We had a gold star mother get together today. It wouldn’t be right to call it a meeting. Even though we all joined the American Gold Star Mothers, we don’t actually have a meeting, we just talk.  We support each other. We understand each other in ways no one else can. We are good for each other.  

Today there were only three of us at this “meeting.” We met at a restaurant, ate, and talked. We talked about our sons, our brave, funny, wonderful sons. We talked about ourselves, about how we cope, how we survive, how we laugh, and how we cry. 

When people say your son is in a better place now, I say, “Why now? It’s too soon.” When people say “I understand how you feel,” I say, “No you don’t. No you don’t.” When people say, “Thank you for your son’s service,” I say, “It wasn’t me. If it had been up to me, he would still be alive.”  When people say, “There was a reason he died, we can’t understand God’s plan,” I say, “There can’t possibly be a plan that would make the world better with Luke not in it.” 

It is often said that time heals all wounds.  Whoever said that or repeats that, has never lost a child.  The wound gets no better.  It gets no less painful. You just learn to continue your life around the hole, because you have no choice. You are not the same person you were before, but you learn all over again how to breathe, how to talk about other things, how to think about other things, and, yes, how to laugh. (Although laughing often makes you feel guilty.) You have a new normal.

Life and time are measured with a new yardstick. Things happened either before or after Luke was killed. And, make no mistake, he was killed. We did not lose him, we always knew (still do) where he was. He did not pass away, he was ripped from this life violently.  

I still miss Luke. I miss him more than ever. I miss his laugh, the sound of his voice, his grin, his smell, his sense of humor, his intelligence, his sense of what is right, his horrible singing voice, his hug, his irritability in the morning, and even his slobbishness. Sometimes when the phone rings, I still expect to hear his voice. 

Please check the web site I created to remember my Luke.