the things you will never forget. ever.

The human brain is an incredible thing.  How we remember.  What we remember.  It's pretty amazing to me.  There is incredible power our sensory, nonverbal memories and how images, scents, tacticle sensations, and sounds are embedded in our minds (and as a result our hearts and our lives).  These memories are stored in subcortical regions of our brain, primitive parts that aren't under conscious control and have no linguistic representation.  For individuals who have experienced trauma, often integration of these visceral, powerful emotional memories with language does not adequately occur and problems ensue.  Okay, enough defensive intellectualization. . .

There are images, sounds, sensations, and smells that I have catalogued in the last ten days that I will carry with me for the rest of my life. I arrived in Colorado yesterday for Dave's funeral.  Philip accompanied Dave the final part of the journey from Dover to Colorado yesterday.  I know that the next 48 hours will be filled with some of the most intense, emotional experiences that have been a part of my life narrative to-date.  But I'll start here.  Where I'm at.  Today.

I will never forget seeing the sun begin to set over the Rockies as the door to the plane was lowered.
I will never forget how the sun was directly in my eyes.
I will never forget the image of Philip stepping out of the plane.
I will never forget the sound of the metal slats being put in place for the casket to be lowered from the plane.
I will never forget the horrific horrific sight of watching Philip saluting Dave as his flag-drapped casket was lowered from the plane.  Never.
I will never forget the feeling of that first sob in my gut the moment I saw the flag.
I will never forget how for a long time the colors red, white, and blue came into and out of focus as tears streamed down my cold cheeks.
I will never forget the image of standing three feet behind Dana as she watched her husband's body be lowered from the plane.
I will never forget the sound of her cries.
I will never forget the sound of the shoes of the honor guard as they carried the casket to the Humvee.
I will never forget the image of Dave's parents walking over to the casket.
I will never forget the high-pitched sound of Dave's stepfather's sobbing as he leaned his head against the wooden box that held his son.  Parents are not supposed to bury their children in wooden boxes.
I will never forget the sight of looking to my right and to my left and seeing tears almost frozen on the faces of uniformed service members standing at attention.
I will never forget the image of hundreds of service members standing at attention along the path from the flight line to the base exit as we drove away in the motorcade yesterday.
I will never forget the haunted, exhausted look I witnessed on my husband's face last night.
I will never forget being alone in a room with Philip and Dave before they closed the casket.
I will never forget that horrified feeing.
I will never forget seeing my husband's combat patches on the uniform of a dead soldier laying in a casket.
I will never forget the picture of Dave's wedding ring over his white gloves.
I will never forget the feeling of my husband's arms around me as we stood and cried next to Dave.

I have stood at Philip's side and heard over and over and over the incredible thing that he has done the last 10 days as he has escorted Dave back from theater and been at Dana's side.  Every time Philip responds the same way:  He would have done the exact same thing for me.  There are no words what it is like to continually process and participate in this conversation, but it is real and it is necessary.  And there is no denying how easily this could have been us.

Philip has shared how on the flight to GE as he leaned against the casket and spent time with Dave how he could very vividly visualize himself in Dave's place and Dave bringing him home.  Philip would have traded places with Dave in an instant.  Without hesitation.  He wishes he could have.  And that's really really really complicated.  And painful.  But as real as it gets.