the grief and pain is with us our love for the one we have lost is with us … they are with us and they too our companion and sharer of our thoughts.

Who Knew… 3 Years

Knottie — Fri, 08 Oct 2010 15:47:35 +0000

You can listen to some songs a 1000 times and then one day they hit you with a whole new meaning. I’ve mentioned this before but again it has happened to me.

While driving the song “Who Knew” by Pink came on the radio. “if someone said three years from now you’d be long gone I would stand up and punch them out cause their all wrong. Who knew..” “Count your blessings now before their all gone” and it hit me.

Three years ago today I hugged my son goodbye. It has been three years and it seems like only last week and forever ago we stood there him telling me not to cry he would be fine. And in that moment if anyone would have said in three years he would be gone from me I would have punched them out. I want that moment back so much. Not just for me but for my whole family. For Micheal.

Today I am trying to celebrate the times we had with Micheal. The laughter and joy he brought to our lives. I’m trying not to let the missing him overwhelm me. And as always he has orchestrated life to help me. Yesterday the Barracks sign made it home to his Strike family. It has taken almost two years but it’s where it belongs now. It’s as if the last piece of him is finally at peace and home.

“An Ugly Pair of Shoes”

Knottie — Mon, 06 Sep 2010 18:31:51 +0000

“An Ugly Pair of Shoes”

I am wearing a pair of shoes.
They are ugly shoes.
Uncomfortable Shoes.
I hate my shoes.
Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.
Yet, I continue to wear them.
I get funny looks wearing these shoes.
They are looks of sympathy.
I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
They never talk about my shoes.
To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
There are many pairs in the world.
Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
Some have learned how to walk in them so they don’t hurt quite as much.
Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by
before they think of how much they hurt.
No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
Yet, because of the shoes I am a stronger woman.
These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.
They have made me who I am.
I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child.

Author Unknown

Pokey and the Packers…

Knottie — Fri, 27 Aug 2010 01:24:08 +0000

Sitting here watching the Green Bay Packers play I can’t help but think about Micheal. The last night we spent with Micheal we watched the Packers play. Oct.7^th 2007 They played the Bears.. I can’t remember who won. I just remember he and his Dad and his brothers in my dad’s living room on the edge of the couch watching the game.

Many months later his team Leader Sgt W would tell me that during playoff in Jan. 08 he was up in the middle of the night alone watching TV..

“Hey Phillips, why aren’t you sleeping?”

“It’s the Packers”

As if that explained everything.

I laughed when the story was told me. I can see him alone in the TV room at the FOB in Iraq watching the playoff game.. yelling at the play. Micheal was such a huge Packer fan. I guess that comes from the years of living in Green Bay just a few blocks from Lambeau field. And I am sure watching them play was a connection to home for him.

Honestly there is not much in life that doesn’t in some way bring back a memory or remind me of Micheal but certain things really open the flood gates of emotions and make the emptiness and missing him palatable. Most of the time I can watch the Packers and be ok. Tonight however I miss Micheal very much. I wish he was here with me yelling at the TV and cheering the Packers on.

In an odd way watching the Packers play is a small connection to Micheal no one can ever take from me. Someday I will go back to Green Bay and watch the Packers play live. Not sure how but when I do I will find a way to honor Micheal and leave his mark on Lambeau field.

Go Pack Go.

Footnote:

It just occurred to me.. I am going to ask the Packers to all wear a rubberband on their wrist in memory of Pokey and all his Fallen brothers during one game this season.