it doesn't get easier

It's not an easy subject to talk about. Death. More specifically, death of a loved one. I wish I could say that I can count the funerals I've attended on one hand.,but the number off the top of my head is more than I can count on both. Over half of those have been family members. And here is the one conclusion I've come to: it never gets easier. We go through the exact same emotions. 

The initial shock.

The overwhelming sadness.

The 'did I's (i.e. Did I tell ___ that I love them?)

The regret for anything mean or rude you may have ever said to that person.

The reality of the situation.

The hole in the heart that can never be replaced.

Most of the time, to go along with that last one, you at least get closure. To say your final goodbyes. To kiss them one last time. Sometimes, you get stuck in a situation like we're in. 'Not immediate family'. Really? So because this person isn't my spouse, child, parent, sibling or grandparent.. we can never have closure. At least not with the rest of the family, the way it was intended to be. Instead, we will hold our own memorial here. Thank you, Army.

This morning around 6am, Chris's phone kept ringing. Mine was in the other room, so I had no idea mine had been ringing, too. I made Chris get up and answer it, but I knew something was wrong. Nobody ever calls us back to back unless something is. Unfortunately, we've experienced a lot of those back to back calls since we've been away from home. It was his mom. He started crying. I could tell it was what I didn't want to hear - someone else had passed away. He was able to choke out to me who it was, but that was about it. I knew we wouldn't be able to go, but I held on to a tiny hope that someone would feel compassionate enough to let us. No Red Cross messages will be going through today. Because an Uncle is not 'immediate' family. 

Last year, I sat here writing a blog about our emergency leave to spend a few days with Grandpa Don before we said our final goodbyes. It was one of my most viewed blogs. Now I sit here, almost a year later, writing about how we can't say our final goodbyes to his son, Chris's uncle, Conner's great uncle.. someone who has made us angry at times, laugh at others. Someone who supported Chris's decision about the Army, even though it was initially hard for him to accept. Someone that we have to find a way to honor since we are not allowed to go home. He would have been pissed with the Army. I can practically hear him ranting right this minute. Okay, seriously, I just cracked a smile. It's hard to imagine him angry. I've never really seen him angry. 

When I had Conner, he was one of the first ones to start telling me stories about Chris being little and how Conner was doing a lot of the things that he used to do. He'd show me pictures when we'd come visit and play with Conner until we had to go. There are two things I will continue to remember him by: his genuine love for his family and... the leg lamp from 'A Christmas Story'. :) Smiling yet? You should be. This is a celebration of life, not a goodbye in death. Or as we in the military like to call it, 'see you later'.

I currently have 2 tabs open. This one and Facebook. Open to yours. I didn't realize you had so many pictures with Conner. It's weird to watch him grow up in your arms. You were more than just his uncle. You were someone he remembered every time. Some people he'd have to warm up to. Not you. He knew his Uncle Kenny the instant he saw you. I know he won't understand it right now, but the next time we go home, he'll be so heartbroken to not get to see you. But he'll be able to keep your memory alive through all of these pictures from over the years.

the first time you got to meet each other:

Conner's first Christmas:

our last visit to Illinois:

Like I mentioned before, this is a celebration of life. You never ran out of funny stories to tell us in the short amounts of time we were able to visit. You were there for Christopher and for Conner (and me!). For that, I can never be thankful enough. We'll miss you more with every day that passes. Thank you for all the smiles and laughs that will eventually turn into wrinkles on my face. Until then.. we love you, Uncle Kenny!