Hearing my son's voice for the first time in months couldn't have come at a better time. He was finally home and I was with 15 warriors in Utah with the Wounded Warrior Project Odyssey.   The experience provided me with a rare opportunity to connect with 15 warriors and 4 staff members at the National Ability Center in Park City, Utah.  The experience changed me as a therapist and as a Blue Star parent.  My son told me once that some stories can never be told.  The divide between the civilian and military population is  too wide.  I took in  his statement at the time and I honored it, but I have a deeper understanding for it now.  I came home a little quieter, with an expanded appreciation of what it takes for a member of the military to walk into my office or meet for a "walk and talk" and "process" his or her experiences.   I hear things a little differently now and my  role as a military parent and a civilian  is now clearer than ever.

This deployment continues to drag on and on.  The promise was "this will be a short one mom".  I suppose it was his way of shielding me from the truth.  He's become quite good at that as the deployments come faster and last longer than ever before. I'll be leaving in less than 12 hours on a plane to Utah to provide services as a therapist to the Wounded Warrior Project Camp Odyssey. Adventure Programming will be the push that I need to get out of my comfort zone. It will make me feel good to do something with my skill set and allow me to learn from my new teachers............................the warriors themselves.  Adventure programs are effective because they utilize personal development and growth through experiential learning. The warriors will be coached to set goals and create action plans.  A social worker's dream.

During the spring months as I watch the tulips come up in my neighborhood, nature reminds me that this is a time for renewal.  During Critical Incident Debriefings, and in my office over the years, the newly bereaved have stated to me that even before their loved one died, they experienced a stillness and emptiness in the air or felt it in their body.  Even more profound is their description of a strange disconnect from the usual  comfort that they carried by being in a "soulful" partnership with another human being.   Many years ago as I sat and watched a Blue's game with my best friend, who was also my peer on a hospice team, we both experienced a bolt of cold air that our seat mates did not feel.  We looked at each other and said "whoa, what was that?" and asked those sitting in front and to the left and right of us if they felt the same wind.  They did not.  2 minutes later her phone rang and she was informed by the hospice  nurse that her patient had just died.  As we called her a cab so that she could retrieve her car and provide grief services to the family, we stood there on the street silent.  This was one of many signs that we had experienced in our years as hospice social workers and we knew it would not be the last.
I am a believer in "the next place".  I believe that even in death in the theater of war that the dying person has that moment of peace where they are enveloped with the loving arms of comfort and peace that their higher power provides them so that they are given the safe passage forward that they so deserve.  These last two weeks, military families have experienced many losses at home and in the Middle East.   May their memories be a blessing to all of us and may their families someday find renewal and hope.