Today, well, today, I purposefully drove to the reserve unit, apprehensive, but full of spirit. My girlfriends and fellow members of the MOMS club had a cookie exchange this morning, and each woman brought a new unwrapped toy to donate to Toys for Tots. Last year, the Marines that served with my brother came to the meeting and collected the toys, but this year, they were unable to be there. So, my girls and I delivered the donations to Forty Fort. The Marines there were nice. I said my brother's name and there was a sense of recognition that comforted me. The girls gave them cookies and they were appreciative.
The Gunnery Sgt was kind enough to take the girls to see the trucks that their uncle used to drive. I, well, I stood back, taking it all in. The sights and sounds. The smells. How they differed from that day. How life continues on while he lies sleeping. A strange feeling came over me. It wasn't the feeling of loss that I anticipated, instead, it was a feeling of calm. I knew that I was okay, that I am no longer suffering from the depression that my grief sent me into. I felt calm, knowledgeable of my space, but in tune with the moment, the now. I was given my brother's binder, a binder of documents and articles that pertain to Dennis. I found comfort in knowing that they were there.
But, it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. I spoke frankly with the GSgt. I told him of my disappointment, of my family's hurt at their hands. I shared with them the pain that they have caused my retired Marine father by failing to acknowledge my brother's death at any point after the 1st couple of months. No one has yet to call or write to my parents, acknowledging Dennis's death. He was the 1st and only Marine to have lost his life from that unit. My father expected more. He expected that Dennis would not be forgotten. I have been assured that in March of 2012, my father will receive a call. I hope that it won't have been "too long".
