Last Kiss (page 13 of Pieces of Me: Life of a Recovering Dysfunctional)

“Love is something eternal; the aspect may change, but not the essence.” — Vincent van Gogh

The big red numbers on the clock lit the room. Six thirteen a.m.; it was way too

early to call Angela. I rolled out of bed, shuffled to the bathroom, and turned on the
 
shower. As I stood waiting for the water to warm up, I wondered if I should write down

my dream. Would I remember it by the time I talked with her? Something told me I

would never forget it. As I drove to work, I replayed in my mind every detail. It was so

real. It had to be real.

But why would Charlie come to see me?

It had been six years since he passed away.

It was the first time anyone I truly cared about had passed. I was only 24 when he

died. He was just 26. His death shocked all our friends, but most of all it sent Angela

reeling. Charlie and Angie had been in love since they were 15. I don’t know if any of us

fully got over the loss of Charlie. I am not sure if Angie ever will.

When I got to work, I looked to see if my boss was in yet. I couldn’t wait to talk to

Angie. I couldn’t wait another minute. I sent her an email asking her to call me as soon

as she was free.

I let out a little laugh when my phone immediately rang.

“Angie?” I said.

“Yea what’s going on?”

“I had a dream last night.”

“Was it about Charlie?” she asked.

“Yes!” I said filled with excitement.

I knew it! It was too real. I knew it!

I asked her, “Did you dream about Charlie last night?”

 

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Check out Pieces of Me: Life of a Recovering Dysfunctional for the ending to this story and many more.

 

http://www.amazon.com/Pieces-Me-Recovering-Dysfunctional-Volume/dp/0615663222/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1377976480&sr=8-1&keywords=pieces+of+me+diana+lynn

 

Thank you for your service!

Do you ever just flip through the channels and randomly stop on a show you never watch? For some reason it just catches your eye. That happened to my husband yesterday. He stopped on a show neither of us watches, although we have passed by it many times.

Bomb Patrol, Afghanistan

It was scene after scene of these men blowing up roadside bombs. Some were blowing bombs up with remote control devices and some had to walk right up to the bomb to prepare it to be blown.

We watched one man balancing on the side of the cliff putting a device over a bomb to blow it up. It was pitch black. We couldn’t really see what he was doing we could only hear his breathing. I was frozen watching him.

He safely prepared the bomb and returned to the other’s waiting for him.

As he smiled he said, “That got real.”  Then he said, “I hope my mom doesn’t see that one.”

This is someone’s job. This is someone’s job! There is a mother out there that has a son that blows up bombs, in a different country, for a living. I cannot even begin to imagine what his family must feel on a daily basis. How do you adjust to that? I freak-out when my son goes to Seattle on a Saturday night.

I know. We all know that there are people risking their lives. I know we lose men & women in battle--in war often. But as I sat watching these men building devices to blow up bombs it really hit me what they risk and sacrifice every day.

I found myself saying, “This is sad.” “This show is sad.” “I feel sad.” “I don’t want to watch this anymore.”

I think now what made me sad was me. I’m sad I didn’t give them the respect, the care enough to think of these guys daily. To pray for them daily while they are over there and for their safe return. Heck, I couldn’t even stop on a show about the men & women working so hard for us overseas.

Of course, I would be thankful and I would think it’s terrible we are over there.

But. I get it now. I see it differently.

I am so truly grateful for what the service men & women do for this country. I am so truly appreciative of the families waiting for their children to come home.

A very heartfelt thank you!