The Neverending Lori: ...and then everything changed.

I think that everyone, at some point in their life, will remember a defining moment; that moment in time where everything changed, and from then on you thought of things in terms of "before" and "after" that defining moment. This week (the irony of the timing is NOT lost on me) I watched as someone walked from "before" to "after" and I couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness and regret for him as I watched the exact moment happen.

Imagine, if you will, the moment JUST BEFORE you find out someone dear to your life has died. You are happy, carefree, enjoying the day...just as you should be. With a smile on your face, you get into the car, only to notice the anguish on your Mom's face. It is there, in that moment that the car door closes and you notice her face, that you change from "before" to "after". Then you hear the words that your Dad has died. Your Dad, who you gave a cheerful "Goodbye" to just hours before as you headed off for school...and now, he's gone.

..."before" has become "after"...

I watched this moment unravel and felt a knot in my stomach. In my mind, I could see my messy, cluttered home office. I could see my scattered desk, and the screens attached to my computer. I could hear the phone ring, and then Amber's voice choking out the words telling me that there had been an accident in Afghanistan and Schuyler was dead.

..."before" has become "after"...

I watched the car drive away, with passengers that were formerly wife and son, but who now were also widow and the kid whose Dad died too young.

..."before" has become "after"...

In my mind I then saw myself on our front steps...outside of the house so that my urge to scream didn't escape and wake a sleeping baby. Guttural...that is the first time that word ever crossed my mind to describe a scream, but that is the kind of scream that welled up inside of me, fighting to escape. The phone rang again and caller ID showed me that it was my Mom. I hit the button to answer and tried to choke out "Hello" but something else came out. I think it was part of the guttural scream lurking inside, but I quickly reined it in. "You know....someone called" she said, through her own sobs. Somehow I said that yes, I knew, and Jeff was on his way home, and I'd call her later. We hung up and I lost it.

The pain of "after" seemed like it would never end, never lessen. But, healing does happen, even in the most horrific of circumstances. I have seen that and experienced that, so when someone close to my faces a loss, I tell them that it WILL get easier, and it WILL become less raw. You WILL get to a place that talking about your person doesn't make you cry, and you can laugh about the great times you shared. You can get there. Now, that's not to say that there aren't times that you want to cry, or even scream. You will, but the day-to-day perspective that you carry on the tragedy can make a world of difference in your healing.

I don't "go" to that day, or the days that followed, often. I prefer to go to the days on the beach, at the cabin, sitting around a fire pit and drinking a few beers. I prefer to remember the smiles, not the tears. I prefer to keep you a part of my life today and always, and to remember your smile, your dedication, your bravery, and your mischievousness. I love to tell people about you...how you could charm the habit off of a nun (or the skirt off of the Bud-Light girl), how you loved to joke but were a very serious, very brave soldier. I love to tell people how you LOVED deeply...you always said "Love you" when you ended a phone call or visit, and gave HUGE hugs. I will never question that you loved your family or that you had any doubt how we felt about you. You were here too short of a time, but the time we had was simply grand.

Today I share some of my favorite photos...enjoy!