My Honorable Veteran

This is my precious Harry's story of over 60 years ago. I love to hear stories of the past, and he indulges me by telling things over and over. This is a good day to post it on the blog, the day our country is honoring the wonderful soldiers who keep us free.

I told Harry this needed to be recorded and he asked me to write it down. Here's what I wrote for him and he approved of it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Not everyone understands why I love Harry S. Truman. But they weren't with me when I was with Patton's 3rd Army in 5 battle zones in the European Theater during WW II. And they weren't there when we entered concentration camps deserted by the Germans who left starving, tortured, and dying prisoners.
This is my story: I was in England when the sky filled with planes headed southeast, and we all knew the invasion had begun. I landed at Normandy 12 days later. And my work began throughout France, Belgium, and Germany.
V-E Day brought me orders to join another army in the Pacific, but I was allowed a 30 day leave state side before deployment.
I did what had held my heart together the past almost 2 years. I went home and married my sweetheart, Jane.
We married July 28, 1945 and the evening of August 6 Jane tearfully took me to the train station. I was leaving for an undetermined length of time to serve in the South Pacific. In the station we over heard people talking about an atom bomb being dropped.
We didn't know what that meant. And at the time, we didn't care. We were too bereaved by our separation, and the uncertainty of our future.
It wasn't too many days afterward the information of what the A-bomb had accomplished came to light. My deployment to the Pacific was put on hold.
And then the war was over!
So, instead of continuing in the war in the Pacific, I was discharged October 13, 1945 after serving freedom and my country.

And in this free country I began my wonderful life.
Thank you, President Truman, for your courage that ended the war sooner rather than later.
That's why I love Harry S. Truman.

My Mother's Birthday

Today my mother would have been 92.
I think of her a lot, and am grateful for what she gave me. I honor her memory today by publishing part of a letter I sent after her death to her three best friends in Chilton, Wisconsin: Edna (since grade school at First German Lutheran Church in Manitowoc, Wisconsin),
Eleanor (since the 1950's through St. Martin Lutheran Church in Chilton, Wisconsin), and
Gwen (a neighbor since 1950).

Dear Edna, Eleanor, and Gwen, my mother's best friends,

................ Mother's things are gone (much of it taken by us family and integrated into our nests), and her house is sold to Rick Jaeckels. The closing will be around Dec. 6. It is hard for all of us to let go of the family homestead. But one thing that comforts me is that Rick told the realtor, "I gotta have that sign over the back door." That corny sign means a lot to all of us, and it was a warming thought to think that the new owner liked it and plans to keep it up. Made me think this was the right buyer.

It seems to have happened so fast, and it is easy to think--it wasn't fair, it wasn't right. But it was. It was fair and it was right. And it was total blessing for my mother to have been able to walk out of her precious home of 52 years. Having had a rapid leaving of this world into the arms of her Lord and Savior has the down side for us who have to adapt quickly. But for her, it has the blessing of not having to live with suffering the losses of home, independence, mind, and all else that goes with the move out of the family home. Eleanor, you in particular know what I mean much more than I know what I mean.

Whenever I feel upset and shocked at how fast this all went I just remind myself of the blessing it was for Mother. My cousin Carol in England said it so well about the peace I sometimes feel. She said, "There is something comforting, and something that offers a sense of completion, when we know our parents are together again." I know my mother missed Dad a lot. I believe he waited for her, and helped her find her way to where she was going. I know Mother loved Jesus, but she had lived with Dad. She knew the sound of his breathing and his talking, knew his personal habits and ways, knew which section of the newspaper he wanted first, knew which guests on Johnny Carson made him laugh the loudest, knew every inch of his body, and together with him created life. I think that God knew that, for Mother, being with Dad would be heaven and so He sent Dad to be her greeter, with Tom close behind.

I remember for a couple years after Dad died Mother would tell me about dreams she had where she would be driving along and see Dad on the sidewalk. She would pull over and get out, trying to reach him, but people would be in the way and by the time she struggled to the spot, he would be gone.

This time he was there. And there was no struggle. So, I send these thoughts to you three to bind you with me in the grief we all feel, to remember the promise of eternal life, and to recognize that in eternal life we will be reunited with those we love who have gone home before.

Mom told Dad as he died, she promised him, that she would live a good life, close to Jesus, so she could come and be with him in heaven when she died.
I promised her the same.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

November 6, 1915
A special day in my history.
A day God blessed me with a Christian mother.

My 20th Anniversary!

[My precious mother, Florence M. Meyer on her wedding day, and shortly before she died in 2002.]

Today I turn 20.
20 years clean and sober at the warm, healing tables of AA.
I have gained so much in these 20 years.....so much peace, satisfaction, and lack of the angst that trailed along behind me like a puppy on a leash most of my early life.
That's gone.
And I am blessed.
And it isn't about not drinking. No. It is about learning to live sober, putting my life in the hands of the Higher Power who I choose to call God, and understanding my purpose in life.
It is about letting go and letting God, and understanding that even as I take my last breath on this earth, I will be learning and growing.
And all of this is built on what my mother taught me.
Due to multigenerational dysfunction (and all families have it) my mother and I played ours out in an unhealthy, enmeshed relationship that I tried all of my adult life to extricate myself from. I was never successful until the final hours of her life.
It was on her death bed that I healed from my wounds.
It was on her death bed that I released her from hers.
This is how it worked: My 87 year old mother, who had lived at home independently until 3 days before her death, was unconscious and couldn't move, and wasn't able to get away from the truths of my feelings, and wasn't able to change the subject, divert the topic away from what I needed to say, which had been her style.
It went through my head......I've got her now! She has to listen!
And I told her I was going to tell her what was in my heart. All of it. And I said a little prayer for God to put the words in my mouth that needed to be said. I started to speak.
What came to me was to tell her the things I would remember about her, and then what came to my lips surprised and delighted me.
I first remembered how she had rescued my 8th Grade 4-H sewing project. And that set the tone. The memories that came flooding into words from out of my heart were of wonderful, happy times she gave me, times of fun, joy, and sacrifice.
At the end of this speaking for about an hour, which had lapsed into hymns known by heart that she taught me, and Bible verses she taught me including Luke 2, I stopped and thought a moment. Do I want to finally, finally, finally tell her about how she hurt me?
And what came to my mind was I want to tell her that I forgive her.
After all, she was wounded too, just a product of her life, and the multigenerational dysfunction of our lives.
So all I said was this: Mother, I forgive you for any wrong you ever did to me.
After I said that, I realized I didn't need to say more about what that wrong had been.
No need.
It was done.
And then that small, still voice that I choose to call the Holy Spirit whispered to me the next words of my heart and I spoke them to my mother: And I know, Mom, that you forgive me for all the wrong I ever did to you too.
That was the big Amen!
What a healing. My grief process after her death was normal, natural, healthy, and progressed to peace.
But,
that's not the end of the story.
For life, after all is process, and the process doesn't end while we are on earth.....maybe not after either. We have to wait to find that out :)
Recently I have been attending 12 Steps for Christians, as well as my Saturday Morning Eye Opener AA meeting. It is a wonderful group of human growth in Christian love.
So many of the people present are "born again."
And I have never felt that way. Born again.
Last week during the meeting I had another ah-ha experience that builds on the foundation of my peace with my mother. I explained it this way to the group at the meeting:
I was Born Again at my baptism when I was a couple weeks old, and then I acknowledged that at my confirmation ceremony. I have never felt away from God, even in my drinking years I prayed and knew God was with me. That's how I found sobriety. You see, I had a mother who taught me that I am Jesus's little lamb. And I believed it because she believed it. And it has been proven again and again as I realize how God has done for me what I could not do for myself. That has made all the difference in my life. My mother didn't give me what I wanted, that is true. But she gave me what I needed--the most important gift she could have given me; the knowledge that I am Jesus's little lamb.
And I still am.
And always well be.
Just a stranger here, heaven is my home.
My mother's faith, her bringing Jesus into everything (which drove me nuts, but always being forced to think of her words to take Jesus along has saved me from a few really bad things) I found this wonderful life into which I have been "born again."
I didn't know my purpose when I was drinking. I read all those self help books of the 70's and 80's, took psychology courses, but just couldn't find the answers to my existential search.
I thought my search had to do with being happy. What, oh what would make me happy? That's what I needed to pursue. Getting sober (because that's the blessed journey chosen for me and for which I am grateful) and being exposed to the wonderful people who are trying to live life by the 12 Steps has taught me that happiness is not the goal.
The goal is: Become the person God means me to be.
Sometimes that is a lot of work. Sometimes that means going against the grain. Sometimes that means pain. But it always means growth.
And,
this is the good part,
living the right kind of life has created the byproduct of happiness!
Ah-ha! Don't search for happiness. Happiness is the byproduct of living the right kind of life!
How simple.
Yet hard.
And all of this,
all of this
if one traces back the path of my life, goes to this:
A young woman with her little girl on her lap teaching her that she is Jesus's little lamb.
Today, my 18th Anniversary of Sobriety, I honor my mother, Florence M. Meyer, her lessons, her life, her gifts to me. Mom, you did well. Thank you for being my angel on this earth.
When I die, I can't wait to sit on your lap again!