In Memory of LCpl Jason L. Frye

Half a Decade

2010-10-07T00:20:00.004-04:00

Today is October 6, 2010.

It's been five years. Half a decade.

And it's been a long time since I ventured back here, to this place of memories and photographs. Stories and dreams. It's a reminder of who I once was and how the life of one person can truly influence the life of another.

Five years feels much longer than it really is... as I grow older, I realize that there are two simple things I wish for everyday.

First, I wish with all my heart that I hadn't broken my leg at Marine Corps OCS.

Second, of course, I wish that Jason hadn't died. Simple as that.

God knows how I miss you.

God's hand

2009-03-03T21:28:00.009-05:00

I was part of a miracle today.

What a special emotion, to feel so deeply connected to God - and nothing else - for a small but divine moment. That's what I felt today. In a moment where no reason could explain the circumstances except the hand of God.

I had an appointment at the local VA hospital today, set for 0800 in the morning. I have long anticipated this appointment, scheduled since December, when I would finally have a chance to speak with a doctor about my leg and (hopefully) straighten out my medical paperwork. It was just a check-up, involving an x-ray and a consult with an orthopedic surgeon.

As an aside, the VA Healthcare System employs a lot of really great people, and I've met many of them by now, but the system itself is terribly frustrating. I usually wait several hours after the scheduled appointment time before I actually see my doctor. Although I had the option to go elsewhere, I chose to become an outpatient at the VA so that I would have the opportunity to interact with veterans. Certainly been a learning process, which I appreciate. I am praying now, possibly more than ever, that the U.S. military is an organization with enough talent on the battlefield to make up for its absurd paperwork scheme.

So now I'm finally becoming used to the VA routine. I had an x-ray of my leg first thing this morning, then was sent back up to the waiting room of the ortho clinic. I came dressed in sweats and a hoodie. Not trying to stand out, I wore no indication that I ever had anything to do with the military. Just gray pants and a college sweatshirt. For the x-ray, however, I had swapped my sweatpants for gym shorts that had the letters "USMC" on my left thigh. I stuck with the shorts when I finally made it back to the ortho clinic, but after a slightly depressing x-ray experience decided to purposefully cover the USMC letters with my arm while I lounged in the waiting room. As much as I love speaking with Marine vets and others about my experience, I just wasn't feeling it this morning. The x-ray tech had suggested I consider removing the metal parts in my leg because they could be interfering with my bone marrow and blood production. I'm trying to avoid a second surgery as much as possible, so I wasn't thrilled by his suggestion.

So I sat quite sadly in that waiting room, deliberately covering the symbol of my military connection. At some point I must have been distracted and changed sitting positions without realizing I was now revealing my USMC identity to the world. A man walked past and said simply, "Marines?"... I replied, "Yes," without really looking up at the man now standing beside me.

He said, "I've got two of my own," and seemingly from nowhere pulled out a long-lived wallet, flipping it open to reveal two small photographs side-by-side. I first noticed the female Marine, on the right, then glanced at the brother Marine, on the left. Both were in their formal pose in USMC dress blues.

"I know him." ... oh God. "I know him." I repeated softly, my interior suddenly void and my brain stupefied. I knew that Marine.

I looked up then into the friendly eyes of a strong but confused face.

"He was killed in Iraq in 2005," said the stranger with the beloved wallet photos.

"I know. My boyfriend was killed with him." I couldn't believe it.

"Who's your boyfriend?"... "Jason Frye."

"Oh my God." ... "Are you Pat's dad?"... "Yes".

At that moment - the Godly moment - I stood up and embraced this man. He had started to extend a hand to me, but I threw my arms around his big dad shoulders without hesitation. And then the tears came.

I have not cried so freely or purely in years. Such a blessing, to feel complete peace and grace in tears. Genuine disbelief ... but FAITH. Sweet Jesus... oh the gift you gave me today.

LCpl Patrick Kenny was among the four Marines killed in the humvee explosion on October 6, 2005 near Fallujah, Iraq. He grew up in the Pittsburgh area in a solid Irish Catholic family and was one of Jason's closest friends in the Marine Corps. I had even spoken with Pat once over the phone just before the boys left on their deployment - what was Pat's second and Jason's first.

Today I found his father. Or rather, he found me.

I met the Kenny family in 2006 at a memorial service at Camp Lejeune, when the entire battallion honored the lives of their fallen Marines, Jason and Patrick among them. Under those circumstances, we did not have much of an opportunity to learn each others' stories beyond the shared death of our boys. But I could easily recognize how special Pat's family is, even then.

I felt so comforted today to be embraced by a father who understood my suffering - had even shared in it. I cried without knowing I was going to - and the tears came from a place inside of me that hasn't been open in a very long time. This October it will be four years since they died.

Mr. Kenny and I talked then, for what must have been an entire hour. It was phenomenal just to hear about how his family is today - how their lives have changed and moved forward but still remembered since that day. He seemed equally happy to hear my story... he nor any other member of the October 6th family - all persons impacted by the events of that day - knew that I had joined the Marine Corps myself. What a neat gift to be able to share my story with him, a father of two Marines and veteran of the 82nd Airborne who injured his back after jumping out of planes.

How small is this Godly world we live in? How sacred the gift I received and shared today - the knowledge that God is real, truly real. No other explanation suffices. If I had not joined the Corps, selected Pitt Law School, broken my leg at OCS, chosen to become a VA patient, scheduled the x-ray and follow-up for March 3, 2009 at 0800, removed my sweatpants to reveal my USMC gym shorts...I never would have crossed paths with this man today. A man who immediately became part of my family when the very lives of our Marines came together in friendship so many years ago.

The hand of God is so powerful. So incredibly powerful. I believe in miracles like this one, and I fully rejoice in them.

I don't think I will ever forget the quietness of the instant in which I met eyes with the picture of LCpl Patrick Kenny. The world truly stood still when I saw that photograph. I pray that I can recall the feeling of this gift for the rest of my life.

I also believe that today two very special Marines took a break from guarding the streets of heaven to watch as God connected two very grateful souls.

Happy 23rd Birthday Jason

2009-02-01T17:49:00.004-05:00

Jason is 23 years old. It's been almost 4 since he died. Hard to believe.

The world - my world - has changed so much since then. I've grown seemingly a thousand years older. I sometimes wonder if I would have been this way - the person I am now - if he hadn't died on October 6, 2005. And then I'm a little sad to know that I wouldn't be. I'm better because of his life, and I'm better because of his death.

I've certainly gotten older. I'm almost 23 myself. I know that by any real measure of age, that's not very old. But look in the eyes - the eyes tell a person's real 'age'. How many times their spirit was tested, their heart was broken. I think my eyes must look pretty tired sometimes...but I know that I am an optimist. So I hope my eyes still have a little shine to them.

What I want more than anything in this life is to be a mother and wife. Since Jason died I've met all kinds of people... good, bad, the whole gamut. From all over the nation and beyond our borders. I've made countless friends in that time, too. But I'm afraid I'll never again meet someone who is good enough, who can even compare. And I feel bad that whoever he is, if he exists, he'll know that I hold him against a very high standard. Jason set that standard. Why put someone through that conscious comparison?

My dream of being a wife and mother - will it ever come true? I know I'm young but it's a worry of mine. That it just won't happen because God already gave me my chance for that type of love. It's come and gone - the best love I'll ever have. A part of me, even if I find someone someday, will always be a little spoiled by a love from long ago. I don't want to ever have to settle. Jason told me he didn't want me to ever settle - but he thought I'd be 'settling' with him. Sweet Jesus the man was humble. I worry like this... then I decide (with a sad smile, but still a smile) that it's okay. If that was my chance, and I missed it, it's okay. I've learned there are ways to impact this world beyond being a wife and mother. That just happens to be the way I want to do it, but maybe God has a different plan. And that's okay with me. Somewhat reluctantly, I admit that God's plan is a lot better than mine. And I want to get to Heaven - I have to! Some folks are waitin' on me up there.

I can't remember Jason very well, unless I really sit down and concentrate on it. I hate that I can't remember, but I think my heart just healed that way. I sometimes imagine that I have the chance to talk to him - to see him, as if he was really held captive all this time and will just walk into my law school classroom looking a little dirty and tired but wondering where I am so he can hug me. How strange would it be to suddenly see someone you love after accepting and moving on from their death?

Every once in a while I realize how special he is. No matter who I meet, there is no Jason except him. God didn't bless the earth twice in that way. Just once - just one Jason.

Now that I'm older and a more than a little wiser, I appreciate him. And I want him. I see pictures of him and recall how handsome he was. I think of what a great daddy he would be, and what a fun neighbor he would be in our community. We'd host cookouts and coach youth soccer or something. He'd take our kids fishing really early in the morning on the first day of trout season. And I'd pack the lunches and come along to take photographs. Jason is the type of young man every good father silently prays will fall in love with his daughter. And Jason did.

One of my fears... if he hadn't died, I'd be a lesser person...and so would I have appreciated him enough to hold on to him - to never let him go? I'm afraid I wouldn't have realized what a special gift I had in having his heart. But there is a small part of me - the everlasting hopeful part - that thinks I would have come around sooner or later and really understood the gift, in due time.

Every once in a while I stop the busy life I lead as a full-time student, in a world where nobody knows what turmoil I went through not too long ago in losing someone I love so much. Even my closest friends don't know, save a small few. People can tell I'm different, I know that much. They can tell I think carefully and love people - just love them, in a faithful genuine way. Even if I told them what happened to Jason, to me, our families, it wouldn't make much difference. I could never describe it to do it justice; the experience was so raw in a way that even I can't bring myself to feel it again.

I miss Jason. I miss him all the time, if I slow down long enough to consider it all. But on his birthday weekend I really truly missed him and wished he was still alive. How different these last four years would have been had he not died that day. I don't cry, but I hope he's still here with me.

Happy Birthday, Jason.

I wonder who you'd be today... I wonder who I'd be today.

Three Year Anniversary

2008-10-05T23:26:00.003-04:00

I don't expect anyone but me, Jason, and God to find this post. It's been so long since I ventured to pour my heart here. My life has changed a thousand ways since February 2007, and probably a hundred thousand ways since October 6, 2005.

I would say that I am a 'different person' because of my Jason experience, but I'm not. I'm just the person I was destined to be. God had this all planned out from the moment I was born... that I would fall in love with a childhood friend and young Marine just before his first and last deployment to a war that I simply could not appreciate at such an age. Nineteen years old was so young, compared to my life just three years later. So much has happened since then.

I graduated from Cornell in May 2008. Summa cum laude. With distinction in research. The whole nine yards, as far as academics go. I had a hard time leaving Cornell. I realize now it was difficult for me to leave the place where I had been when Jason died. I cried in an empty dorm room there...watched for signs from God and Jason there. But I made a lot of happy memories there too. Even happy Jason memories, although he never actually set foot on campus.

On President's Day 2008 I joined the Marine Corps. I really did. It was the most difficult decision of my young life. Without a doubt the hardest choice I will ever make. I knew what to expect ... I knew that I too could die in uniform. I finally took the leap and signed the paperwork. I wanted to be a United States Marine.

And it wasn't even because of Jason. Not really. Not in the way so many people assumed it must be. I joined for me. It was my dream. My very own dream. I wanted to contribute to something greater than myself. I joined for the reasons you can't put into words very well - the reasons every Marine seems to understand, even if he doesn't agree himself. I would never have known the Marine Corps had Jason not introduced me to it, but I didn't join for him. I joined for his Marines. I want to improve the lives of Marines and their families... and I know, darn well, that God gave me the talent and dedication to do it.

It was a surreal experience. Truly surreal. A week after my Cornell graduation my parents dropped me off at Marine Corps Base Quantico, Virginia. I wore proper civilian attire - a black polo shirt tucked into khaki pants. Shoes matched my belt, hair was in a bun, but I was as sloppy as any young female civilian trying to prove she was braver than she thought. I was so nervous I couldn't speak to the troop handler who asked me if I was 'prior service.' Apparently I had the look of a Marine well before I ever put on the uniform. Not too many compliments I'd rather receive.

I was an Officer Candidate at Quantico for five and a half weeks out of the ten week program. It was challenging, but I did it. I succeeded. I was a good candidate, destined to graduate on August 9th with my platoon.

I broke my right leg on the Combat Course. A lifetime of year round athletics and I never even sprained an ankle... but I knew right away my leg was broken. My entire leg was numb from just above the knee to my toes. Couldn't feel any pain, but I started crying anyways... I didn't want to go home.

I worked hard for 2 years to prepare myself for OCS. It took that long to get that good. And I wasn't even great. All of it gone in a second.

It's strange to recall my memories of OCS. We had uniform fittings on multiple occasions, and I remember thinking to myself, "I have a feeling I'll never actually get to wear this uniform." Like I was expecting it to glow or something when I put it on for the first time. It didn't.

I'm now a law student in Pittsburgh. Talk about a change of pace. I went from a rigorous Ivy League academic workload to sleepness nights of severe bronchitis and chilly chow halls to hospital surgery wards to criminal law textbooks in a matter of months. Needless to say, it's been a long year.

I have a metal rod in my leg now, the length of my tibia. And three pins. Strange to think that I have more hardware than the good Lord started me out with, but so it goes. I am not sure if I will ever make it back to Quantico to finish what I started. In my heart of hearts, I would love to finish and carry on with my dream. But it's a tough row to hoe. Probably worse the second time around, with full knowledge of the sufferings yet to be endured.

I could write a book on my OCS experience. So much has happened since Jason died. I got so close to the Corps that he died for. Every day of training I thought of him. Asked him to help me through it. Rolled the sleeves and laced the boots he once wore as a fellow Marine. Sounded off to Gunnery Sergeants who probably somehow know the Marines he served with.

Tomorrow marks three years to the day since Jason was killed in Iraq. I sat here listening to my Jason music and looking through photographs that I dare only view a few times a year. They have to seem "new" to me for the rest of my life.

It's a good life, but it is not nearly the one I expected for myself. No one in it understands where I've been and where I'm going, but I find comfort in knowing that I'll never be alone.

Shedding Thanks

2007-02-28T21:29:00.000-05:00

I cried today for the first time in a long time. I've become emotionally hardened in the last 17 months. The only time I seem to weep anymore is when I'm amazed by God's grace. Not such a terrible outcome - to cry only with gratitude for blessings.

Today I mailed letter #109 to LCpl Brandon Frazer. He is stationed in Iraq with a Marine recruited by Jason a few years ago. Their tour is in the home stretch, and I am certain that this Marine especially is looking forward to being reunited with his fiancee, who is also a very very dear childhood friend of mine. My relationship to each of these individuals is evidence of God's magic - bringing people together in mysterious webs of faith, hope, and love.

While in my last class of the day I received a phone call. Although I was unable to answer, I felt my stomach drop to a familiar low. I knew very well that a Marine was killed today, and I prayed desperately that my current Marines were merely injured. I remained in class for another 20 minutes... and I could feel myself slipping into a haze that I left long ago. My heart was panic-stricken as I waited to hear the message that had been left for me.

A predominantly apathetic, leftist college campus is not the most ideal place for a person like me on a day like this one. I was surprised by a calm voice relaying a message about an IED attack, a concussion, and a badly cut and bruised Marine. But he is ALIVE. I felt my shoulders fall, and after listening to the message I learned that multple Marines were injured yet alive. But one was dead.

A Marine was killed today, 7,000 miles away from the country that raised him, and the people passing by on the sidewalks had not a clue. Part of me wanted to scream at them - hate them for their ignorance, for their disconnection with the war - and the better part of me decided it wasn't a good approach. Students pass me every day who will never know what this war has done, or even failed to do. Someday their grandchildren will ask them - what was it like being a college student during the Iraq war? If they have an answer at all, I hope never to hear it.

My frustrations were short-lived, because soon events occurred that I couldn't quite control. My mind slipped back into Jason's death. All of a sudden I could remember phone calls from superior officers in Iraq to his family... I remembered how 'the system' works when a Marine is injured or worse.

And I remembered a time and state of mind when I would have given anything for a phone call like the one my childhood friend received...that her beloved Marine was injured, but just that. In a hospital, but not the one in Germany that implies he's been terribly near death. The person sitting beside him was the one who died.

After returning to my room, which nowadays showcases only a few Jason pictures, I wept in thanks to God. The power of prayer is unbelievable only to those who never dare trust in it.
I looked at Jason's face for the first time in several weeks. It's just too sad anymore. Jason likely wouldn't want any one of his own beloveds to mourn in the way we have, but in some respects it's been necessary. God gave me the gift of life, and Jason himself taught me how to cherish that gift. He spoke so often of the things he "cherished."

The sadness of Jason's death is nearly under lock and key, but today I felt closer to it than I have since last year. Literally took my breath away.

Praise GOD that today a few special Marines were saved by a few good men, Jason and Jesus among them.

May peace be with the beloveds of the fallen.

Hiding the Key

2007-02-28T17:23:00.000-05:00

I haven't written to you or Jason in a long time. To be honest, I haven't wanted to do so. Slowly but surely, I'm finishing this death.

I decided a year ago that I do not want Jason's death to be my LIFE...
but only recently did I arrive at a platform from which I feel empowered to choose.
And I choose life. Mine.
It's a gift from God, and it's mine. And I only get one.

I've learned that bad things happen to good people. I've learned that even bad things can have good component parts. And I know that when a bad thing does happen - to anyone - there's a real process that cannot be avoided - like a bypass to life. Depending on the individual, they move through the bypass quickly...and return to some sense of normalcy, although they'll never forget what they saw and felt on the sidetrack. For others, the bypass requires much more time...and for others still, they never find the main road again - even with help. There is no remedy for those who are sidetracked, no way to bring them along faster or even slow them down. Once you're through - you're through. Eyes forward, shoulders strong...and no going back.

I'm packing a box now...in preparation. A long time ago I wrote of unpacking and repacking - this time, I'm packing for certain. Soon all of the death will be placed in this box. It will be shelved in the farthest reserves of my heart, mind, and soul, and there it shall remain. The box will hold all the sadness, anger, and frustration - all of his death - and it will only be opened by me, when I choose to remember where I hide the key. It's a final attempt at a solution, and by God's grace this one will work.

A Kit Kat for Valentine's Day

2007-02-14T00:10:00.000-05:00

Just yesterday I asked a very dear friend to recite his favorite candy. He is my best friend at college, and I wanted to surprise him with a treat for this special holiday. At the same time, he asked me to provide my favorite candy... although I'm not much of a junkfood junkie, I have loved KitKats since I was a little kid. That was Jason's favorite candy bar too. I haven't eaten one in well over a year. My friend showed up at my door today with a KitKat for Valentine's Day.

We had gone to the local mini-market to get Dr. Pepper to go with our food. About an hour earlier we had been standing in Jason's kitchen, just gliding around on the linoleum or something... when he called in an order to the local bar. Chick's bar is famous (or infamous) in our small town. You'd never know it was there until someone guided you to the door, and there's no sign outside really... but everyone knows it as "Chick's Bar". Jason went there every Thursday to have the lunchtime special. Something with gravy...and I remember him going on about the "little green peas" and how much he loved them. I thought he must have been kidding, but he was sincere about everything - even peas from a can.

So Jason dialed Chick's without even looking for the number. He placed an order for two cheeseburgers and fries.. I think I remember him going over the order with the respondent at least twice - that seems like something he would do - just to double check who wanted pickles, etc. Jason usually didn't get something like that right the first time, likely because he concentrated too hard on keeping track of details... so he had to repeat everything. And he did.

We walked into Chick's about an hour later and it was my first time ever stepping foot inside the place. There were people inside who looked as though they had been there for a long time, in the very same position at that. Jason and I stood out like sore thumbs, but with his smile and famous, "How ya doin?" people welcomed him right in. As we picked up our food I started to peek around to the back of the kitchen... Jason said not to worry - the food is good, just don't wonder about what it is or how it came to be. As we were leaving, someone at a table asked when he was shipping out.

I didn't know what it meant for Jason to be a MARINE at that time... I was still very ignorant... but I do know, with absolute certainty, that I was very proud that day. When I listened to Jason explaining to that man how he would be leaving soon for Iraq, I felt like a million bucks just because I was standing next to Jason. That feeling was accompanied by uneasiness, because listening to Jason talk about his deployment made it very real for those five minutes. When we left the establishment we were free to go back to our special summer, but for those five minutes in a small town bar I was aware of what might happen to him. The man had told Jason to make sure he takes good care and come home safe.

I remember this now - we were on our way back to Jason's house and I mentioned something about having a Dr. Pepper with a cheeseburger - just a good combination. Then Jason insisted that he would drive 6 extra miles to get me a Dr. Pepper. We were right near his driveway, but he insisted and so drove us to that mini-market. There we each got a Dr. Pepper (our favorite) and a giant KitKat bar for 'dessert.' In retrospect Jason probably loved the fact that he was getting me to eat unhealthy food... he thought that was hilarious.

When he wasn't looking I wrote this on our foodboxes. I think he had gone out to their camper to get the only bottle of ketchup his family had at the time.

We didn't eat our KitKat that day for some reason. I think we put it in the fridge to keep it from melting in the warm summer air... and then forgot about it. Because later I was on the phone with him and we "shared" a candy bar over the phone. He was at Camp Lejeune then, just days before leaving, and he had purchased a KitKat at the store so we could eat one together over the phone. That was the last KitKat I've eaten. Jason made me make some silly promise to eat one only in the "presence" of the other person - same with Auntie Anne's soft pretzels. I'm not sure why - was just a silly promise. But he made me promise not to eat one until he came home and we would do it together. When a beloved dies you hold on to whatever you have left... even a silly promise.

Right before Jason died I bought two KitKat bars. One would arrive in Iraq and he would eat his while I ate mine over the telephone. He died before I sent them, so later I sent them to his best friend in the Corps.

(bitter)Sweet Sixteen

2007-02-06T21:36:00.000-05:00

I didn't even realize that today was 'the day' until I started to write the date on the heading of my class notes. Sixteen months is a long time to be waiting for a happy ending. It's coming, for certain, and the waiting is what builds character.

Jason's home valley in Pennsylvania

1 Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. 2 Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory.

3 We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. 4 And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. 5 And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love.

Romans 5:1-5

Happy 21st Birthday Jason

2007-02-01T06:40:00.000-05:00

Jason loved cheesecake. He claimed his mother's homemade was the best. Today on my way home I stopped to buy a piece for his birthday. He often teased me about eating sweets, which I do not enjoy doing very often - not much of sweet tooth. Jason could eat junk food as an entire meal, and he remained baffled that I refused to touch the stuff. But today I bought a slice of cheesecake... "for Jason".

It's difficult to know how to feel on a dead man's birthday... do we celebrate? Sure, in some small quiet way. His birthday, although an intangible sort of 'entity', is proof that he was here on earth. Even if for just a short while - he was here. Came and left, but at least a birthday implies that he came in the first place.

I wondered what Jason would have done today. Now HE would celebrate. He was in a steakhouse with his mother near Camp Lejeune a few years ago... after listening to Jason babble about how certain alcoholic beverages are concocted, the waitress assumed he was of legal drinking age and asked him what he would like to order. Jason didn't hesitate to place an order, with his mother worrying frantically about the consequences of supplying alcohol to a minor - even your own minor. Jason happily called everyone he knew to proclaim that he was having his first alcoholic drink in a public establishment.

If he were still alive, his two feet would very likely be standing at attention (or parade rest) on a Navy ship near Iraq. His unit recently left Camp Lejeune for a float tour. Somehow he would have found some Jack Daniels - his favorite - and done a round in honor of his own 21st birthday. He likely would have called, very silly/happy, just to say hello and maybe sing us a song or two. No matter what continent he was on, he would be surrounded by people who love him.

It's strange to think that two birthdays have now gone by for Jason since he died. What will this feel like when 20 birthdays have gone by? When I'm forcing down a piece of cheesecake in 20 years for him on February 1st, I'll be pained to recall that Jason never aged. I'll look at his pictures with my two tired eyes on a face beginning to fill with wrinkles. But he never grows older in the way that we experience aging. He'll look 19 years old for the rest of his life - eternity. He's certainly handsome at 19 years old, but in the grand scheme of things... 19 isn't very many.

Consider it a sheer gift, friends, when tests and challenges come at you from all sides. You know that under pressure, your faith-life is forced into the open and shows its true colors. So don't try to get out of anything prematurely. Let it do its work so you become mature and well-developed, not deficient in any way.
James 1:4

Tears in My Pockets ... and Seashells

2007-01-30T20:21:00.000-05:00

Today I wore a jacket that's been hanging in a closet for many months... the coldness in the air has finally called to my old red jacket.

When I was emptying the pockets after a long day, I came across a wad of tissues and a palmful of seashells. As soon as I felt those seashells in my pocket, I remembered exactly from where they came.

Last May I stood on the beach at Camp Lejeune and wanted desparately to climb into the crashing waves, swim across the Atlantic, and find Jason on the other side... I filled my pockets with tissues and seashells that day.

Before he left, Jason gave me an assortment of small gifts. Among them was a bag of seashells from Camp Lejeune - he had gone to one of his favorite quiet places down there and collected them just for me. At first I thought it was a little bizarre for him to be giving me a plastic sandwich bag filled with a couple seashells... then he showed me that one was actually a shark's tooth... and the rest were just shells he thought I would like. He's funny like that.

If Jason had not been killed, I was intending to ask him to join me on a trip to Florida. We were both excited about the idea of going somewhere together - someplace fun and relaxing.

When I was in Florida, I made a point of collecting some shells along the beach... just for Jason. It was nice to lay in the sand at night and wonder if he was there too...a long with every other star in the galaxy. I remembered that night when I found my Lejeune seashells today. Jason's Florida seashells are at his headstone. I placed them there when I returned from Florida last summer - along with the day lillies that signaled that the "Jason time" of year had arrived.

Today I am reminded that no matter where life takes us in a single day... no matter the tears or the triumphs... the sun always sets, and then rises again. And so comfort finds me.

Every Other Marine

2007-01-28T00:00:00.000-05:00

I'm learning a lot about the Corps. I think when Jason first told me he was a Marine, I had not a clue what he meant. Camouflage? Tanks? THAT kind of stuff?

But I've come full circle. Since he died, I have come to know what "Marine" really is.

If I ever earn the title myself, so help me God, I will carry the names of every Marine I know who is helping to guard the streets of heaven.

Every so often, when I slow the pace of my life long enough to contemplate this story, I wonder how on earth I ever ended up playing any kind of part in it at all. How did I get here - and did this really happen?

I know I'm not alone in the fight. Not by far.

Here's another Marine. Learn his name... learn his story.

Here's a part of Jason Dunham's story. You should know this Marine. He received the Medal of Honor.

We're never alone.

A Future (and a Past) without a Face

2007-01-23T22:05:00.000-05:00

I haven't been here in a while.

Lately I've tried to stay away from the place ... where I knew a dear boy since middle school...we were friends in high school...then fell in love when he was a young Marine about to leave for his first deployment... during which he was killed. It's a funny chain of thoughts, but they comprise a chain, no less.

My words have become fewer and far between - I realize. I suppose it's a form of 'moving on' that I've tried to find for a long time. In retrospect, it's only been 15 months since Jason died. If I live to be 100 years old, this will have been such a small pause in my life... but it seems like so long to a heart that has danced through so many emotions.

For many weeks I tried to avoid honesty within myself. The stages of grieving are complex in such a way that I don't believe a person could ever write about them without having experienced them for him or herself. True that 'stages' do exist, and certain that they may only be recognized as discrete after already passing through them. In the last 15 months I have spent a lot of time wondering if I've reached the end of it all - is the grieving over yet?

No. And in some way - some last ridiculously small strand of a way - it never will be. There will always be something... something that calls us back to stage 4 or even stage 2, whatever those may be. No matter how many times I sit back and say to myself, "You know what? I think you've made it... you're done. It's over..." there comes a time not long thereafter when I'm back in this story. I don't cry much anymore, hardly ever. Evidence that some wounds to a certain type of heart can be, in effect, emotionally culderized.

But

I can't remember Jason.

I do not know why. But I do know that I do not want to admit that very sore fact to myself. I can't remember Jason. I'm terribly sorry for it, too. Sorry to myself, sorry to him, sorry to people who also want me to remember him. I pray for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, Jason," I'll say. Sorry that I can't picture your face or remember what you said to me or how you said it or why you said it. I don't feel terribly guilty, just terribly frustrated at times.

Sure, I can recall the facts and I can imagine the photographs I have looked upon more times than a person can comfortably count. I can go into his bedroom at home and see that his closet still holds his USMC uniforms. I can wear his old PT shorts when I spend time training myself for my own future. I can hug the stuffed dog that he himself handed to me, and I can hear the clanking dog tag he used to wear on his boot. I can try to wear his cover and then remember his head was a smaller size than my own. I can even open my Jason-drawer at home and reach way into the back, pull out a bag and open it to smell the contents: Jason's old USMC PT shirt.

We remain with every single piece of a person's life - except the person himself. I am glad we have those things, despite the very fact that they are just things. Because somehow they allow us to know that he was here in the past and will, in some way, remain into the future.

Truly an odd existence. For this reason, I suppose, I've unintentionally pushed it into a corner of my mind unopen even to me. "It" being the entire story - the life, the death, the aftermath - all of it. Jason's in there... but I can't find him anymore.

I believe that before this phase of total blankness came an exhausted phase of wanting this to be done. Somehow put the lid on the box and store it as a blessed token of history. I stopped finding a reason to tell people about Jason many months ago. I just gave up - most people, by no real fault of their own, simply could not recognize what was actually meant by, "Jason was killed in Iraq. He is a Marine." Surely if someone were to ask, I'd tell them his story.

Then there was the phase of putting Jason-things away. Just desparately frustrated from looking at the same 8 pictures in frames...so I finally started putting his photographs away. Now there are two, and the new phase of not remembering.

God has brought people and experiences into my life since October 6, 2005 to help me to become just plain old Meredith again... very very slowly I am returning to the girl who did not yet have a dead beloved. I will absolutely never be the person I was before Jason, and I'm glad for it. I understand life (and death) in a way that many people my age simply cannot.
But I've reestablished my own goals, although I'm not much of a dreamer anymore. I know that most dreams don't come true, although they are fun to make and all. So I'll stick with goals instead. They seem more realistic by their very nature. Recently I had to make some very intense decisions that will influence the happenings in my life for the next decade... and for a short time I allowed my frustration to get to me. Jason's presence on earth would have, in some minimal way at the very least, played a part in where my shoes take me. And I couldn't help but realize that my shoes would likely have been going in a very different direction.

There is always hope. Always faith. Always God. I can even push Him away, but He still finds me. And for that I am so desparately grateful. Still, I pray that this is simply another phase in the game.

The precious bits and pieces I will never lose are those that I have written down.

I miss you, Jason.

Dogtags

2007-01-21T08:40:00.000-05:00

Before he left for Iraq, Jason had a few days between the time he returned to Lejeune from pre-deployment leave and the day he actually left the country. He didn't really have much to do - although the gear was probably packed and repacked half a dozen times. So he picked out a few cards and sent them home to me, staggering their release so that I would have them after he had left. He told me to keep one or two to open after he had gone. Each one is filled with the same silly scribble and some goofy doodle face he always drew.

I was on the phone with Jason when he told me he had plans to send home a small gift for me as well. Jason, by his very nature, cannot keep this type of secret. He can carry those dramatic childhood best-friend type secrets to the grave, never tell a soul, but he couldn't keep a surprise as a surprise. He just got too excited about it - ridiculously so, in fact. I would cut him off before he allowed too much to come flying out of his smiling lips.

So I guessed that he was buying me dogtags. And I guessed correctly because he unknowingly offered so many telling hints.

When he persuaded me to tell him my 'guess', he asked what I would have liked to have printed on them. I told him to go ahead and make one up that looks authentic - like I'm in the Corps too. He said something like, "Oh, well... I already had it made, and that's not what is on it. Sorry. But this has a special meaning - you'll find out later."

I think it was after Jason was bound for Kuwait (and Iraq) that I received the package he had sent home to me from Lejeune. The dog tag was enclosed, of course, and the package itself came with a funny story attached.

Jason had gone to the post office on base and spent several minutes making sure that the small package was properly sealed - meaning he COVERED the thing in tape. When he took it up to the counter for weighing, the postmaster told him he had to remove all the tape - the wrong kind! (I thought this story was hilarious when he told me over the phone). So eventually that dilapidated box arrived at my home in Pennsylvania, but not without some frustration.

When I showed the dog tag to Jason's mother after it had arrived (and Jason was in Iraq) she noted that he had a similar tag from his youth. The first dog tag every bearing his name included a similar phrase. He had purchased the tag at Hershey Park during a field trip. She didn't know where his replica was anymore, but it was neat to think that he had done that for me.

For Christmas 2005, just months after he was killed, Jason's mother went up into their attic to retrieve this special gift for me. She must have found it well in advance of Christmas, because she, like Jason had difficulty in keeping the secret. I knew right away what the surprise would be - and I desparately hoped I would be proven correct on Christmas day. And I was.

The very first box she opened in their attic - right on top of the contents...

Jason Lee Frye
2-1-86
Perry County Country Boy

A memento that he himself had probably not held in years, but so special to him that he remembered it well enough to make an exact 'copy'. It's companion tag is my first, and rightly so.

Visiting Quantico ... and Embracing Historic Tradition

2007-01-15T10:46:00.000-05:00

A place every Marine should witness. The National Museum of the Marine Corps. I think if there had been a church inside, I could have made it a permanent dwelling. Truly a fantastic tribute to the entire CORPS, and certainly an honorable tribute to Marines of past, present, and even future.

The museum just opened this past November, appropriately so since the Corps' birthday is November 10th. I heard of it a long time ago, and so was terribly excited to know that I could stop by for a visit on my way home from Washington, DC. The museum is located in Quantico, Virginia - just a few miles from the Quantico Marine Corps Base - which is also home to the USMC Officer Candidate School. Only a half hour south of DC, and worth every mile of road in between.

Every part of this place is inspiring. Actually, in the Corps they use the term, "motivating." I couldn't stop smiling. The Marine Corps has a sense of tradition like no other, and it's got a remarkable history to boot.

This is THE flag flown on Mt. Suribachi at the Battle of Iwo Jima. THE FLAG that made a few good men famous. The flag that is a hugely symbolic part of Marine Corps history. I couldn't believe it was here - but what better home for such 50 stars and 13 stripes?

This is a photograph of the side of an exhibit; this is meant to look like the bulkhead on a ship... when you get closer the 'bolts' are actually miniature EGAs and anchors. One for every Marine or sailor who died in the Vietnam war. And there were many.

The museum was humming with visitors young and old. Many parents had brought their children along, as a way of continuing their legacy. A mother encouraged her children to line up on the infamous yellow footprints - just as she had done on Parris Island for USMC boot camp.

The older gentlemen walked more slowly through the exhibits. Wasn't hard to know who is still a Marine... they paused at photographs from Korea, Vietnam... as if they were seeing themselves in a mirror - and perhaps they were. When other visitors kept walking, these veterans stopped to remember... the way an M-16 feels in your grip... the way a heavy pack can throw your weight forward...the way an MRE actually tastes pretty good after not having much to eat.

A very funny thing did happen while we were there. I was near the Medal of Honor wall - a tribute to every Marine who has ever won our nation's highest award for valor. Only one Marine has been awarded this medal in recent years - Corporal Jason Dunham. I have read The Gift of Valor, which tells this Jason's story, so I wanted a photograph of this tribute to him.

His photograph was posted high on the wall, since he was the first of this war. I stood on my toes and held my camera up above my head to take a picture. I tried a few times to focus the camera correctly, and to manage the flash... I was in the middle of my photography experiment when the lights went out. The electricity in the entire museum shut down. Every last light bulb, video clip, or audio segment was turned off as if by a giant switch. For an instant the power resumed, then went off again. A man's voice called over the loudspeaker and invited all the visitors back into the main rotunda, where natural lighting made everything visible.

We asked a nearby museum attendant if the power had ever gone out before - and she confirmed that this was, in fact, the very first time. A brand new museum, only a few months in operation, and the electrical system was failing on a clear spring-like January afternoon.

We chuckled then... imagining our Jason smirking next to a power switch as I tried to photograph another Jason. He did love practical jokes.

Jason's mother told me that when their family visited the oldest son at Camp Lejeune, Jason would walk all over the base on his own in an attempt to explore the USMC way of life and its history. He delighted in simple things, and would certainly read every single card or panel that belonged to a statue or museum exhibit. He wished to learn as much as could. I think he really would have enjoyed seeing this Marine Corps museum. The exhibits are organized by major wars in which the Corps participated, and the portion devoted to Iraq and its neighbors remains unfinished. Until the current war ceases, this exhibit is merely one of photographs - but these are pictures that speak volumes about the war.

Civilians have an opportunity to contribute to this unfinished exhibit. I brought paperwork home with me regarding a potential contribution to the museum, and I thought about it for a better part of the ride home. I have dozens of letters from Marines, some I've never even met. I have photographs and tokens from Iraq, and I have trinkets that were carried in the pockets of a very special Marine. I would like to someday be a part of the Marine Corps history. Jason was from the moment he stepped onto those footprints.

Names in the House

2007-01-12T00:04:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I made a trip to one of the buildings occupied by our House of Representatives. I was arriving there for a research project interview, and I was not expecting the sight that greeted me on the inside of those four walls.

After I had come through the main entrance and passed through security, I walked over to a bench to rest for a moment and organize my things. Then I realized what was on the wall in front of me.

The entire wall... covered with more than 3,000 names. Each listed in alphabetical order, by month of death in the Iraq war. I think for a few seconds I couldn't breathe.

And there it was. Jason's name. And Cabino's, and Chevy's, and Pat's, and Schiavoni's, and Troyer's.

I am not sure why I felt so taken aback - perhaps by just seeing this name so far from it's real home. Being here in Washington makes Jason's death take on a new identity to me. For days I have been exposed to Congressmen and important decisionmakers. Today I walked past the office of the National Defense Council for the war in Iraq. This experience has made me consider everything from a new perspective.

It's real. The war is very real to me, even though I've never even strapped on a uniform. I listened to committee members plan defense strategy, and my own two feet stood where our President's feet were holding his place just days agoas he discussed the war. LCpl Jason L. Frye on that wall makes Jason's death very real - worldwide.

Later that day I spoke with a prominent member of the House Armed Services Committee, and I thanked him for this wall. I wanted him to know that I appreciate how every person walking into that building - elected official or not - will acknowledge it's presence. Every single name. And as they go about their days on the Hill, I pray that they remember Jason among his family of names on that wall.

A Purple Heart, Gold Star, and Vietnam

2007-01-07T18:05:00.000-05:00

I am in Washington DC this week, and today I made the journey to visit our nation's war memorials. I visited a few museums and galleries, but nothing struck me in the way these memorials did.

I am not certain why I wanted to see the Vietnam memorial more than anything else in Washington. I don't know anyone by name who died there, but I feel more connected to that historic war than any other in our nation's past. I had seen the wall on a 6th grade field trip - one that Jason's elementary school went on too. So I know Jason saw this part of our country during his time on earth. I'm glad for that simple fact - because walking these hallowed grounds alone has made me wish desparately that he could be here too. Jason loves history, and we are both terribly passionate patriots...

When Jason's class came here in 6th grade, he went to the wall with paper and pencil and made a rubbing of the name of a young man who died in Vietnam - a classmate of Jason's father. Jason took this paper to the young man's mother, a member of their church back home.

I found a Marine Lance Corporal from Pennsylvania - and focused on his name. There are so many names, and that's all it is - just names. That's all it should be... people should see the name and wonder about the face, the heart, the home, the family... the stuff that remained behind.
John J. Murphy is my LCpl from Pennsylvania.

I stayed at the wall for a while. Secretly I wanted to weep all over the black stone, and if I was already in the military, I would have saluted every single panel of the wall. There were dozens of people passing through to look, and I wondered how many of them understood - really understood - what they were witnessing.

I walked along and paused to take these photos. Only after I had covered my camera lens did I realize that a man had been standing in the edge of the frame. He seemed to be praying, or at least remembering something. I wondered then how he knew the name his eyes and heart remained focused on while others walked on.

A few moments later I found myself near the reflecting pool. There were vendors selling military patches and pins. I walked over to the table and discovered that one of the items for sale was a metal KIA bracelet like the ones we had made with Jason's name. Someday a person may end up purchasing a KIA bracelet with Jason's name on it - there is a company that makes these bracelets and distributes them to people who likely never knew the person behind the KIA name.

Here I purchased a Gold Star pin. Such an adornment is worn by a beloved of someone killed in action. I was wearing a Marine Corps pullover, and decided the pin would rest nicely on my lapel. When I explained to the vendor my cause for a gold star, he asked me to wait patiently while he retrieved another pin for me. He returned with an Operation Iraqi Freedom Purple Heart pin - the purple heart is given to anyone wounded in combat, even those fatally wounded. He told me to take this pin without charge, and to tell Jason's family that people are grateful for his service to this nation. The man is a veteran of the United States military - best in the world - so I thanked him graciously.

I ended up buying a large gold EGA pin at another stand when the vendor explained that all the proceeds are used to maintain the war memorials. SEMPER FI Marines... oorah!

They Remember

2007-01-01T15:01:00.000-05:00

Recently our local news station created another tribute to Jason. Our family is so grateful - thankful that people remember.

Tribute to Jason

Firetrucks and a Funeral

2006-12-27T21:30:00.000-05:00

Today I attended the funeral of a local soldier who was killed in Iraq. Was there that I met the Gold Star mothers from our area, and was there that I missed the Marines.

I give my heart and soul to every branch of our military. But the Marines do it different. Today I was glad in a way. Obviously, I would feel more "at home" at a Marine Corps funeral... so there is less shock for me at any other kind of funeral - even an Army funeral.

Brent Dunkleberger has children. He's a father. He's a friend, son, etc as well... but he's a father. That's what made me clench my jaw while walking near his casket. He has children, and in reality he wasn't much beyond the age of youth himself. I helped a week or so ago to pack toys for his children, and when I saw their photographs I wished to give something more than toys. The Marines had sent them along, and I believe the Marines who helped stand guard today sent something else along as well - pride.

I hesitated to attend. This was the first military funeral since Jason's own. I wasn't sure how it would be for me, but I wanted to embrace his family and offer them genuine hope. Since this wasn't a Marine Corps funeral, I could pass through without associating Jason's death. Until I saw the firetrucks.

For Jason, firetrucks from surrounding counties and everywhere in between showed up to hoist giant American flags and to flash lights of red, white, and blue. They did the same for Brent, who was a volunteer firefighter himself.

Brent is resting not too far from Jason... ironically, in the very same cemetary. Together may they enjoy the beautiful sunsets over that western skyline.

A Story of 3 Rings and a Tiger's Eye

2006-12-25T10:14:00.000-05:00

Perhaps this will be the greatest Jason-story I have to share with the world. It's one I've hoped to tell for a very long time now, and I have difficulty knowing where to even begin...

I wanted to give Jason a gift. Something special as he left this country to fight a war in another. It was summer 2005... in the beginning of June he was still at Camp Lejeune (came home on the 18th of that month to begin his pre-deployment leave). I spoke to him on the phone and that's when my hunch started - there must be some small token special enough to give this boy before he leaves. And there was.

Jason was in my kitchen a few weeks later, helping my mother either to prepare our table for dinner or remove the dirty dishes (I can no longer piece my memories together in the correct sequence). I was standing near the telephone, closer to the food since I had prepared the meal. I was not directly involved in the conversation between Jason and my mother, but I was certainly listening from just a few feet away.
Jason was very interested in history and exploring different cultures. He was rambling on to my mother about an ancient tradition. For reasons I can't recall, he told her about the "tiger's eye" stone - "When someone gives you a tiger's eye it means they have a lot of respect for you..." he explained. I was ELATED! I knew just what to give him - I was so excited that I started to giggle because I knew Jason would just flip. He had not realized that I heard what he was telling my mother. I scribbled down a note to myself on a piece of paper - get Jason a tiger's eye.

I searched in stores for a polished tiger's eye stone, and considered how I could craft a necklace for him ... I took two jewelry classes in high school and knew how to go about making the pendant, but decided I would simply not have enough time. I kept searching and eventually found an online jewelry merchant who seemed to specialize in precious stones. I found a tiger's eye pendant shaped like a shield and ordered it for Jason. In my search for this gift I discovered that Roman warriors used to wear a tiger's eye pendant or carry a tiger's eye with them into battle... the tiger's eye was meant to protect them in warfare. My priest blessed this tiger's eye pendant for Jason, and I was embarassed and suprised when my priest asked if it was a pagan ornament. I wasn't expecting that sort of response, but he went on to transform the pendant into an 'object of love' and then blessed it so as to protect Jason.

I made a gift bag for Jason - a real conglomeration of treats and trinkets for him to have. I gave him a copy of the Frank Sinatra CD we had listened to on our first date. I gave him a bag of Snickers and a Pennsylvania key chain with his name on it. I bought a small photo album and filled it half full with some of the photographs we had taken during the two weeks that I spent with him that summer. The idea was for me to send him enough photographs to fill the other half while he was in Iraq. When Jason died, that small album came back to us. There were nearly 3 times as many photographs as needed to fill the pages of the album. He had slept with it every night, so the corners are worn. He put a sticker on it that I had sent to him as a gag - a sticker from a fishing lure company.

This is a photograph of Jason opening his gift bag. He is holding the key chain I gave him. This key chain must have been attached the zipper pulls on his alice pack - we never got this back.

But the tiger's eye pendant was special. Jason opened the gift bag at his kitchen table on July 4th, 2005. A few days before I had made him open the small blue case holding the pendant when we were alone in his room. I believe I had come over that night to play poker with his extended family. I actually videotaped him opening the small box. He didn't know what to say, except... "it's a tiger's eye!"

In all my memory excavating, I've not been able to remember the date when Jason gave me the first ring of this story. I think it happened on the night we made oatmeal raisin cookies together. That would make it June 30th - a Thursday night in 2005.

I knew Jason had been shopping earlier that day (I worked in the city every day as an intern that summer) and I probably teased him about it since, although I'm a female, I don't particularly enjoy shopping. The events of the day are jumbled, but I think I remember what we did on June 30th. I took photographs of us nearly every time we were together, and unfortunately the only memories I can remember well are the ones chronicled by a photograph. And each picture has a time stamp. So on June 30th we took pictures out in my front yard, went swimming, had dinner prepared by my father while we had been at the neighbor's pool, then we must have made our cookies together just a few hours later that evening.

We made hot tea to drink with our cookies, despite the summer heat. We carried it all outside onto my front porch and sat there on a wooden bench. It was dusk by then - during the summer months the sunset is much later in the day.

Then Jason told me he had a surprise for me. And I really was surprised - we were sitting on my porch in near total darkness eating homemade cookies and all of a sudden he claims a surprise awaited me! He must have gone inside my house then, to retrieve a card. I opened it - an oil painting of a fly fisherman was on the cover. He said something like "it was the only card I had on hand - forgot to get one at the store today." Since the night was turning dark, I had to lean towards the interior light cascading through the front windows... inside the card was his scribbly handwriting... giving me instructions to go to his vehicle (parked in my driveway) and reach into an alice pack that was sitting on the back seat. He would follow me in a minute.

I reached his vehicle through the passenger side door. Sure enough, there was an alice pack strategically arranged on the back seat. I could see the head of a plush toy peeking through the top opening. "Quackerjack" was stuffed inside the pack. This stuffed duck had been one of Jason's favorites when he was a little boy. When you squeeze Quackerjack, he quacks, of course. (I believe a few days before, Jason had asked me if I wanted anything in particular as a gift from him... I am certain that I told him to stop being ridiculous - he did NOT need to buy me stuff. I am too independent and self-sufficient - terrible at receiving gifts, and I cannot bear to receive gifts that do not serve an obvious function. I would much rather spend my last dime on making someone else smile. When he insisted, I must have told him to just give me one of his old stuffed animals to hug while he was away.)

Jason had scribbled a note that was on a loop of parachute cord around Quackerjack's neck. The note reads, "Get me out of here! I need a huge." Poor guy couldn't spell to save his life.

I pulled the duck out of the backpack and nearly fell over when I felt a small weight come around to the front of the loop of parachute cord. A diamond ring.

Jason was behind me, standing in the driveway, at this point. I was crunched into the vehicle and eventually turned to be sitting on the front seat, facing him out the doorway. I gave him such a hard time about that ring - I started to cry. I didn't want him to spend a lot of money on me for anything, especially not a diamond ring. I would be happy (perhaps happier) with a ring from a $.25 machine. I can't remember what Jason said, but I know he really really wanted me to just shutup and accept the gift. He went on to explain why he had picked that one in particular - "I know it's small but that way you won't get it caught on your clothes...I'll get you a bigger one for real someday," he said as I held me hand up in the light. He also explained the insurance policy and how I could have it resized. He had remembered my size (7) from the night I had jokingly yelled it to him while I was riding behind him on a motorcycle. My first motorcycle ride ever ... through his front yard.

I was certain my parents' would find this gift to be quite 'interesting' to say that least. I ended up just eventually shoving it into their view and making a quick explanation for why he had bought me a ring with an insurance policy. I couldn't believe it myself, to be honest. Jason knew how much his brother, Adam, had spent on his fiancee's engagement ring - and Jason was determined to beat him. I told him he better not dare try.

Eventually Jason got me to calm down about the ring. I distinctly remember we were walking around the rear of his vehicle, probably retrieving something from the trunk, when he said,
"I just wanted you to have something to remember me by."

I stopped. I think that's when the sick feeling must have started. I wanted to scream at him to not say something like that ever again. This wasn't an engagement ring, but a simple memento.

This ring was very precious to me - so precious I was afraid to wear it at first. But I knew Jason wanted me to do so. The very next day he came to visit me at work. That was July 1st - the day we visited our state capitol. Near the military flag exhibit outside, we stopped to take this photograph.

This photograph is one that is included on the backside of his tombstone. Our hands are together, of course, but the picture is special because it's the only one that includes both my ring and his tiger's eye pendant - as well as the wristband I had given him long before. One he never removed, even until the moment of his death.

When we found out that Jason was killed my mind was a blur. I don't think I really had control of my mind or its contents for about 3 months afterwards. But I wondered what would become of his things? Eventually Jason's mother explained that these would be sent home to us. We would receive everything that had not been destroyed in the explosion.

Jason's personal effects came in small maroon colored satchels with US Marine Corps outlined in gold. We were sitting on the floor in his living room when we opened them - me, his parents, and his older brother, Adam. I shudder even now at the memory of that experience.

Jason was killed in an IED attack. Two bombs detonated near or on his humvee and this explosion was seen a mile away by his fellow Marines - those who were not already just a few feet away from him. The Marines told us that Jason was killed instantly, and if you dare imagine such an event, you may understand that we did not receive Jason's body in its entirety. I am still amazed at what did survive that blast. His rubber wristband made it home safe and sound. He had worn it on his left wrist. His dog tags were charred but intact. And the tiger's eye pendant - just the stone itself made it home, with a small internal crack. It had been set in a bezzle cup and attached to a dog tag chain. But just the stone came back.

One of Jason's best friends in the Corps, Mike, told us how Jason had made a pact with his brother Marines. They all made pacts with one another - with more than one individual in case more than one died at the same time. Mike and others had promised Jason they would return his K-bar knife to his brother, Adam. They also promised to return his tiger's eye pendant and the wristband to me. On the day Jason died, the Marines who were conducting operations elsewhere rushed to the scene. They were told not to go near the mess, but his friends knew they had to find Jason's things for us. They sifted through the remains and found things scattered by the explosion to several feet away from Jason. Yes, they "sifted" through the remains.

I took many photographs of this stone upon its arrival. No matter the memories I lose over time, I will never forget what that stone feels like in the palm of my hand. I decided that since it meant so much to Jason, and since he worked so hard to keep it safe (only removed it during shower times...which did not happen often in Iraq) ... he should be buried with it. Hence it is no longer in my posession, except in photographs.

Jason left his home to arrive at Lejeune by July 5th, 2005 a Tuesday. His deployment date was pushed back. I tried desparately to find a cheap plane ticket to North Carolina for that coming weekend, to no avail. I did, however, send a care package along with his parents who were driving down to see him again.

I baked cookies, sent along a few more mementos. At some point I got the crazy idea of making Jason a ring out of aluminum foil (probably while waiting for the cookies to bake). He had told me that his ring size was a 10, and I knew my own thumb to be a size ten from my jewelry class experience. So I fashioned a homemade 'ring' to fit my thumb. I traced my arms and hands on a large piece of paper and sent a long "a hug" for Jason - all he had to do was unfold the paper and there were my very own two arms waiting for a hug! I tied the homemade foil ring to a paper hand and sealed the box for delivery.

Well Jason was ecstatic. Like irrationally so - he promised to never take off the homemade ring. I was so taken aback that I told the guy I'd get him a real one if he wanted one to wear so bad - don't waste time trying to wear my gag ring. He did anyways.

Jason's deployment date was pushed back a second time, and he snuck home the next weekend to surprise me - July 17th was a Sunday and the day I last saw him on earth.

Merry CHRISTmas Jason

2006-12-25T00:08:00.000-05:00

So this is Christmas... Eve.

2006-12-24T17:21:00.000-05:00

Jason's family gave me a very special gift this Christmas.

Many months ago we discussed what we should do with Jason's clothing. I think for every time I entered Jason's room in the last year and a half, I opened his closet door ... reached in and ran my fingers between the hangers. Funny to see a closet full of shirts that will never again be worn again by their owner. Sometimes when the mind is clouded it's easy to wonder... did Jason ever really exist? We see his vehicle, his worn out shoes, his toothbrush, plants that were gifts to him, a watch that he wore every day - but where is Jason? Someone who enters this life now may wonder, "Where is the person who wore these shoes? What happened to the young man who must have looked at this watch every hour? Who is the person who left the tin of mints in this vehicle?" They are parts of an earthly life that no longer has a face. The person behind them all is no longer here to wear or use them. Truly an odd existence, these Jason things do have.

At the end of my visit to Jason's closet, I would always hug the shirts together and attempt to reclaim his scent. I once tried to go over each shirt to find his smell - you can tell which shirts had not been washed since he last wore them. The fabric is soft from the way his body stretched and relaxed the fibers, and his scent - not just his cologne - is somehow still caught in the weave.

My Christmas quilt will smell like Jason's closet until my own arms touch its fabric enough to leave my own impression. A few women in Jason's church family worked diligently to prepare this gift for me, and I am so very grateful. I wish with all my heart that Jason could be wearing his shirts, most of which are some shade of green.

I smiled to see the pockets from his favorite jeans worked into the quilt's design; I remember when he wore those pants. We had gone fishing early in the morning and my lure got stuck on the second cast - eventually Jason decided to just jump into the water to retrieve the lure. He was wearing those jeans at the time, and was soaked the entire length of his legs.

When I slept beneath this quilt, I remembered the way the fabric felt when it was hanging in his closet. Certainly, I never hugged or even saw Jason while he was wearing most of them, but they are part of him. Seem like part of a life of long ago.

Jason experienced 19 Christmases. He has favorite hymns, favorite traditions. I never celebrated Christmas with Jason, but this will be my second Christmas with our combined family. I wonder how many more Christmases will pass until I see him again.

Many years ago, Jason was quoted in a newspaper as saying his favorite part of Christmas was attending the candlelight church service with his family. We were young kids then, and people contacted his mother to tell her what a wonderful son she must have - a young boy who recognized the two most important blessings of Christmas: Faith and family.

Silent Night... and Jason's favorite Christmas moment.

Marine Christmas Poem

2006-12-23T19:59:00.000-05:00

The embers glowed softly, and in their dim light,
I gazed round the room and I cherished the sight.
My wife was asleep, her head on my chest,
My daughter beside me, angelic in rest.

Outside the snow fell, a blanket of white,
Transforming the yard to a winter delight.
The sparkling lights in the tree I believe,
Completed the magic that was Christmas Eve.

My eyelids were heavy, my breathing was deep,
Secure and surrounded by love I would sleep.
In perfect contentment, or so it would seem,
So I slumbered, perhaps I started to dream.

The sound wasn't loud, and it wasn't too near,
But I opened my eyes when it tickled my ear.
Perhaps just a cough, I didn't quite know,
Then the sure sound of footsteps outside in the snow.

My soul gave a tremble, I struggled to hear,
And I crept to the door just to see who was near.
Standing out in the cold and the dark of the night,
A lone figure stood his face weary and tight.

A soldier, I puzzled, some twenty years old,
Perhaps a Marine, huddled here in the cold.
Alone in the dark, he looked up and smiled,
Standing watch over me, and my wife and my child.

"What are you doing?" I asked without fear,
"Come in this moment, it's freezing out here!
Put down your pack; brush the snow from your sleeve,
You should be at home on a cold Christmas Eve!"

For barely a moment I saw his eyes shift,
Away from the cold and the snow blown in drifts..
To the window that danced with a warm fire's light
Then he sighed and he said "It's really all right,
I'm out here by choice. I'm here every night."

"It's my duty to stand at the front of the line,
That separates you from the darkest of times.
No one had to ask or beg or implore me,
I'm proud to stand here like my fathers before me.
My Gramps died at 'Pearl on a day in December,"

Then he sighed, "That's a Christmas 'Gram always remembers."
My dad stood his watch in the jungles of 'Nam',
And now it is my turn and so, here I am.
I've not seen my own son in more than a while,
But my wife sends me pictures; he's sure got her smile."

Then he bent and he carefully pulled from his bag,
The red, white, and blue... an American flag.
I can live through the cold and the being alone,
Away from my family, my house and my home.

I can stand at my post through the rain and the sleet,
I can sleep in a foxhole with little to eat.
I can carry the weight of killing another,
Or lay down my life with my sister and brother..

Who stand at the front against any and all,
To ensure for all time that this flag will not fall."
"So go back inside," he said, "harbor no fright,
Your family is waiting and I'll be all right."

"But isn't there something I can do, at the least,
"Give you money," I asked, "or prepare you a feast?
It seems all too little for all that you've done,
For being away from your wife and your son."

Then his eye welled a tear that held no regret,
"Just tell us you love us, and never forget. 
To fight for our rights back at home while we're gone, 
To stand your own watch, no matter how long. 
For when we come home, either standing or dead, 
To know you remember we fought and we bled. 
Is payment enough, and with that we will trust, 
That we mattered to you as you mattered to us."

Two Christmas Marines... and One in Heaven.

2006-12-19T23:39:00.000-05:00

All I want for Christmas is a Marine. My very own United States Marine. What a dream it is, indeed. In the last few days I have been reminded that God is in control of this life - every nook and cranny, every part of it... is decided by someone other than myself. Certainly someone better than me, but still the ultimate decisions are not my own. I've also recognized what a wonderful story this is - all of it. Even the sad bits and pieces (however large they may be) are integral components of a much larger puzzle. God's life for me is marvelous, and my time on earth is a glorious masterpiece of a story. I pray that every person recognizes their own life as such.
I think it must be the people - the people in our lives make the difference. Those who come and go, those who stay always. God brings them in with perfect choreography in such a way that the theme of the entire dance cannot be realized until the last bow is taken.

I just returned today from a trip to another part of our state. I made a long drive to see a Marine I have waited a long time to meet. He was one who stood by Jason's casket and one who received my letters of support while in Iraq this year. I cannot sufficiently explain to him and other that it is just good to feel the air passing through his lungs and see him blink in front of me... and that a smile is a true miracle. Lord, how I counted my blessings these last few days. Whenever I made a wrong turn in the path, I just laughed and thanked God that I am alive, and that this Marine is still here on earth with us. Such a precious gift to have him home.

Another Marine earns an equally interesting story. He is not one that I wrote to in Iraq. He is not one whom I embraced in recent days. He is a dear old friend from high school. Travis graduated just a year after Jason's brother, and joined the Marine Corps when he was 17 like Jason did. A very long time ago, Travis came to my home - the last time I saw him. He had just returned from Iraq, when the war there was at possibly its worst. The horrors that Travis saw are truly indescribable. I have never been to Iraq, but part of my heart has remained there for quite some time now... so I understand. I haven't spoken to Travis since that visit - I suppose somehow we lost touch. I have tried to find him since then, and just the other day I stopped at what used to be the placed he called home. He is no longer at Lejeune, and may no longer define himself as a "Marine" - but I think he must recall... "once a Marine, always a Marine."

I did not realize that Travis knew about Jason's death. Apparently Travis' family contacted him when Jason was killed. I don't thinik they knew each other very well, but Travis said he tried to call me around that time.

I didn't appreciate Travis when he was the Marine sitting in my living room telling me of the horrible places he had been. But I do now, because of Jason. I appreciate so much more ... because of Jason. And I am so grateful to God for all of them - all of my Marines.

By the grace of God, I was able to locate Travis' telephone number, and tonight I spoke to him for the first time in several years. I am so grateful for that conversation, and I am even more grateful to know that these two Marines of my heart were able to come home alive.

I will not have Jason for Christmas, not in the way I would like. In fact I will likely not have any Marine of my own. But someone will, and even tears of sadness appreciate these gifts received by someone else this Christmas.

Marines, Toys, and Hope for a Soldier's Beloved

2006-12-16T22:06:00.000-05:00

Today I spent time with guys in the local USMC Reserve unit. Thousands upon thousands of toys were sorted and placed in bags to be sent to families all around the state. Toys for Tots is a wonderful program, and I was happy to play even a small role in its activity.

Marines are playful creatures by nature. I've decided they are some of the most unique beings on earth - always thinking of something one step further than the average person. Always up for a good time, and really know how to make the best of any situation when they choose to do so.

When Jason was killed, many of his Marines wrote home to us and shared stories and memories they had made with him. We cherish those letters and the love contained within.

At one point in Iraq, when many of the Marines were sleeping, Jason came crashing down a flight of stairs on a bicycle... with training wheels. He told me over the phone that he was excited when he had found a soccer ball. He kept it outside their sleeping quarters and was disappointed when it was gone the next day. He captured a rabbit and made a leash and collar for it out of scrap materials... gave it a name and tried to walk it around like a dog. Even in Iraq, Marines like Jason can have a "good time."

Jason would have loved to help with Toys for Tots. I think he would have proclaimed his participation in that program as one of the best parts of being in the Corps. Jason loved to help people, of course, but he truly loved children. I don't remember where this memory took place - but I can recall Jason saying he wished children didn't have to suffer.

As of December 12th, LCpl Jason Lee Frye is no longer the only Perry Countian to die in the Iraq war, although he remains the first and only Marine. An Army soldier was killed by an RPG just a week ago...Brent Dunkleburger has a wife and three loving children. He went to the same high school that we did; graduated just a few years before.

We selected a few bags of toys just for this special family. Their Christmas will be difficult this year and for many years to come. As I handled the toys carefully, I wondered about where they would end up... who would care for them... and would they be the kind of toy preserved in the back of a closet or would they be the toy that shows signs of a child's affection...

I discovered a unique 'toy' in that mix of donated items. I recognized this wooden figurine as out of place amidst the dolls and plastic cars. Immediately I wanted to include it in the bag to be sent to the Dunkleburger family. This small token I hope will reach the beloved wife and mother.

Those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength...

Unbelievable...

2006-12-05T23:20:00.000-05:00

I haven't cried in a while... been so busy at college there hasn't been much time for tears. I suppose that's a good thing, but it's frustrating. I realized a few days ago that I can no longer picture Jason's face in my mind.

I have hundreds of pictures of Jason - so I know what he looks like... but I can't picture him. It's difficult to explain to someone who hasn't shared a similar experience. I believe it's a very different thing to witness someone's face and capture it in your memory - the texture of their skin, the way their eyes appear larger in a dimly lit room, the single hairs in their eyebrows, the scar above their lip. You can find those in a picture, perhaps, but they cannot be pieced together in the same way. You can stare at a single photograph of someone for days and still be surprised at what he or she actually looks like in person... your perception is affected and biased by photographs. Jason is different than how he appears in photographs - only slightly, but still different. I can no longer imagine his face in front of mine. I pray that someday the memory will return to me, but for now all I have are the photographs held in my hands.

I received a message just a short while ago - a very shocking message.

In August 2005 Jason was, of course, still alive. He was in Iraq by then, and I posted a message on a special website, HalfMyHeart.com. I didn't think much of it at the time, it seemed like a neat website because it shares stories from hundreds of military families and loved ones. A few days later I logged back onto the site and was surprised to see that they had posted my story and our photograph on the front page. It remained there for weeks, and I printed the story for Jason and sent it to him in Iraq. I remember when he called and told me that he had received it; he thought it was neat that our photograph was on display. So I know he saw it.

The link to this short story has been on the right side of this page since its beginning.

The message I received today explained that our story was selected to be in a book.

"Half my heart is in Iraq! - stories of love for our brave."

I went to the site right away to purchase two copies. You can view the book and purchase a copy by clicking here. Part of the proceeds from the sale of the book will be donated to an organization that aids military families. Our photograph is one of six on the front cover of that book. I cried then, and I called Jason's mother to tell her about it.

This book will likely be included in the Smithsonian Institute in Washington, DC. It's a genunine, documented part of history. I can't believe it. Unreal.
It's made me very excited to write my own book. I wish so badly for the time to write my memoir for Jason, but that time may not be available for a while. Someday.

I am not sure how to feel. I am certainly very very grateful and feel very blessed at the opportunity to be part of such a book, but they don't know Jason is dead. The people who read those hundreds of stories about those soldiers, sailors, airmen, and MARINES - they don't know which ones walked off the plane and which ones were carried in a wooden box draped neatly with red, white, and blue.

This photograph appears on the front cover of a book devoted to sharing the stories of beloveds... our stories.

Counting Blessings

2006-11-22T23:24:00.000-05:00

PRAISE GOD.

Thanksgiving is my favorite time of year... there is still time to look forward to the birth of our Savior, the air is perfect, and people seem to remember.

I am grateful for this time of year, when humans recall what matters most - Faith, Family, and Fellowship. Thanksgiving slows us down, makes us think. Even in a busy grocery store aisle today, people were smiling as they paused generously to allow for the safe passage of their fellow humans. Our culture has more dignity now than during any other time of year.

This will be the second Thanksgiving I spend with an extended family - Jason's family. I never experienced Thanksgiving or Christmas with Jason, but I know his holiday stories and I've seen his tree ornaments, even his stocking. I've been told how Jason loves canned cranberry sauce...so much that he would dig into the can with a spoon. I know that he was the first to pray at mealtime, and the last to sit down and finally please himself. He was obnoxiously generous ... would carry extra weight to prevent discomfort for someone else, and would offer you a cold beverage enough times to actually make you thirsty, just to get him to stop. I would have really really enjoyed sitting beside him at a Thanksgiving table with our families.

Lately I've realized something, a thought that at times can cause a lot of grief.

I've learned a lot about the Marine Corps in the last year - I've considered becoming a Commissioned Officer for several months, and have wanted to join the military since 8th grade. I won't be joining the Corps, but I desperately want a United States Marine to always be in my life - in whatever capacity.

I had that once. At the time I did not fully appreciate it, nor did I understand its breadth and qualities. Jason was my Marine, here on earth, a long time ago. And he loved me more than I will ever be able to know. In those days that he was alive and living just six miles away from me...when he told me how he loved me... I did not know what it really meant to have the love of a Marine. Certainly I did could not yet comprehend the love of one bound for war. I am trying to make peace with that part of my experience, but it's been very difficult. I had a Marine here on earth once, but I didn't fully understand the name, "Marine," until I began my own exploration of the Corps. I've read about boot camp... I've learned the lingo... I've met the men in uniform. I've learned the Marine part of Jason's life.

Now that I so dearly wish for one, to realize that long ago I did have one here with me is horrendously frustrating. I've learned Jason as the Marine, and in spending time with his friends and family I have learned Jason, just Jason. And now, when I know him and want him most, I cannot have him here. Not even to share a smile.

No matter the thoughts or happenings that occur in one day, I know that I am tremendously blessed by God. I have more blessings than I can ever recognize and count, and I am so very very humbled by that fact - those blessings were bestowed upon me by God. And so I praise Him.

A Year for Troyer

2006-11-19T09:19:00.000-05:00

It's been a year for another Marine Corps family.

On November 19, 2005 LCpl Tyler Troyer was shot in the head by a sniper. I remember Jason telling me two months before that Troyer had been sent "back to the rear." He wasn't out conducting the regular missions with Jason and the guys, so I don't think they were near him when he was killed.

I didn't know Troyer, but I do know he was one of Jason's close friends. Jason told me that Troyer was planning on getting married to his girl when they all returned. Troyer grew up in Oregon, but he was living in Maryland for the last few years - so Jason's Mom would swing by and pick him up on her way to Camp Lejeune, NC. She'd be carrying a whole pile of Marines back down to the base...nowadays she essentially makes the trip alone. All but one of her regulars were killed in Iraq.

I remember only bits and pieces of November 2005. Most of that time last year remains today as foggy as it was then. But I do remember when Tyler died. My mother sent me an e-mail on Sunday, November 20th, 2005 to say she was sorry to hear of Tyler's death. My heart was in my throat as I called home to find out who this dead Tyler was. He was Jason's Tyler, for sure. I checked the Dept. Of Defense website then and there it was... LCPL Tyler Troyer... KIA.

I don't think I even cried. It was just too much. Jason, Kenny, Cabino, Chevy in October... then his friend Schiavoni... and then his buddy Troyer. All I could do was pray.

Medal of Honor for Another Exceptional Jason

2006-11-17T18:37:00.000-05:00

Although this isn't our Jason... this is a very very momentous time in our nation's history.

Cpl Jason Dunham was born on the Marine Corps Birthday about 25 years ago. In April of 2004, he used his own body and kevlar to shield a grenade that would have killed his fellow Marines. He lived in a comatose state for several days thereafter, and medical personnel faithfully held his strong hands for those several days.

I have read The Gift of Valor, which is this Jason's story. The book caught my eye in a store this past summer - simply because of his name. He died from his wounds and is now buried near his home in New York state. Reading about him was inspiring... he is a bona fide Marine, through and through.

Cpl Jason Dunham was recently awarded the Medal of Honor, our country's highest decoration for valor.

I do not know this Jason, but I know his spirit. It is the spirit of every proud United States Marine, and is the spirit of exceptional humans.

Praise God for Cpl Jason Dunham, his family, and all the Marines like him.

Praise God that we live in a country that so respectfully honors his exceptional spirit.

A Year for Schiavoni... and Blackjack Gum

2006-11-15T19:54:00.000-05:00

It's been a year for another Marine.

LCpl Nick Schiavoni was killed a year ago today. From what they told me a long time ago, he offered to inspect a vehicle in place of a Marine Officer... and when he approached the vehicle a bomb detonated.

Schiavoni has a beautiful wife. Together they have two very precious young children. I met them at the memorial for Jason's unit that was held last spring. His children were happy to be crawling around and making people smile, and their smiles as they climbed into their weeping mother's lap were one of the saddest things I will ever witness. So very young.

I am not sure how much time Jason and Schiavoni were able to spend together, but I know they were very good friends. When Jason was killed, Nick took the time to write a letter to Jason's home. Nick told us a story of how Jason encouraged him to try "Blackjack Gum," which is Jason's favorite.

Blackjack gum is very strongly flavored like black licorice - a flavor many people do not enjoy. Jason loved the stuff, and the only place we can buy it around home is at a small convenience store owned by one of our classmates' grandmother. A very long time ago Jason and I were discussing my future career; I am going to be a lawyer so I told him (jokingly) that someday I'll have a million bucks to my name... the very first thing he said in response was, "Oh I could go to Marguerite's and buy all the Blackjack Gum in the place!" I thought he must be kidding, but he was not - he very sincerely wished nothing more than to spend a million dollars on his favorite chewing gum. That's Jason.

Schiavoni's letter describes how Jason finally enticed him to "just try it!" and he was surprised because he actually ended up liking the stuff. When I read his letter, I immediately knew I had found a recipient for all the Blackjack Gum I had been saving for Jason.

Before I left for college after summer 2005, I went into the store and bought all the Blackjack Gum she had for sale. I kept it in a box filled with Jason things, and sent along a stick or two with every care package. There was still a lot left when Jason was killed, and I never did find out if Schiavoni received all that gum.
He died before he had a chance to write us another letter.

Dancing with a Ghost at the Birthday Ball

2006-11-12T20:53:00.000-05:00

What a treat... to see over a hundred men proud to wear the dress blues uniform of a United States Marines. This weekend I attended a Marine Corps Birthday Ball at home. I've attended several military balls in the past, but none created the feeling shared by many in a room filled by Marines. Tradition is held in highest regard, and their respect for the Corps and its values is fantastic.

Major Cook and First Sergeant Finn,
who so graciously invited us to this Birthday celebration.

This ball was held for the 2/25 Marines, a Reserve unit based near my home in Pennsylvania. They performed the services at Jason's funeral, and we sent support to many of them during their recent deployment. Jason was, of course, an Active Marine stationed at Camp Lejeune, NC, but he was never able to attend a ball.

I wished I could have embraced the hand of every Marine in that room, no matter their age or rank (and there were a few boots in the crowd). They are fantastic creatures, these Marines, and I know very well what they have chosen to do for our country. I was truly overwhelmed in that room... to be completely surrounded by Marines. They are certainly not mere "heroes" - because the title, "Marine," carries a greater connotation not requiring explanation.

Even though Jason was not a part of this specific company, he is certainly a brother Marine. It was very difficult to avoid pretending he was there with me. I realized that for Jason it would have been such a very special occasion. He was a by-the-book Marine, always faithful to the espirit de Corps. I have kept his training guides and books from boot campt and school of infantry (SOI)... he made many notes and the books are worn, revealing evidence of his frequent page turning.

I especially enjoyed watching the Marines dance with one another and their beloveds - was good to see people so very alive. Jason was a terrible dancer - downright embarassing at times (sorry Jason) - but he would have spent every second of the available three hours on that dance floor. He would have smiled for dozens of photographs, and would have blinked at the flash during half of them. He would have dipped his finger in his glass of water and tried to make the rim "hum" to test if it was real china - like I taught him to do on our date to Rillo's so long ago.

At one point, I did close my eyes for a few moments, where I watched us dance together. Him in his dress blues (which he never had the chance to own) and me in my red gown. He would have hugged me very close in those handsome blues with the medals and buttons that shine so brightly. I would not have dared to let go.

Thank a Veteran

2006-11-11T09:45:00.000-05:00

There is something different about people in the military... people who offer themselves for the defense of our nation. I suppose some people join for benefits, but when you get down to the bare bones of it all... people in the military know about honor. They know of courage... they know of commitment.

I often wonder about the men and women who went before me. People have died for our country longer than many folks realize. A young woman who buries her beloved Marine in 1775 is no different than me, even though her tears were shed 231 years ago. Mothers sent their sons to Germany and never saw them again. Families sent their daddies and husbands to Vietnam and a very changed man returned in his body.

I hate the word "hero." Absolutely despise it.

Because there is no word for what our military men and women do. There should be no word assigned to what they withstand. They may be just ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances...but I believe that by God's grace, there are extraordinary people. I've learned a lot about our military in the last year, and I have learned that one may join the Army, Navy, Air Force, or Coast Guard, but one may become a Marine. No Marine ever says, "I'm in the Marine Corps." Instead he says, "I'm a Marine." They are a different breed of human, something better than man.

At the Battle of Iwo Jima, which lasted only 30 days in 1945... more than 6,000 MARINES died. That is more than two times the number of American servicemen who have died in Iraq, a three year battle involving all five branches of our military. 6,000 Marines in 30 days. Each one of them had someone who loved them.

I'm only 20 years old... I wasn't even alive for most of my nation's military history. But I remember it. When I hear people complain about the number of Americans who have died in this war, I want to scream at them... don't they understand? Don't they remember our history? Our country is free because of many more people than have died in this war alone. I certainly understand the cost of the Iraq war, but we have been through worse times. And even in those worse times, our nation has stood prouder and been more grateful. Where has our patriotism gone - now, when we need it most?

And war cannot be planned. The very nature of a war is unpredictable - there is no strategy, no room for being diplomatic, no fair play rules, no way to anticipate and declare its end. There is no choice in war - that is war by its very nature. This one is different than any other in our nation's history, but is still a war, no less. The enemy is undefined, and the battlefield is like no other.

I believe the ones who live make a sacrifice equal to those who die in war. Jason's friends were near his body after the explosion that killed him, and they sorted through the remains to collect his dog tags and things to send home to us. They carried on with the mission non-stop for another 5 months. Every day they could have died, and they knew it. Every day they had to remember Frye, Kenny, Cabino, Chevy, Troyer, Schiavoni... and the others. They opened letters from their families and smelled the scents of home captured briefly by the contents of a care package. They made sacfrices too.

Jason himself was never shy about saying "thank you" to a veteran of the United States military. He would stop whatever he was doing, extend his hand for a firm handshake, and then thank them for their service. Today we honor those who served in our military, and other than the birth and resurrection of our Savior, I believe this is our nation's greatest 'holiday'.

Please make time to thank the men and women who are extraordinary... who are selfless... who are better than average...

who understand honor, courage, and commitment.

Happy 231st to the Corps

2006-11-10T14:21:00.000-05:00

Hope

2006-11-10T00:45:00.000-05:00

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand.

And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.
Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings,
because we know that suffering produces perseverance;
perseverance produces character;
and character produces hope.
And hope does not disappoint us,
because God has poured out his love
into our hearts by the Holy Spirit,
whom he has given us.

Romans 5:1-5

Hope dies last.

Speaking of success... PRAISE GOD

2006-11-08T12:40:00.000-05:00

This morning was VERY special for me. I am in a speech class here, and we must choose our own topics - today's assignment was to convince my audience to perform some action. I've known about this assignment all semester, and I've been planning my speech for over a month - just because I've been so excited. This morning I encouraged a group of 20 or so Cornell students to 'support the Marines in Iraq'.

I wasn't sure how my classmates would handle this topic. For an earlier speech, I described the flag-folding ceremony that is performed at military funerals. I received a folded flag at Jason's funeral, so I used my personal experience to help them understand why the American flag is so important to our culture. The political climate here at Cornell is (much) less than favorable for a fervent Catholic, ultra-conservative, passionate patriot like myself. So I was very surprised at the magnitude of the positive response I had today.

During my speech I showed photographs of my Marines in Iraq, including Jason. I told them what it's really like over there... 140 degrees, no bathroom for 7 months, 100 pounds of gear... stuff they don't ever hear about or see. While I was talking I looked at the faces staring back at me - their eyes were wide with interest, and they appeared to be in some form of shock... "could our troops in Iraq really have it THAT bad?"

I explained that there are 2.4 million people in our military, whose job it is to protect 300 million Americans. We have no military draft - so these individuals (less than 1% of the US population) are volunteers. Of course I pumped up the Corps, because that is where my heart lies... but I stressed the need to support ALL our troops.

Towards the end of my speech, I asked my classmates to each use an index card to write a note to LCpl Brandon Frazer. I explained that I would include these in a package with candy leftover from our recent class Halloween party.

I read through the notecards before sending them off to Iraq, just to be sure no political extremist had used the opportunity inappropriately. I ended up with tears in my eyes. My classmates really got the point. One student even stayed behind to ask me after class, "Can you really just send a letter to them, even if you don't know them?" I was so happy - he was a student that I assumed would not care to listen very intently. He said he was going to write a letter. Another person wrote on their notecard - "Meredith really convinced me to support our troops, and I'll do more of that now."

Praise God.

Praise God.

PRAISE GOD.

As I was walking home after mailing our class care package, I realized that Jason really would have loved to receive those notecards. He would think it was fabulous that people took the time to jot down even a quick note. Oh, how I then wished I could have been sending them to him. But I am so very grateful to God that my classmates understood my message:

You need to support our troops... if you're a 20-something, able-bodied young person, it could have been YOU over there. But someone volunteered to go in your place. Whether you do your part in this war on our soil, or on theirs... do it well.

PRAISE GOD.

13 Months Ago...

2006-11-06T23:25:00.000-05:00

It's the 6th of November, 2006. Anymore it feels like this part of my life is a dream. Just a silly old dream that pesters me once in a while. I can look at pictures of Jason and not remember - thinkng, "what happened to this boy?"
I have been very busy this semester at college, and I believe that has prevented me from further contemplating both Jason's life and his death. Perhaps it's been pondered enough. Lately I feel that it's been enough - all of it. Now it's time to get moving again. It took 13 months to have this feeling, so it's not one I'll take lightly.

I think since I've been so busy, the events of last year haven't been able to haunt me like they used to do. There is never a day, however, when I don't slow down inside my mind long enough to realize how sad it is. Like I stop long enough to look at Jason's picture and sigh. What a journey this has been, truly. Oh, the people I have met... the sad smiles I have shared with those who know this story... and the pride I have felt. Always tremendous pride. My God, my country, and my family - my lifesource.

The pages in this book of mine will never be closed. There will always be the physical emptiness where Jason once thrived, but I've grown tired of this chapter ... so I think I'll write another.

THE MARINES ARE HOME!

2006-10-25T13:32:00.000-04:00

LCpl Kevin Kopa and LCpl Peter Palma (among others) are snug in their own homes by now. I have not been so ecstatic in well over a year. Truly.
I don't know either of these young men very well, but I have been writing to them since they deployed to Iraq in March. They both guarded Jason at his funeral... stood at parade rest, on on either end of his beautiful walnut casket. Without knowing them - I love them. I love them dearly for making the decision to volunteer for our country... I love them for volunteering to honor Jason as his body was laid to rest... and I love God for giving me these two very special Marines to support now and forever.

I was not able to greet them when they stepped off the buses last night. They arrived in Harrisburg around midnight, and I was more than 230 miles away trying to fall asleep in my bed. I was fairly certain that I would not be able to make it home for this event, so a few weeks ago I sent "welcome home" packages to their homes here.

What I would give to witness such a homecoming. Some people were upset that the homecoming was so late at night and certain family members weren't able to be there because of the poor timing... that was appalling. I wish I could have been there to explain why those people can be grateful to GOD that their Marines are walking off the plane, instead of being carried off in a wooden box.

It doesn't matter if I never see these two boys again - to know they are alive and safe somewhere on American soil makes my heart soar in a way that it has not done in a very long time.

May the Lord continue to bless the Marines of 2/25 Echo Company. PRAISE GOD they were able to walk off the plane that brought them home. OORAH!

Jokin' Around

2006-10-24T20:59:00.000-04:00

Jason was a funny guy, mostly because he was quirky. He had a funny way of living - certainly a good way of living - but he made people laugh by just his day to day doings.
Jason was a prankster - LOVED practical jokes, but only ones where nobody could get hurt. He would never try to hurt anyone's feelings, and he was certainly a good sport himself.

He was nuts about this one joke... I remember the very first time he told it to me. We were standing in his kitchen on a "poker night" so there were other folks around. He was ECSTATIC because I had never before heard this particular joke. It's his favorite. It took him literally a minute to calm down and prepare to tell me this short little joke...

"What do you get when you cross an elephant and a rhino?"

..............
"HELL-IF-INO!"

That's it. That's the whole joke. He thought it was genuinely hilarious. And he was absolutely flabbergasted that I had never heard it before - he was thrilled to have someone new to tell it to... the other folks in the kitchen that evening groaned as soon as they heard him ask me. They must have heard it hundreds of times. It was Jason's go-to joke... every time a joke needed to be told.
When he called from Iraq, he and his Mom asked each other that same silly question back and forth - "What do you get when you cross an elephant and a rhino?" so that even when things over there were sounding dismal, there would always be something to smile about and bring life back into focus.

Jason tried to do this with me, and I always just laughed and told him he needed to get "some new material". Well, sure enough he did. One time he called from Iraq and he was terribly excited... "Hey I got some new material for ya! Ready?... What do you call... (excitement causing stumbling with words)...What do you call a bee with a white sheet over it?.......... a BOOBEE!...get it?" (followed by hysterical giggling). Ooooh Jason.

So in spirit of Jason's "hilarious" joke-telling...

There are two things Marines are always taught:

1. Keep your priorities in order.

2. Know when to act without hesitation.

A college professor, avowed atheist and active member of the A.C.L.U. was teaching his college class. He shocked several of his students when he flatly stated that once and for all he was going to prove that there was no God.

Addressing the ceiling he shouted: "GOD, if you are real, I want you to knock me off this platform. I'll give you exactly 15 minutes!!!!!"

The lecture room fell silent. You could hear a pin drop. Ten minutes went by.

"I'm waiting God, if you're real, knock me off this platform!!!"

Again after four minutes, the professor taunted God saying, "Here I am, God-!!

I'm still waiting!!!"

His count down got down to the last couple minutes when a Marine, who was just released from the USMC, after serving in Afghanistan and Iraq and had newly registered for the class, walked up to the Professor.

The Marine hit him full force in the face. This sent the Professor tumbling from his platform. The Professor was out cold. The students were stunned and shocked.

They began to babble in confusion.

The Marine nonchalantly took his seat in the front row and sat in silence. The class looked at him and fell silent also ... waiting.

Eventually, the professor came to and was noticeably shaken. He looked at the Marine in the front row.

When the professor regained his senses and could speak, he asked:

"What the heck is the matter with you? Why did you do that?"

The Marine said, "God was really busy, protecting America's soldiers, who are protecting your right to say stupid things and act like an idiot.

So, He sent me…"

Entering the Ground

2006-10-18T19:50:00.000-04:00

One year ago today, October 18th, Jason Frye's body entered the ground.

I remember parts of the funeral very well...

I remember the way the flag felt under my hands as I placed them on his casket.

I remember the way the Marines stood guard, one on either side of Jason.

I remember walking out the doors of the church to the cemetary, following the procession just behind Jason. I can still feel the air as we were led up and over the crest of the small hill. Bagpipes were playing, "Amazing Grace," as Jason had requested. The sky was very very blue, and I felt as though my legs were disconnected from my body. But they kept moving towards the grave.

I remember looking into the eyes of a Marine as he handed me a folded American flag, and I wanted to stand to receive it proudly, but I had to remain seated. All I could do was say, "Thank you."

I remember the way the crucifix rested on top of Jason's casket, which was positioned under a blue tent just a few feet from the neighbor's corn field. The wind was very strong that day, and Jason's mother chuckled when the wind blew my long skirt above my knees.

I remember the dove clenched in my hands... I released two of them. Both times they left my hands I felt their weight shift away from mine as they took to the sky.

I remember how we sat in the church after the service ended. Just our parents and I. I didn't say much, and I didn't know what to do next. The funeral was over - the body was in the ground. Now we had to face the fact that Jason was never coming home to Perry County from the war. He had found a very new, but long awaited, home.

Jack, Jason, and Jesus

2006-10-11T07:59:00.000-04:00

The one year memorial service for Jason was ... difficult to describe. At Jason's funeral on October 18th, 2005, it had only been 12 days since he died. It took me nearly four months to realize what had happened. His closed casket funeral that day felt like a bizarre trick - the part about him being dead had not yet even begun to sink in.

So his one year memorial service was very different than one would expect. It was sadder. Now, a year later, it's since become very clear that Jason is not here on earth anymore. A funeral includes shock and disbelief - a one-year memorial includes longing and patience.

The two strongest feelings experienced after a beloved dies are (1) frustration, and (2) patience. They work together, and at times they work against each other. But together they work on the human soul and teach their lessons.

I believe this part of my life will never be fully closed, but in one year it has evolved into more of a stepping stone rather than a stone wall. I just wish Jason was here to hold my hand as I walk along the path God lays for me.

Jason loved Jack Daniel's Tennessee Whiskey. He wasn't one to abuse the stuff, but he did enjoy it's taste. He never backed out of a good time, as long as nobody could be hurt by it. This means he enjoyed the occasional good-natured practical joke, and yes, even a round or two of Jack Daniel's.

His tombstone is finally in place... in the little cemetary on a hill. Just beyond the doors of Mount Zion Lutheran Church. Every evening he faces the setting sun, and each morning his smiling face meets the rising sun again.

A wreath was positioned at his grave, and with this special ceremony we remembered the sacrifices of not only Jason - we remembered his Marine brothers, Cabino, Chevy, and Kenny. Together they wait for us with Jesus Christ, who bought their lives and ours with His own blood.

Praise God for Marines, praise God for country, and praise God for the gift of Faith.

Remembering October 7, 2005

2006-10-07T18:57:00.000-04:00

I was on my way home from college for fall break... I was in the car with my aunt and uncle and we were about 30 minutes into the 4.5 hour drive home. My cell phone screen was broken so that I didn't know who was calling me... I answered to hear a concerned voice asking how I was doing. I didn't know who was calling me or what they were talking about. As soon as my friend said, "Oh my God you don't know..." I knew what had happened. I just knew. He said,

"Meredith, Jason died in Iraq yesterday."

Those six words changed my life.

And now it's been a year since I've heard them.

I still hear them, even today.

Today a year ago we all found out...somehow or another, all whom Jason deeply loved found out today (minus one year) that we has killed. He didn't die, he was killed. I have trouble remembering that sometimes, but it's true.

Instead of riding home this time around, I was at his grave. A year ago exactly... today I was cleaning his tombstone, wiping it free of grass clippings and specks of mud. It was an eery sort of calm that accompanied the soapy water and the scrubbing. I cannot think of anywhere else I would have rather been today. That's the closest I get to him.

Sunday October 8th, 2006 (tomorrow) at 2:00PM (1400 hours) we will celebrate his life at Mount Zion Lutheran Church...

One Year Ago

2006-10-06T08:46:00.000-04:00

Today.

Cold Air

2006-10-05T12:55:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow it will be one year since Jason died. Tomorrow.

This won't be another "month" anniversary. It will be a whole year. Tomorrow.

It makes sense though... the air is cooler now, and everything is sharper and feels more real. Smells are more distinct, sounds are more crisp, and warmth is more welcomed now than at any other time of the year. It's the time of year when Jason dies.

I didn't know Jason died until the day after he was killed. So maybe the one year hurt will be worse on the 7th, because then it will be a year since I heard my best friend say,

"Meredith, Jason died in Iraq yesterday." Perhaps the greatest lesson I have learned in the last year is humility. Simple humility.

Tomorrow I will go and sit with him on that grassy hill in that big open valley. The air will be cool, and the sounds will be crisp, and I will welcome the warmth offered to me by God. On Sunday afternoon we will meet in his little church and together marvel at the smile God gave him. Like we did a year ago.

No matter where we are, the sky is the same.

Always the same sky.

Today's Explosion... 10/6/06

2006-10-03T21:53:00.000-04:00

One year ago, near Fallujah, Iraq an explosion ended their time on earth.

Four United States Marines.

They were among each other's very best friends.

They did not die alone.

They will not be forgotten.

Not today or any day.

Not today.

Jason Lee Frye

"Frye"

Landisburg, Pennsylvania

Shayne Cabino

"Cabino"

Franklin, Massachusetts

Nicholas Cherava

"Chevy"

Ontonagon, Michigan

Patrick Kenny

"Pat"

Pittsburgh, PA

PSALM 23

The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: and I will dwell in the house of the LORD for ever.

FOREVER.

A Phone Call a Year Ago

2006-09-29T08:22:00.001-04:00

Now it's been a year since I've had a conversation with Jason. I am not as sad as I anticipated; it's just an odd feeling to have... to think that it's been an entire year, exactly, since you last spoke with someone - a person you wish you could speak to every day.

In 2005, this date fell on a Thursday. I had two exams and a paper to write that Thursday. I stayed up very late on Wednesday night, studying and preparing and was positively exhausted. I must have gone to sleep around 1AM Thursday morning. My bed was bunked, so every time the phone rang in the middle of the night, I would awaken and scramble down in time to reach the last ring or so. Jason knew that if I didn't pick up he should start talking to my answering machine, because that would at least hold the phone connection until I could get there. Jason usually called his mother first, then made time to call me. The week before, he had been unable to get through to me, and felt bad about it, so Jason called me "first" that September 29th morning at about 2AM, my time. He called his mother two times the following day, Friday. That was odd in itself - Jason was never really able to call her twice in one day.

I don't remember much of what was said over the telephone then... I do remember that when I told Jason of my plans for that Thursday, tests and all, he asked if I wanted to go back to sleep. I hesitated in thought for a second - just a second, but it was still hesitation- then dismissed the thought and agreed to stay up longer to talk to him. I then felt sick with guilt for even thinking of going back to bed - he very likely walked three miles to make that phone call to me.

Although I can't recall most of what was said, I am sure we found reasons to laugh and we probably swapped short stories, like usual. I am certain that I asked him if he got my last package... which letter had he most recently received... did he need anything? (He would always reply instantly, "you!" and then chuckle about how he would feel bad if he made me ship myself over there in a climate-controlled UPS box). After some more nagging, I would get him to admit that he "didn't need anything" because he was a highly trained machine of sorts. Marines are trained to perform like an expert - do well with very little. And they do.

I do remember, very distinctly, how the telephone conversation ended.

Jason always stuck it out on the phone to the last second, as I'm sure most of the troops overseas do... he stayed on the phone until the guard scolded him at least twice, or until the satellite phone service cut out at the time limit. I think the longest conversation I had with him from Iraq was about 25 or 30 minutes - and by comparison, that's long.
Until the phone died, he would repeat code words, nicknames, giggles, "love yous" and "I'm okays"...but that time he did not. It was the only time he didn't. I was trying really hard to make him laugh, so I must have been teasing him about something. But, unlike his usual character, he was very serious. He was ALWAYS sincere, but not often so serious.

"Meredith, I just want you to know something... I just want you to know I'll always be here for you. No matter what happens, I will always be here for you, Meredith."

And Jason never said goodbye. We didn't like the word, so we made up a substitute. So Jason never had to say, "goodbye" to me over the phone. But that time he did. He whispered it, at the very last second, right before the line went dead.

I don't remember Jason's voice as well as I used to, but I'll never forget the sound of that "goodbye." Because as soon as I hung up the phone and the smile faded, I started to panic. Something had been different about that conversation, and I realized it even then. I immediately said, "Jason call back!" and I remember thinking, "Oh my God I've got to talk to him again...I should have told him I love him! Just call back quick!"

I slowly crawled into my bed, and haven't slept well since.
It's been a long time to wait for another phone call.

Jason Frye Memorial Motorcycle Run - this weekend!

2006-09-29T00:14:00.000-04:00

Jason Frye Memorial Motorcycle Run
Sunday, October 1st
Perry County, PA

Begins at 1200 at Shermans Creek Inn, on Rt. 34 and ends at Free Spirit Campground in Kennedy's Valley.
*Contact Meredith via e-mail for more information... and please pray for good weather!

You may not see him, but I am certain Jason will be there too.

Victory in a Ring

2006-09-27T23:26:00.000-04:00

When the perishable has been clothed with the imperishable, and the mortal with immortality, then the saying that is written will come true: "Death has been swallowed up in victory."

"Where, O death, is your victory?
Where, O death, is your sting?"

The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law.
But thanks be to God!
He gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.

1 Corinthians 15:54-57

It's been difficult to use my own words lately - so I rely on the Bible...

...how to describe this countdown of sorts. On Friday it will be one year since I have spoken to Jason. I have that written this reminder in my planner, (as if I needed to be reminded), and have chosen to write nothing else around that note. It stands out in that way, and seems to echo the way it stands out in my heart. Nothing else on that day will be important, not even mildly so. No matter what I do on Friday, Jason will be at the forefront. At least nobody will be able to tell.
Death is so psychologically damaging... it's unreal - or this lack of reality, in itself, is probably the sheer result of the damage. I told myself the other day to keep my phone on all night, like I did when Jason was alive, in case he calls again. For some reason, I thought maybe he would call at 2:00AM on September 29, 2006 just like he did on September 29, 2005. Maybe not this year.

I intend to soon share...I have waited all year to share the ring story... very likely the most significant thing about my connection to Jason, based entirely on what it symbolizes. A ring is cyclic, and therefore neverending. What a gift, this neverending is.

Celebration of Life - One Year Memorial on Sunday, October 8th 2006

2006-09-22T23:32:00.000-04:00

If you would like the opportunity to pay your respects to LCpl Jason Lee Frye, please make the trip to Perry County on the weekend of Sunday, October 8th...

Jason's family and friends will host an intimate one-year memorial service at his church. We are planning ways to celebrate Jason's loves, interests, and his life itself. I will be contributing by sharing many of my private photographs of Jason in a series of projected images. We will be singing some of Jason's favorite songs, (which he himself could not sing very well), so don't be shy!

His tombstone is now in place and his grave is finalized - he is laid to rest in the cemetary just a short walk from the church doorsteps.

Jason's One Year Memorial Service

Sunday, October 8th

2:00PM (1400 hours)

Mount Zion Lutheran Church
800 Falling Springs RD
Landisburg, PA 17040
Click here for area map

If you cannot attend, but would like to demonstrate your support,
please consider making a donation to The Jason Frye Memorial Fund.
This supports our troops in the form of care packages and will someday contribute to building a Jason Frye Community Center in our hometown.

One of the many ways our community showed its love and support when Jason died. He very likely would have served in the volunteer fire company someday.

One Last Letter...and JASON

2006-09-21T19:50:00.000-04:00

Today someone in the United States Postal Service retrieved a very special letter for delivery. After writing #150 letters to LCpl Kevin Kopa, I was sad to see the last one go. This does, however, mean that he is almost home. Almost safe and sound.
I love and support all Marines, and I was happy to write to one for so long. There were many days when I simply rambled to him - I didn't know what to write. It was sometimes sad to think that Jason would have been happy to hear about any part of my day, no matter how trivial.

It's an odd time of year for me. Odd time of life, really. I've many decisions to make - rather, I have many decisions for which to pray for Divine guidance. I am often saddened to think that if Jason were alive here, my decisions would be in a much different realm of life.

Every day I wear a metal bracelet on my left wrist. Occasionally I am curious if people beside me ever read it and wondered what happened in my life to cause me to wear a dead man's name on my wrist. Only very few people have ever asked about it. I usually hold it with my right hand when I think of Jason throughout the day, and lately I pause during classes simply to read the name, "Jason."

It's almost a year now, Jason.

Terror of the Heart 9/11

2006-09-11T08:41:00.000-04:00

A new thing is happening in my heart. Perhaps its not entirely new - just something that was gone for a long while. It's the panic. The "oh no! Jason is dead!" reaction has struck me a few times in the last week... like it should... it's almost the time of year when Jason dies.

I noticed the crunch of leaves on the ground two days ago... and the air here has been turning noticeably cooler in the last week. A harvest moon emblazoned the night sky for my journey home. The sky itself appears to be preparing for something... for October. For Jason's death.

I am both hopeful and fearful that I will relive the death of my beloved. Hopeful because Jason's death means that only days ago he was alive... fearful because Jason's death means his alive days are complete, despite our intentions to share many more together.

Today was wretched... undeniably horrible. I woke up remembering where I was on September 11, 2001. Jason and I were in 10th grade. I was in biology class, sitting behind a good friend. Jason must have been at vo-tech, since we found out in the morning. The principal's voice came on over the loudspeaker to tell us... and we didn't know what it meant. I had never before heard the word, "terrorism." I never considered that I too would be part of a generation shaped by war.

I know there are folks who swear the current war is not connected to the terrorist attacks on our soil five years ago. Although I don't blame people for their ignorance in this situation, I don't care much for their opinion of the war, regardless. There is something different instilled in those who are directly touched by it. I was sick this morning as I watched the 9/11 scenes over and over again ... I wondered... if those people had not caused such harm to our country, would Jason have been in Iraq? It's more a frustration than an anger, but it's terrible on the heart. On the last anniversary of the attacks, Jason was still alive. So I did not think of this until today.

I do not know why or how the panic came back today. It was the panic that stayed in my heart and totally absorbed my mind for three months after his death. The panic caused me to slow down in every aspect of my life. The panic prohibits sleep and discourages effort... for anything. It's just a feeling of total terror - fear of the unknown. The kind where passersby would probably be alarmed enough to call for help.
"Could Jason really be dead?" thoughts that I haven't had in a very long time. Blinding panic where I shrink into a corner. Consuming panic where I can't think of anything else except, "Jason is dead. What if Jason is dead? Jason please come home! Jason is dead," over and over and over again. I just finished the book, The Gift of Valor, about CPL Jason Dunham... towards the end of the book I just stared at the name "Jason" on the page for seconds at a time. It was this name that prompted me to read the book in the first place.

Jason's mother called to let me know that Jason's tombstone was put in place today. I haven't paid it much thought, for I know the thought could be gutwrenching. The tombstone finalizes things...but only very few things.

Graveside Ceremony

2006-09-10T23:49:00.000-04:00

The wedding was quite the experience... I think one of the hardest parts was sitting nearest to the groomsmen and realizing that Jason was not one of them, as planned. Lots of things haven't gone according to plan though...

I am very very grateful to God that Adam and Brie are able to share in this opportunity. I pray that they someday realize how sacred is the union of marriage - that God is meant to be included in that union. May they fully cherish it then.

To be honest, as is my usual way, I felt emotionally tortured on Saturday. The small part of Meredith that survived Jason's death unchanged was very very happy to attend the marriage ceremony and reception, especially for two people I so love. And the majority of Meredith - the part totally anew since Jason's death - sat in a patient agony that I have not felt in many weeks...or perhaps never quite like this one. I wanted to fall apart ... absolutely fall to pieces at every blessed breath. I did not have Jason there in person, but I could imagine what it would have been like. Sometimes I think this ability alone is torturous ...to so easily imagine a life with him still alive in it.

Over the course of the day no one mentioned his name, and that's okay. This was a happy event, and Jason's name alone is still the trigger for waves of pain...But those who remain with him at the forefront did not need to hear his name being mentioned, even in passing.

I felt him in the church. I was glad for the feeling, since he has not produced it so in a long time now. There have been certain moments since he died in which I knew with great certainty that he was there - no matter how briefly the air around me felt warm in this way. Those experiences make for another story, but when he comes to me like this ... the air around me feels closer, denser... and much warmer for a short moment. Like the soft warmth of many candles burning.

Jason would have been THE first person on the empty dance floor. No doubt. And he would have been the last to leave... just like a good Marine - first one in, last one out. He would have leaned over to kiss me every time the tiny bells were rung for the bride and groom. He would have held my hand under the table even while I tried to eat and take pictures. He would stand at the bar and hold up a glass while wearing a funny face, just as I capture the moment in the frame of my camera. Then he would chug 'er down... burp a little... giggle and shyly say, "Oh, excuse me." Oh Jason...

Before we left the church to drive to the reception, I walked down to Jason's grave. The church sits on a hill, so all you can see from its front stoop is Jason's Perry County flag waving in the breeze.

My Date for a Wedding

2006-09-07T23:54:00.000-04:00

This weekend I will be home for a wedding... Jason's older brother, Adam, is marrying his girl, Brie, on Saturday. I know they've waited a long time for this day, and I am very very grateful to God that they will be able to have it.

I felt like a fool today... for the first time since Jason died - the very first time - I realized that I won't have Jason as my date for this wedding. Certainly, I do not have a date at all, but I never even thought about how Jason wouldn't be mine. Why didn't I realize this earlier? Why didn't I think of it right after he died, when all the 'new panic thoughts' were pouring into my mind? Funny how every once in a while I can still have one of those 'new' thoughts. The kind where Jason is dead.

Of course, if Jason were still alive he would be coming home from Lejeune for this celebration. As Adam's brother, he would be one of the groomsmen. I would sit in the front row pew and smile at him as he grinned at me when the vows were said. He would stand up front with the rest of the men in tuxedos... he would check back with me every few moments... turn quickly with his eyes to glance at me and smile a knowing smile.

Without even thinking of my possible wedding with Jason... today I dwelled on him not being able to attend this one for his own brother and a girl he already knows and loves like a sister. He won't be there for me to squeeze hands with while waiting at the back of the church for the procession to begin. He won't be there to nudge my foot under the table at the dinner. He won't be there for me to share a dance with at the reception. And Lord, how he would dance with me. He would be soaked with sweat by the end of the evening... he would have smashed my toes in their sandals a few times, and he would be all-over-the-place-hyper for the duration of the evening, as well as the four hours after its official end.

Jason would give a toast to his brother, Adam. He would start out funny, maybe tell a story, then be sincere and heartfelt in a way that would make people think he should be the one in the spotlight that evening. Jason Frye and Adam Frye are as different as night is to day, but Jason loves his brother and looks up to him. In many ways, Jason is much older than Adam, who was actually born a few years earlier. To be honest, Jason was much older than most people he encountered. He had a peace about him that allowed him to be totally open...totally free.. with whomever he met. Never shy about a dang thing. Never.
There is comfort in knowing with absolute certainty that if Jason Lee Frye were alive on this earth, I would see him tomorrow or the next day. Absolutely. I would be in his presence in just 24 hours, if he were still walking and breathing on this earth. It's an abstract, sort of surreal comfort... but that's all any "comfort" really is when a beloved is dead.

This is the alter in Jason's church on the day of his funeral... October 18, 2005.
His brother will be married at the same alter.

11 Months of Love

2006-09-06T08:09:00.000-04:00

Today marks 11 months since Jason Lee Frye left this earth. As I write this my clock reads 8:05AM, so it's been 11 months almost to the minute.

Certainly, I have kept track of every month's 6th day. Every 6th has arrived to me with different emotions. This time around it doesn't feel like much, to be honest. Now it just feels like a year. A whole year since Jason died. Almost there.

(*There is a memorial service being planned for the afternoon of Sunday, October 8th. This will be held at Jason's church in Landisburg, PA and I will include details about it soon.)

A friend recently visited me and asked me about Jason. I really appreciated the opportunity to tell somone about him beyond just his name. When I finished one of my Jason-stories, my friend smiled and asked, "You're still in love with him, aren't you?" I smiled slowly and assured that yes, I am. I wanted to cry then, but chose not to. I thought about this conversation later and realized that it will always be that way - I'll always be in love with Jason, because there was no way in which he ended that part of my life. Sure, he died, but he didn't end the love.

This dog tag is from the field cross display at the memorial for 2nd Marine Division held at Camp Lejeune last spring. Jason died as an E-3, Lance Corporal, but this tag reads "PFC" because his paperwork was in a mass when he was in Iraq.

Prayer Intentions for Boots About to Leave and Marines About to Return

2006-09-04T19:52:00.000-04:00

Jason was granted leave to come home after boot camp and do some recruiting for the Marine Corps. When someone in Jason's position acts as a recruiter, he benefits because this makes his rank advancement approach sooner. Jason actually recruited a boy who lives near the cemetary where he is buried. To my knowledge, when Jason went to this boy's home as a recruiter, he first presented himself as a proud and noble Marine... a respectful young man... a trustworthy new friend. Jason was very honest in describing the future for this young recruit, and I know that Jason would never act as the stereotypical recruiter. Jason would have presented the information and welcomed an affirmative decision, but would not have pressured this young man.

Nick Columbus is now a Lance Corporal in the United States Marine Corps. In just a few days he will leave for his first deployment to Iraq. His fiancee is a very special friend of mine; we all grew up in the same hometown. Sarah and I played sports together throughout school and have grown closer since we share a love for two young Perry County Marines.

A 19-year old Marine on Nick's fire team, which is composed of only about 4 people when in combat situations, was killed in an automobile accident on his way home to see his family one last time before shipping out to Iraq. Please pray for the beloveds of Marty Banks, and pray for their knowledge of and faith in God.

When you rest your mind against your pillow in the evening... before you close yourself after another day... please remember those who serve for you and for this country. Remember the sacrifice that they make daily - especiall those who are still existing on earth. Those who died sacrificed, yes, but they never shall again be forced to do so. They rest with God.

Please pray for the protection of LCpl Nick Columbus,
and for the continued spiritual strength
and comfort of his beloved, Sarah.

Sarah and Nick ~ August 2006

In about a month, my two Marines will be home from Iraq. LCpl Kevin Kopa and LCpl Peter Palma have been receiving support in the form of letters and care packages from my family since they deployed in March. I have prayed for their safety DAILY and eagerly await to greet them when the step off the plane in October. This will be a special reunion for many reasons...mostly because I did not have such an opportunity during "my" first deployment. Please pray that my Marines make it home safely.

LCpl Kevin Kopa with children in Iraq

Since Kevin and Peter will no longer be able to receive mail in just a week or two...

Please take the time to write a letter to these two new Marines...

LCpl Nick Columbus
2D LAR BN A Co.
Unit 73510
FPOAE 09509-3510

PFC Brandon Frazer
2D LAR BN A Co.
Unit 73510
FPOAE 09509-3510

Rejoice always; pray without ceasing;
in everything give thanks;
for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.
1 Thessalonians 16-18

Seven... with Motorcycle Rides and Carnival Treats

2006-09-01T11:56:00.000-04:00

Jason "left home" twice, as I have explained before. He left home from pre-deployment leave to return to Lejeune on Tuesday, July 5th, 2005. His departure date changed - he snuck home in between - and left for good on Sunday, July 17th, 2005. Months before, he came home for Memorial Day weekend.

I had never before ridden a motorcycle, and Jason grew up playing with "cycles" and intended to buy his own when he came home from Iraq. His parents bought him a mini-bike when he was a little boy.

We were in his driveway on the evening before he left to return to Lejeune after Memorial Day weekend. A few of his friends were there too, to wish him goodbye after we had all spent the afternoon together. I asked Jason to someday take me for a ride on a motorcycle (but we couldn't tell my Dad!). So he offered a ride right then - we hopped on to his brother's big crotch rocket and I had my first trip on a cycle. Of course I was very cautious, since I had never ridden before... but Jason was even more cautious. Precious cargo, you know. The activities of this day occurred before we admitted what was kept in our hearts for a long time.

All we really did was make a very slow-moving loop around his large yard late at night. I doubt he even gave it much gas to accelerate, since he lives on a big hill. Sure it was neat to have my first experience on a motorcycle. This was, however, the first time I had the chance to put my arms around that boy. I had to hold on, and when I climbed up and sat down I felt like I never wanted to let go of him. I made him do an extra loop around the yard "just because," while maintaining the secret that I just didn't want to let him go yet. I remember being surprised at how strong he felt, even beneath his long-sleeve shirt.

On the second loop, as we were coming to the bottom of the hill I leaned forward and said, "I'm a seven." He said, "What?"..."My ring size is a seven - for when we get married..." "Oh, I'll have to remember THAT," he replied, and despite the darkness of the night I could feel his body position change as he began to blush.

He promised to take me for a better ride when he came home in June for pre-deployment leave. And he did... on Thursday, June 23, 2005 I ventured over to his house (just six miles from my own). I can't quite remember the sequence of events that evening, but I do remember them as separate entities unto themselves.

"Meredith's First Real Motorcycle Ride" was quite the production. Jason went into his closet to get a long sleeved shirt for me to wear. The air was warm that June, of course, but he explained I may get chilly in the fast moving wind while on the cycle. He pulled out his brother Adam's camouflage jacket from the Marine Corps. Obviously they share the same last name, so the nametag reads "Frye." Probably after we went for the ride, Jason took the time to roll the sleeves up in "regulation" style. He laughed at me when we were in his driveway because a bird had made a deposit on my shoulder. He let me keep the jacket since I liked it so much.

Jason didn't have his cycle license updated so we couldn't go for a long ride - he didn't want to be illegal for many miles. His Dad stopped him before we left and they had a conversation about Jason's license. Dad Frye was in the driveway chuckling at our production even when we returned. I think Jason had even offered to go and renew his cycle license for $80 or some large sum of money just to (legally) take me for a real ride. He would have only used the license for the remaining week that he was home. Never a feat too large or out-of-the-way for him.

At some point Jason explained that when he made a turn on the bike, I shouldn't lean into it like he would...in order to keep our balance. I think my eyes must have gone wide as I anticipated falling off the cycle, but he quickly reassured that we would be fine. We took off down the driveway and turned right at its end. Up the mountain we rode at a pretty slow pace. We stopped at a pull-off at the top... I think we got off the bike for a few minutes... then turned to descend the relatively steep mountain.

This was one of the very few times I did not see Jason Lee Frye smiling, and I realized that even as it was happening... From my position behind him, I could look over his shoulder into the rear-view mirrors. From my angle I had a perfect view of his face, which was caught in the mirror. I watched his very dark eyes behind the protection of his helmet. He was not smiling, instead he was watching the road ahead of him very intently. I wished then that I could take a picture of the mirror and the way it caught his stern face. He probably didn't make that face more than a hundred times in his 19 years. It was sort of funny too - I hadn't expected Jason to be able to pull off a "bad ass, tough guy" look. His buddies in the Corps always teased him when he let a cuss word slip... he was unintentionally hilarious about it - they told him to not even "bother with cussing because he was so bad at it." Just didn't sound right coming from his lips.

Jason was going pretty slow, even in the descent... so I urged him to 'give it some gas' and we flew down that mountain. Jason lived for thrills and desparately wanted to try everything at least twice, so he is much more a daredevil than myself. He NEVER copped out of a dare, unless it was stupid in a way that could really hurt people. So I knew he was holding back on the gas that day because of me. Like I said, we flew when I gave him the nudge.

When we returned to the house after our short ride we spent time taking a lot of pictures. Jason was only permitted to use my camera few times. I didn't need more pictures of myself, and I wanted to max out on the amount I could take of him. He wasn't so coordinated with his hands and would become almost too excited about even the smallest things. He was, however, very careful with my camera...The reason I share this photograph of myself is because Jason took it... and Jason loved it. Sometimes, when I am so blessed with this memory, I can replay seeing Jason in front of me and I can watch his facial expression change as the camera's display showed the picture he had just taken. He said, "Oh I love this one! You have to get me a copy of this for when I go!" When I showed him the pictures that I had taken of HIM, he went on and on about how his red undershirt complimented the blue long-sleeved shirt. He was serious too. He had a lot of interests, VERY DIVERSE interests...including fashion. Funny part is, he didn't care to have expensive clothes himself - he shopped at Salvation Army on days when a student discount is given. He just had a general interest in random things.

He never had any hesitations about 'hamming it up' for the camera. He closed his eyes for many of them - I took several hundred photographs of him before he left for Iraq, and about 45% of them are pictures of a handsome guy with his eyes closed. That's Jason. After a while we learned of his inability to keep them open (regardless of a flash) so we knew to take several of the same shot just to be sure.

That evening we went to the Landisburg Fireman's Carnival in our hometown. We were both excited to go - we like hometown events like this one. Jason promised to buy me anything I wanted, which was nearly useless because I didn't ask for much. We were never bored, that's for sure... and yesterday I realized that we didn't watch much television in our time together. Maybe one movie, "The Notebook," was all we really sat down and watched. There was always something more fun to do outside. I'll never see that movie again, so I am glad we took the time to watch it the first time. Jason cried at the end and I didn't. He's sensitive and sometimes sappy like that.

When we arrived we went straight for the beef barbecue sandwiches, made by the little old ladies of the surrounding churches. Jason knew the woman serving the sandwiches. We ate them pretty fast, then went after some homemade french fries. I kept teasing Jason saying I was sooo hungry and would he have enough money to feed me? He chuckled and said he would run over to the gas station's ATM if he had to. He told me to keep eating... he wanted to buy me one of everything.

He bought me a bottle of water from an Amish family selling cold drinks. I can't remember if he got a pop or a bottle of water too. Our favorite pop is Dr. Pepper and our favorite candy bar is a Kitkat. We shared a lot of favorites.

We sat down under a pavillion roof... we were at our own picnic table and there weren't many people at the carnival yet that evening. We ate our french fries together there. I remember a small stand just outside the pavillion entrance where someone was selling small jars or coins that were displayed on an upright stand. People were passing by every moment, and Jason pointed out the ones he knew. Many of the passersby were people he recognized and knew fairly well - he told me all about them and demonstrated once again that he had more than a passing acquaintance with a third of folks in the county.

I remember feeling as though people were staring at us that evening. Not in a negative way - they all seemed to admire Jason and a lot of people stopped to talk to him. He wasn't shy, not by any means, and had a smile for everybody he saw. I was walking around with my camera bag on my hip. Once or twice Jason or I was stopped by someone who knew us well enough to hold a conversation. At one point we were separated, talking to two different groups of people. Our eyes met and we smiled across the distance in the middle of all the chatter. Jason's smile in those situations was a shy sideways smile... with a hint of blush.

We must have arrived much sooner than most people - I remember that we had to wait until the milkshakes could be made. I got a vanilla shake, and maybe Jason got chocolate but I think his was vanilla too. He paid and then we waited for ours to be made. He went off to talk to someone and I ended up holding his milkshake for a few minutes. He was about to leave for Iraq and most people in our small community knew this... so they were all very excited to speak with him one last time. I grabbed two straws and two spoons - I knew I liked to have a spoon for the extra thick part of the shake. We didn't need them though, so those two spoons stayed in the sidepocket of my camera bag for many months. I used one of them one morning, and by the time Jason died there was only one left.

I wanted a funnelcake and Jason knew it. But by this point we were both stuffed with carnival treats. He practically begged me to buy one and eat it... I think because he knew I only very rarely eat junk food (and wanted to witness the event) and because he wanted to do something nice for me, again. I refused until he stopped offering. We opted out of soft pretzels and caramel apples too.

I had carried my camera around the carnival the whole time. It's not a big event, and we were only there for about an hour and a half. I didn't take pictures while I was there, and I wish I had. I can remember it to a good level of detail, despite the lack of photographs. You wouldn't believe how my photographs have helped me to piece together a life. I did take one picture, as we pulled out the entranceway to the grounds. I had Jason stop at the welcome sign so I could take a picture to verify the "country-esque" of my hometown, where the upcoming snake hunt would be a fabulously engaging and well-attended community event.

That was a Thursday evening. By observing the order in which my photographs were taken, we must have gone to the carnival... then returned to his house, where we left for our first (and last) real motorcycle ride.

The carnival in our town lasts for a few days and usually ends on Saturday night with fireworks. That following Saturday night we went country line dancing with friends at TWANG in Cumberland County. Jason arrived early at my house to pick me up for the trip over the mountain. On the way to my house, he had stopped at the carnival. He showed up and greeted me with a funnel cake and apple fritters. He insisted that I eat some right then, while it was still good and hot. (He had asked the preparer to wrap the treats in aluminum foil to keep them warm for me). I told him I promised to eat it later... and then we went dancing. Another unforgettable experience.

2006-08-27T23:18:00.000-04:00

... I'd hold you every second,
say a million "I love you's"...
that's what I'd do with one more day with you.

Jason... I'm not sure that I could describe even to you how I am these days. You know what's funny - I can control it now. Every once in a while the old part takes over, but I can beat it most times. I decide when I will cry. I decide when I will go back in time with you inside my mind, listening to the right sounds and inhaling the right scent. I decide when I will think of nothing but you. I am always thinking of you, but I do, of course, have to keep my life going with day to day matters.

When people ask me now what it was like for me just after you died, I can't remember. Now it seems not so bad, because I made it this far. My soul moved past that point and allowed me to forget it so that I would be safer in this new self. But it was emotional hell - I remember that much. Over the last few months I just grew accustomed to it all, but never really "closed with and destroyed the enemy," as you were trained to do. Oorah Boss, oorah.

You wouldn't believe how you've changed my life...God has used you in such a unique way for me. Do you realize how many people I have connected with since you died? From Brush and Herbert and Dix and all your guys...to people with whom we went to high school but never spoke to me before now. You must be fascinated to watch all of this unfolding. And only you and God know about the decision I will make in the next few months. What I would give to have you here so that I could talk with you about it. I feel like we've been sitting in silence for a long time now. I wish I could hear you. If you're here then I know you must be talking to me, just as I carry on with the invisible you.

Right now, this very moment as I write to you, we don't seem real. I don't feel anything except my tired fingers floating across the keys. It doesn't matter that I have to put on my stronger self tomorrow so I can finish another day. It doesn't even matter that I don't have someone to be close enough with, like a friend who wants our lives to be the same one, like you did. I feel empty. Very empty. But it's not like it was soon after you died. Today exhaustion works to fill the emptiness. I am so tired of your death, Jason.

Do you remember those letters? If I was given just one page - a single piece of paper - upon which to lay words for you, ones that God would make certain you had the chance to read... what would I write to you? I don't know. But wouldn't it be fantastic? I would write so small to fill every given line with two lines of my own handwriting. I would draw the angel I used on all your previous letters.

Our time together seems so long ago, Jason, because of the part that happened since then. Not much longer now and it will be eleven months since I wrote a letter to you that you would actually read with your big so-brown-almost-startling eyes and strong browline. You know, I've written 130 letters to our Kevin, and dozens to our other Marines. I wonder every time I pick up my pen what it would be like to write you so many. You would think it fabulous to receive every one. That would mean you were still alive. That would mean you were still taking "one more step" for me and your family. You would think it fabulous to receive every one.

Jason, I hope you can hear me when I whisper, "Jason please be with me always." I pray so desperately that you can hear me whisper to you, because I know you failed your military hearing test three times before you left for Iraq.

You know, a year ago was about when I had that nightmare. I know you remember it, because you worried about me and I can still hear what you said. I don't well remember the dream anymore. I know there were Marines in desert camis around. It was a short dream, but will last a long time. I did not see you - but I felt you being around this dream...like these were your guys. There was an explosion, and I think I woke up knowing you were not hurt in the IED attack, but wasn't certain. I was in a panic when rolled over to wake myself up. I told you about that dream then in the next few days ... you were worried sick about me having nightmares! Hah! I laughed at your silly worriedness and how you mentioned it even weeks later. That was how I learned not to tell you certain things ... if you thought I wasn't worried then you couldn't worry about ME. Oh! Do you remember when I would say, "I DON'T miss you!"? That was code for "I miss you like mad, like you wouldn't believe!," remember? Ha! You didn't like that code in particular, no matter how hard I tried to get you to laugh. I think I made up that crap just so you wouldn't worry more about me. For goodness sake Jason, you never worried about your own self.

You would have taken good care of me and our family, Jason. I think of that every day.

Noog forever.
Wheat Thin

Summer's End

2006-08-19T23:03:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow I return to Cornell for another go round. The summer of "one-year-after-Jason" has now reached its conclusion. And so I begin another chapter in my time on earth. I wish desperately that Jason Lee Frye was alive and breathing so that he could be a more dimensional part of this forthcoming experience.

I drove to the cemetary tonight in the darkness with the windows down. There was a storm brewing in the sky, so even the air was filled with anticipation. I wished I could have stayed at Jason's grave for a very long time. I don't know that I have ever before so strongly wished to remain there. Soon it will not be so easy for me to be that "close" to his body. I stared at the plaque that is cemented into the ground six feet above where his toes used to dangle. Over and over again...

"Jason, how can I be sitting here above your GRAVE?!"

Motorcycle POKER RUN - Memorial Ride for Jason

2006-08-16T23:07:00.000-04:00

Jason Frye Memorial POKER RUN in Perry County, PA

October 1st 2006 (rain date Oct. 8th)
1200 hours (noon)

$15 Donation and event t-shirts can be ordered on the day of the ride

*Ride from Sherman's Creek Inn, Shermansdale, PA to Free Spirit Campground, Landisburg, PA. Any questions can be directed to Meredith via e-mail - just click on the "Write to Meredith" link on the right side of your screen.

*Sponsored by Leathernecks MC

To benefit the Jason Frye Memorial Fund, which is used to support US troops worldwide and to someday build and establish a hometown community building in honor of Jason Frye.

Jason himself hoped to purchase "a cycle" when he returned home from Iraq. He would have made a neat biker dude and I would have been pleased to ride along as his biker chic. This event is being coordinated by (another MARINE) the father of Jason's very best childhood friend.

If you want another good reason to saddle up your hog, come out and ride for JASON!

Jason

2006-08-15T22:43:00.000-04:00

Greater love has no one than this,
that one lay down his life for his friends.

John - Chapter 15:13

A Day with the Marines and Art Class Memories

2006-08-12T21:35:00.000-04:00

Today I volunteered at a charity golf tournament to benefit our local Toys for Tots. The US Marine Corps Reserves is a huge component of this well-recognized charity, which provides toys for needy children at Christmastime each year. My favorite television during the Christmas season includes a Marine in full dress blues standing on post as a toddler marvels at his presence.

I was so very happy to be at this event to help...largely because it gave me one more piece of Jason that I did not yet have.

For several hours I was surrounded by young men who marked their bodies with "USMC" and "0331" - some who had gone to war and some who had not. Without asking them individually, I am nearly certain that I could accurately guess who had been to Iraq. There was something very different about the 19-year old kid who smiled so much brighter than the others. He bubbled over with grins as he told of his plans for college. Another Marine, just a year older, still has shrapnel lodged in his body and walks with the slightest stiffness in his leg. It's interesting to meet these people my own age and marvel at how much 'older' they have become as a result of their unique experiences. I think I will next see them at the Marine Corps Ball... and Lord, they have no idea how blessed I feel to be invited to such an affair.

I watch the way they carry on with one another, and I imagine how Jason must have joked with his enlisted buddies, who I have since met and grown to love. I see how a few will so willingly go out of their way to help a civilian with a menial task, and I picture Jason bending down to pick up the same fallen papers. I smile gratefully when I see how immediately quiet they become at the mention of Jason's name, for most of them know that such a position could so easily be switched. I see how the strong lines in their tanned forearms are emphasized by the way the sun touches their skin, and I wonder if Jason would have come home from Iraq even stronger and leaner than when he left. Every so often I catch the sounds of a Marine standing by himself but smiling over the phone to a girl he loves, and I wonder so desparately what Jason must have looked like when he spoke to me in that way.

Even in small doses, witnessing the lives of these Marines is helping me to heal - helping me to pull pieces together to form conclusions in my own mind:
With just 19 years on my heart, I fell in love with a young man during his two week pre-deployment leave for a war in which he died for his country. Although I met him many years ago, I did not have the opportunity to fully know him. He very proudly wore the title, "US Marine," and I did not know what he had done to earn that title, nor how sincerely he would offer his own life to protect it. He cherished my existence - my life - with his entire self, and prayed desparately to always remain a part of it. I am forever changed by both his life and death, as he is indefinitely a part of me - just as he had hoped, but in such a way that neither of us envisioned.

I learned today that Jason's parents wanted to buy him a new set of golf clubs for Christmas in 2005, but he of course died just a few months prior to that sacred time of year. I didn't know Jason was a golfer, although I knew he had at times tried the game with his Dad. I know he loved sports, but I am not so sure of his coordination skills. He wasn't unbalanced, but had long legs and such a happy-go-lucky goofy approach to everything that when he was serious about something, it was a hysterical moment for those who knew him well.

We were in his backyard last summer kicking a soccer ball back and forth while Jason spoke to a buddy on the portable phone. And I think it was that same night when Adam, Jason, and I were throwing around a baseball in the backyard... Adam threw it too fast and high over my head and it went into the weeds behind me...Jason scolded him for making me have to search for the baseball. Jason would have been the type of Dad to stay up all night under the lights playing catch with his kids. He would have enthusiastically pitched to his son, swinging away at home plate, and then ran in behind the plate after every throw to retrieve the one baseball he had with him.

He played ice hockey for our high school team, but I never made it to a game. My best buddy in high school was also on the team with Jason, and often asked me to come watch a game, but I was always involved in my own team practice for another sport. The coaches claim Jason was the peppiest guy on the team, and I believe it. They said he would rally his teammates no matter the looming outcome of the game.

One of the ice hockey coaches is also the art teacher at our high school - he taught the only class Jason and I ever shared together. We were in tenth grade and sat on opposite sides of the room in a "ceramics" course. I was a good art student in high school and, as in all of my classes, took my work very seriously. Jason sat at "the loud kids' table" and I was sure to stay on my quieter side of the room. I remember thinking, "With all of that yacking how will they ever get their projects done?" Jason was never rude or disrespectful, he just had difficulty keeping his mouth shut for very long. He was so dang excited to be alive and be involved in the lives of those around him!
When Jason died there must have been talk about us circulating our high school because we had both been well-liked and respected students. The same art teacher would laugh as he told his current pupils that I used to sit in that art class with Jason and roll my eyes from across the room at how annoying he was, and wasn't it funny that I had fallen in love with the guy after we graduated? One of Jason's pieces of artwork is on the shelf above his bed... I remember seeing it as an unfinished work near the kiln in the artroom closet back in 10th grade. We were always asked to explain the motivations behind our work in art classes, and I wish that I could remember what Jason said about his clay bust sculpture. From across the room, I sculpted a bust of the Pittsburgh Steelers' head coach, while Jason sculpted his own camo-clad masterpiece.

For many years there has been a bulletin board in the hallway of our alma mater high school that proudly displays photographs and whereabouts of West Perry graduates who entered the US military. Jason was very kind to students of all ages and was very very outgoing, so many people (even much younger schoolmates) were impacted by his life and death.

Only a few times a year do I make it back to walk through the halls of West Perry High School. That place reminds me of a very very different time in my young life... not so long ago, but many people and experiences have come and gone in such a short period of time. Being there is sort of unreal, even to watch a soccer game, and I always walk with a slower pace when I go out of my way to silently pass by the doorway of that old art room.

10 Months and Flying Feet

2006-08-07T22:08:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I returned from a very special trip to Tucson, Arizona. I attended a conference where I received a unique scholarship for college, an award I shared with about 80 other students from around the country. I wished desparately for the opportunity to thank my peers. Although I wore my KIA bracelet for the duration of my trip, not many people knew why I was wearing a LCPL JASON FRYE metal bracelet around my wrist.

For the first time since Jason died I was not recognized as a beloved to a dead Marine - I got to be just Meredith again since nobody knew what I had left at home. I can count on my fingers the number of good days I have felt since Jason died, and my four day trip to AZ literally doubled the number of days I have been happy to wake up and start another morning. This scholarship was awarded to college students who demonstrated passion for the environment and public service. When I filled out an application last spring, I felt as though I was not actually the person I presented on paper. My internal changes began the moment Jason died, certainly, and part of me has been very dead since October 6, 2005.

The passion in these fellow students was invigorating in the way my own used to be, and because of their smiles and laughter I have been able to begin to turn another page in this book that is my life. I have not laughed or smiled so in literally ten months. I laughed so much it was as if I had been storing giggles and smirks all along... and my new friends helped me to release them. I am so grateful for that experience. So very grateful.

Meeting these students and interacting with them was of course very interesting, but even more so because of the history I could hide behind my newfound smile. When they spoke of life I listened in a different way than most people my age would have the heart to do... I know life from a very unique perspective. Not better or worse, just different.

Jason was at 29 Palms for training, but he was never in Tucson, to the best of my knowledge. I couldn't help but wonder what Jason would have said when he saw something so mysterious as the southern Arizona desert...
He would have stopped and read every name plate provided with plants and animals, and he would have politely begged some passerby to take a photograph of the two of us standing arm in arm with the desert horizon behind us. He would have offered to buy me a token gift, and I would have refused such an offer and simply hugged him instead. Jason would insist on wearing his silly aviator sunglasses and he would try to hold my hand as we walked - even in the 100 degree heat. He would walk ahead of me to a high point in the path... stop and place his hands on his hips...lean back in his sandals just a tad...then turn around and grin. I am grateful that wherever my feet take me, I can pretend that Jason's feet are really there to keep the pace with my own.

Yesterday I ran through the Tucson airport in pursuit of a young man in what I thought were USMC digitech camis. In fact, he was a boot just getting out of Army training. I simply wanted to thank him for serving, but he happened to be near me on the long flight home so I sat across the aisle from a soldier on the day that marks ten months since Jason Frye left this earth. In fact, he was a boot just getting out of Army training and was on his way to Germany. He still had the cocky grin and ignorant attitude of an 18-year old with a pair of government-issued shoes on his feet, so while he slept I offered a prayer for his safety. And when I walked away from him at the airport in Chicago I handed him a copy of Psalm 91. I did not tell him about Jason, and my hope and prayer is that someday he will understand his role with more grace.

I wondered then where these boots will take him. And so I wondered where Jason's boots have taken him... I have a pair of Jason's worn jungle boots in a box in my room, and I gave a second pair to my brother. If only there was a tangible record of the places those soles have been, I would have a better understanding of where his soul had been while on this earth. I am trying to read through "The Gift of Valor," a war stary about Cpl Jason Dunham... I am learning about Iraq and this war in an effort to better understand where Jason's soles may have taken him.
I am writing a book about my experience with my own Jason, and I hope to have his life story shared by people in the same way...amongst those who never had the opportunity to simply shake his hand and say, "Thank you for serving."

Psalm 91 for Military Loves

2006-07-31T22:29:00.000-04:00

I discovered this Psalm just a few days ago... it must be the source for the lyrics of my favorite hymn, "On Eagle's Wings." This is especially appropriate to pass on to a Marine about to be deployed, as I did just yesterday.

Psalm 91

1 He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.

2 I will say of the LORD, "He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust."

3 Surely he will save you from the fowler's snare and from the deadly pestilence.

4 He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

5 You will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day,

6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.

7 A thousand may fall at your side, ten thousand at your right hand, but it will not come near you.

8 You will only observe with your eyes and see the punishment of the wicked.

9 If you make the Most High your dwelling—even the LORD, who is my refuge-

10 then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent.

11 For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways;

12 they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

13 You will tread upon the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

14 "Because he loves me," says the LORD, "I will rescue him; I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.

15 He will call upon me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will deliver him and honor him.

16 With long life will I satisfy him and show him my salvation."

My Marine

2006-07-30T20:58:00.000-04:00

I am struggling a lot right now, thinking of my Marine and how I don't have him here with me.

I was in love with Jason in his presence for just 20 days in the year 2005. Before then I did not know anything about the United States Marine Corps, although I had long since considered joining the Navy right out of high school. There was a lot that I did not know, about a lot of life things.

I did not know how precious it was to hear Jason sneeze beside me, nor did I realize how incomparable was the experience of holding his left hand, where a wedding band is worn.

I have learned a lot, and I have aged many years in just one. I am no longer able to relate to most people my age, and I feel this is a disadvantage because I will forever struggle to again be close to friends who I kept for many years in my childhood. They are not at fault, but ignorance will forever keep us apart.

I know about the United States Marine Corps now. The EGA is a symbol that makes me feel at safer wherever I am, from parking lots to office desks. I focus attention on people wearing Marines t-shirts, and I usually find an excuse to talk to them and shake their hand. I may become an honorary member of a local Marine Corps League, and I can barely hold back tears when I meet USMC veterans who worked to protect me without ever knowing my identity. My favorite articles of clothing include the EGA and I would pay money just to hug an active duty Marine. I know about SOI, MOS, LAR, E-1, O-1, 0311 and 0331. I have met dozens of Marines, and whether or not they are in uniform when I meet them, I allow a piece of myself to leave with them because I blindly love them all. I write a letter to a Marine every single day, and I long for the embrace of another very special LCpl who will return home from Iraq in October. A letter from either of these two young men is enough to make me forget the death for five minutes, and that brief time is glorious.

I understand NOW what it must feel like to be the girlfriend, fiancee, or wife of a Marine. As I wrote on July 6th - I know Jason a lot better now than I did when he was alive, and GOD how I want him here. These days I am no longer screaming, "Jason please come home!?!" when I cry for him. Instead I realize he isn't coming back and the tears simply roll and slowly spill.

I understand NOW what it must feel like to be the girlfriend, fiancee, or wife of a Marine. I have spoken to girlfriends, fiancees, and wives of Marines. I see their happiness and I see how unique the love is in that type of situation. I like to think that I am not feeling jealous, but I know that I am. Those women - young and old - can't ever really appreciate what they have until the beloved is no longer living. I have met women who subconsciously invite me to scream at them in disgust for their attitude, and I have met women who make me proud to share this earth with their spirit and fortitude. I would never wish this turmoil on any person, so I pray often for all those women I know. I pray that their experience with their beloved Marine is very very different from my own.
I understand NOW what it must feel like to be the girlfriend, fiancee, or wife of a Marine. And I want that life so badly! I hate myself at times for not realizing what I had, when I had it, but that's not my fault... because only as a result of his death do I recognize - only because Jason died do I have all of this new knowledge. Oh, how I wish I could have already known all of these things while he was still alive. I could never really describe that longing emotion in words. It is agonizing. I loved Jason when he was alive, no doubt, but I now spend time apologizing to Jason that I did not know - that I did not appreciate - when we had the chance. I hate that my chance is gone.
In a sense, it will all be worth it for the next Marine... I'll really know what to do, what to feel, what to say, if another Marine can ever find my heart for me but keep it for himself.

I understand NOW what it must feel like to be the girlfriend, fiancee, or wife of a Marine.

Jason, I could never explain to you that for so long I simply appreciated that you are a Marine... and did not understand nor appreciate that you are MY MARINE.

Psalm 23

2006-07-25T22:17:00.000-04:00

Before leaving for Iraq, Jason requested this to be read at his funeral. This was also the responsorial psalm at Catholic mass this past Sunday.

Psalm 23

The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,
he leads me beside quiet waters,

he restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness
for his name's sake.

Even though I walk
through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil,
for you are with me;
your rod and your staff,
they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me
in the presence of my enemies.
You anoint my head with oil;
my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and love will follow me
all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the house of the LORD
forever.

Love and Numbers

2006-07-21T07:19:00.000-04:00

Since Jason Frye entered heaven, 288 days have passed.

Today I will mail letter #98 to LCpl Kevin Kopa.

This is entry #100 in my effort to share Jason with all of you.

Exactly one year ago Jason left the United States for his first and last deployment to Iraq.

My favorite Bible verse is pulled from the 13th chapter of the first book of St. Paul's letters to the Corinthians:

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails.

Faith, hope and love...the greatest of these is love.

Words Unspoken and Kindness Shown

2006-07-18T20:48:00.000-04:00

I listen to the radio in my vehicle throughout the day... when "a Jason song" is played I will stop my tasks and listen, especially if I am in the woods and the skies are very blue. Every once in a while a country song is played that makes my heart beat become irregular for just a moment.

With my entire heart, mind, and soul I believe that if Jason Frye were able to speak to me in a way that I could hear him, these words are included in what he would say to me...

I'm gonna be here for you baby, I'll be a man of my word. Speak the language in a voice that you have never heard. I wanna sleep with you forever. And I wanna die in your arms, in a cabin by a meadow where the wild bees swarm.

And I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you. And I'll earn your trust making memories of us.

I wanna honor your mother, and I wanna learn from your pa. I wanna steal your attention like a bad outlaw. I wanna stand out in a crowd for you, a man among men. I wanna make your world better than it's ever been.

And I'm gonna love you like nobody loves you. And I'll earn your trust making memories of us.
We'll follow the rainbow wherever the four winds blow. And there'll be a new day comin' your way.

I'm gonna be here for you from now on, this you know somehow. You've been stretched to the limits but it's alright now. And I'm gonna make you this promise: If there's life after this, I'm gonna be there to meet you with a warm, wet kiss...

All I have left are memories that we made together... memories crystallized in photographs and memories sewn into the welcoming face of a stuffed dog each night. After all this time, including when he was alive, that's all I have. Memories. I cherish them, certainly, but that's really all I have.

As I was driving for my job today I created a flat tire on my vehicle. I pulled into the shade provided by trees lining a not-so-often traveled back road, and within one minute a young man pulled over to help me. I did not ask for his help; I can change a tire myself. He went to town with that thing... and within another minute or two a second man stopped to help. Before 12 minutes had passed, my tire was changed and my hands were still clean - I had not touched anything during the process. The first man to arrive chuckled when I thanked him; he said it was just how country people are, wanting to help one another without thinking twice about it. I wasn't sure how to thank them, but I was certain they did not realize that they did more for me than just change the flat tire.

Jason is the kind of person who would innocently offer his vehicle to bank robbers, and hold them up by taking the time to explain all the buttons and contraptions on his vehicle. He would maybe even give them money for gas to make sure they reached their destination. He was ridiculous like that.

Within about a week or so after Jason died, his parents received a fantastic letter (among many others) from folks who briefly met Jason a while ago.

He was driving home one night and saw a car parked alongside the road, apparently they had experienced trouble with the engine. Without hesitation, Jason asked where they lived and put the baby car seat in the back of his own vehicle. He invited them to hop in and he drove them all the way to their home, which was not close to or in a convenient direction towards his own. The couple had remembered Jason playing bluegrass music in his vehicle during their ride. He would not accept money and probably shook off the favor as if it were nothing. Because to Jason, it was nothing to help someone. For him, it wasn't "a nice thing to do" - it was merely something you did.

My flat tire experience today was FANTASTIC because no person, (other than members of my own family), has stopped to inconvenience themselves in order to selflessly offer themself to me since Jason was alive. Nobody has gone out of their own comfortable way for me since Jason did. It was spectacular to see that Jason-kind-of-kindness being displayed.

I can still see you Jason

2006-07-17T22:08:00.000-04:00

Oh Boss... I can't believe it's been a year since our eyes met, and not just the way they do everyday in photographs. As of now, I haven't seen you in a year, Jason. I did not cry today, and I am not sure why. Some days I don't cry, you know. Most days, in fact, I don't cry. But I am sure you have seen me on the days when I sloth along with a lump in my throat that won't leave. When I do cry, Jason, it consumes me. Usually for just a few minutes, but I am totally consumed by it. I am always wishing I could release all the years at one time, but I think we both know they will probably be around for a very long time, waiting just behind my lashes for their sad cue.

I am so sad Jason. Sad in a way that no person will ever understand except me. That makes it special in a way - do you think? Like nobody else in the world can have this sadness with you except me, and that makes it special. Sometimes I feel numb, but it's not like it was just after you died.

I can still see you, Jason. Sometimes I see you so well that it frightens me - I am scared only because I don't want the image to leave me. But it does. After nine months of you being 'dead' I can assure myself that there will be days when I can see you really well, and others when I can't picture you at all.

I can see the dark spot on your front tooth. I can see your soft little ear lobes. I can see your big eyebrows - almost Oscar the Grouch eyebrows, just not thick enough. I can see your very clean fingernails, and the callouses in your hands that proved the fingernails were clean only because you took such good care of yourself. I can feel your hair sometimes, like I am passing my fingers over your head. I bet your hair is slightly longer now, since you are in heaven...and you don't have to keep it in regulation all the time. Every once in a while I see those big brown eyes. Your eyes can still frighten me, like they did when we were in the almost-dark. Your eyes are so deeply brown Jason, and so very intense with dreams and desires. But since you died some of the pictures of you look different. Some days I think your eyes look even darker.

So many songs make me think of you Jason. I never realized how many singers write about death and heaven. I am glad for those songs, and I hope you can hear them from where you are. I wonder if, when you are following me around, can you still feel the wind on your face?

I hope you can be with me and your parents at the same time. You know, I wish you were with me every blessed second of every blessed day. I think you must be with whomever you want to be with at anytime. God must have such neat tricks for keeping you with me and your Mom and Dad all at once, even though we are each miles from one another.

I find myself wishing these days that people would remember just you, Jason, and not the Marine. You know that I know very well how indescribable that service to our country is... but sometimes I cry to remember just plain old you. But you aren't very plain, are you? I mean my good friend from high school... my mailman's son... the young man who made me so desparately happy he was annoying with it... the person who would be my best friend if he were alive today. I need a best friend like you, Jason. Every time I think of another friend, I compare them to you and decide they just won't do. I would give anything but my soul to have a lot of dreams fulfilled with you, but I just wish I could stand in front of you for a few minutes. No person other than plain old you would ever be so happy to do just that with plain old me.

Soon I will reread those five letters you sent me. Maybe the e-mails too. I have not been able to do that very often, Jason, and I am sorry. It takes a lot out of me when I do sit down and read them. I usually can't see afterwards, but it helps me to get back to the way we were. Just like you said we would be when you came home.

It's funny how the feelings have changed since you died. I don't have to scream for you to come home anymore, because I know now that you are indeed dead. I believe the folks who keep saying it's true. But I also know that it's just a human condition, this death thing. Lord how heaven must be glorious. I haven't dared to imagine it's glory in a long time, Jason. That is the one thing I gave up on - imagining heaven. But just that.

I hope that my Pap Pap was able to bring a message to you when he arrived last week. He died very slowly, you know, so he may not have been able to hear my Dad, who read my letter to him. But I think you know what I asked him to tell you when he got to heaven too.

I can't wait to really see you again Jason. God how I can't wait to really see you again. But I can wait. I will wait as long as God needs me to wait.

Noog.
-Wheat Thin

Remember when you took this picture of me? I was so terrified to let you use my camera... you aren't the most coordinated guy, you know. I can still see your face watching the screen on the camera as you took the picture. This was one of your favorites. I remember. I can still see you.

Simple lasagna and iron bars

2006-07-16T21:50:00.000-04:00

July 16, 2005... we stayed up very late that Saturday night and Jason never actually slept. He went days without sleeping so he wouldn't miss anything, and because he was so stressed about his departure to Iraq. We found things to do to keep each other awake - to maximize our time together. I remember thinking how crazy exhausting it was to be making two giant trays of lasagna at 10:00PM (2200 according to Jason). We had a grand old time. With Jason at my side, ANYTHING was fun. And I mean absolutely anything. I could fold socks with that boy (or watch him eat overcooked lasagna noodles stuck to the bottom of a pot he was trying to clean) for hours and have the time of my life. And I did. The time of my life. Just one year ago.

...however sad I may feel about this 'anniversary' of sorts, I do find a bizarre sense of comfort in knowing with absolute certainty that exactly one year ago (to the minute) I was in the physical presence of a vibrant, breathing, and smiling Jason Frye.

I stood on the edge of my yard this evening... looked into the sky and allowed my mind to slow long enough for my thoughts of Jason to collect. Every once in a while I do that - just stop the hum drum buzzing of trying to stay mentally occupied. I stop long enough, at least, that I find myself saying aloud, "Wow... Jason Frye is dead. He died. He's dead. But one year ago he wasn't dead. One year ago I was with him. We were alive together. But I'll never actually stand beside him in this yard again." It's a simple trail of simple thoughts. But I like simple - simple intends to keep my heart at peace.

My life is very different than how I existed one year ago. At times I feel as though Jason has very recently left this earth... other times I feel as though I have been dragging my feet and heart through this muck for decades. But today "a year ago" felt very recent to me. Jason must have had such dreams and hopes for July 16, 2006.

I wish simply to see Jason walk around a corner. I wish simply to feel Jason's breath in my ear as he tries not to giggle. Just one single breath - one intake of earthly air. I wish simply for his hand to brush over my own as I curl up in a womb of comfort over his grave. I wish for simple things.

13 Then they cried to the LORD in their trouble,
and He saved them from their distress.

14 He brought them out of darkness and the deepest gloom
and broke away their chains.

15 Let them give thanks to the LORD for His unfailing love
and His wonderful deeds for men,

16 for He breaks down gates of bronze and cuts through bars of iron.
- Psalm 107

On his way home 365 days ago...

2006-07-15T22:02:00.000-04:00

I was walking out of the office building in Harrisburg last July 15th - it was a Friday and I remember being happy for the arrival of week's end. But I was bummed out that I wasn't able to spend my weekend with Jason before he left the United States.

Jason 'left for Iraq' two times. I said goodbye to him on the evening of July 4th, 2005. He had to be back at Camp Lejeune for July 5th so he left in the morning with his mom. He was scheduled to leave within days. But his departure date was changed, as is common in a military lifestyle. Over the course of the next week I searched for a cheap plane ticket to get my feet from Perry County to Cherry Point, North Carolina. I was discouraged that I couldn't find anything for less than $400 or so. I had wild dreams of taking off from my summer job for four days and spending it all with Jason down at Camp Lejeune. I was not prepared to leave my job for any length of time, and I couldn't afford such a plane ticket for just a weekend stay. Jason offered to pay every cent - he didn't care how much it cost - he thought it was a fabulous idea. In the end I just wasn't able to 1) leave home for that long and 2) allow him to spend $600 for a ticket, which provided the easiest route. I remember searching maps and driving routes online... Jason was more than 500 miles away. I had the map right in front of me, but it just was not feasible for me at that time. I was discouraged, but I remember a distinct feeling like that 'goodbye' on July 5th would not be the final goodbye.

I was walking to my vehicle in the parking garage across the street from my office building. I was talking to Jason on my cell phone while he was, of course, in North Carolina. I remember sitting in the driver's seat when he told me he had a surprise... he was actually on his way home and would arrive at about 11PM that Friday night. Without realizing I had done so, I started to cry immediately. Jason was so excited to tell me his secret! My mother had known for several days but had not been allowed to tell me. Jason's mom drove him all the way home for that one extra weekend just so he could see us all at home one last time. His departure date had been pushed back again, so he gained that extra weekend.

I was so happy as I drove home from work that day. I would see Jason again before he left! I remember driving faster and smiling the whole way home to Perry County from Harrisburg.

Jason came right over to my house when he got home. It was about 11:15 or so when he arrived. I must have been waiting on the porch or at the window...
I remember this memory very distinctly.
The night sky was very dark that evening - I couldn't see more than a few feet in front of me. I was standing at the bottom of my porch steps. Jason had arrived. Since I couldn't see anything around me, I recall this memory based on sounds that can be played over and over again in my head. I heard a vehicle door slam... then two feet literally running towards me. I was frightened - even though I knew it was Jason - because I really could not see him at all in the dark of the night. A second later and he grabbed me tight. That's it - the door slam... the running footsteps... one second later and Jason very nearly knocked me over. No person in my life will ever be so happy to see me.

Jason had a certain way about secrets. He could never hold a secret about something nice he was doing for someone else - the surprise kind of secret - because he would just get too excited and start giving hints. And a person could tell when he had something up his sleeve... he would talk really fast when he was excited, and he let things slip because he just wanted to talk and talk about everything. But I know very well that there are some things he could have forever kept to himself; secrets meant to protect his loved ones from being hurt. I was surprised to know that he had kept his coming home secret for so long.

That was our last weekend together, of course. He left in the evening on July 17th. That Sunday, nearly one year, was the last day I spent in his presence on earth. I am not sure what I will do on July 17, 2006. There are many special Jason places where I would like to go for the day, but there are also many special Jason places I would never wish to visit again. I think I will be content to sit with him on that little church cemetary hill, watching the sun go down over the horizon, pretending I was still waiting for him to arrive.

Bittersweet Success in Honor of Jason

2006-07-10T09:49:00.000-04:00

THANK YOU to all those who contributed to The Jason Frye Memorial Country Dance that was held at our hometown fire hall on Sunday, July 9th. We anticipated more folks would attend, so we ended up with a lot of leftovers... if you would like to make a donation to The Jason Frye Memorial Fund, and / or receive a Jason Frye memorabilia item, please check this site in a couple days and I will provide photographs of the items we have to offer.

I pray that those who did attend were able to learn something about Jason - this was my biggest hope. We raised a lot of money to support our troops, which is wonderful, but I really wanted people to feel connected to Jason... in such a way that they will now recognize the simple humanity found in war. I pray they realize that most of our soldiers, sailors, pilots, and MARINES are regular joes, just the kid next door. Once a person understands this point, I feel that they can better support all of our men and women in uniform.

I will include more photographs soon. This one shows that I certainly had a good time. At least when I was dancing, I did not have to think about Jason being dead... that this event was only made possible because he is dead. I had a rough time afterwards; I put a lot of time and energy into considering what Jason was like so that I could describe to folks at the event. I suppose in doing so I only made myself love him more. To be candid, I just wish he was alive to 'dance' with me for the years to come.

For those who were unable to attend:
Click here for local ch.21 news report covering the event. Click here for local ch. 43 news report covering the event.
Check out these pictures taken by TWANG staff...search the TWANG photo archives for pictures from our event.

*I was hoping that no person would ever mention the error printed in the local newspaper, but unfortunately someone has done so. Only to clarify - I was not, am not, and never will be, Jason Frye's fiancee. When I read the articles that named me as such, I felt very sick inside. I tried to make myself feel better by 'laughing it off' as Jason would do - he would think it was hilarious that the newspaper called me his fiancee, since that is exactly what he intended for me to be someday. Over the course of the last nine months, I have only recently realized that it is neither my fault nor in my power that I never will be. As I very well understand, I do not know if I would have married that very special young man...I only wished for the chance to discover that for myself.

Nine Months of Romantic Recognition

2006-07-06T22:38:00.000-04:00

Nine months have passed since Jason died. Funny how that amount of time can feel so long AND not so long. There are a lot of 'funny' things about death, I suppose.

Someone recently offered the idea of romanticizing about a loved one who has died. Is it possible to create a love for a dead man - after he is dead? Is that after-the-fact love really love, even if you didn't feel so much when that man was alive and in your presence? Can your mind romanticize every part of a relationship that occurred with a living man so that your relationship with a dead man may somehow seem false or untrue?

I call it "romantic recognition."

I don't know Jason as well as I would have if we had been able to spend more time together, however long or short that may have been. In some aspects of his life, I didn't know him at all. I have listened to stories and memories retold for more than nine months now, and every time a person shares with me something about Jason, I get to know him a little better. Every person who does share is contributing a piece of the puzzle I am left to put together for myself. In my particular situation, I made a lot of precious memories with that boy but was never able to do a lot of things with him. Never able to understand my real love for him until now because a year ago I was just busy living it with him.

I have spent more time in Jason's house after his death than before, and I have driven more miles in his vehicle after death than before. I have spent more minutes in his room after his death than before it, and I have used the dishes at his home more often after his death than before it.

I have become closer to Jason after his death, and my love for him has grown tremendously since he left the earth. And I know why. It's what I call "romantic recognition."

Instead of romanticizing my relationship with Jason, I am now recognizing it. When a person you love is alive and in your presence, you don't stop and think, "God how I would give everything but my soul to watch them blink their eyes right before my face." And while you are holding your loved one, even as you sit silently on your front porch at dusk, you won't consider, "I would want my life on earth to end if this person was not able to hold me like this."

When your beloved is alive, you just live the current moments. When your beloved is dead, you just relive the past moments...that's all you have. Over and over again in your mind you replay the memories... the cookie baking, the glass sharing, the band-aid application, the hand holding while driving... that's all you have... and time.

When the beloved is dead, time is absolutely torturous. You try to fill it with busy instead of worry, but the worry creeps in. Always creeps in: "What if this is real?" You can't fill all the time with memorials and ceremonies or you'll lose yourself too much.

When the beloved is dead you have time to think... more than you will ever have at any other point in your existence on earth. It's nearly fantastic the way I can exist and go about my day as myself but with a whole different person inside, behind my glassy eyes and painted smile. I am constantly thinking about Jason and his deadness. I am thinking about Jason's hands when I see an unknown man's hands embrace a door handle... I am thinking of Jason's favorite color being green when I pass green linens in a store... I am thinking of a house we'll never get to have when I am driving through our county, watching real estate signs pass by my rolling tires.

There is so much time when a beloved is dead - no matter what you are actually doing, the time is always to yourself, in your own mind where no other person can interfere. You have so much time to rethink, relive, and recognize that it can become sickening.

Absolutely, I have romanticized my relationship with Jason, but only because I can now sit by myself and ponder its every angle, every mood, every tone. If you have a dead beloved, especially one killed in war, you understand. You did not have much time with him, but he is yours and you are his, forever.
I now recognize my love for Jason Lee Frye because I have gotten to know him better since he died. In piecing together the parts of his life that I was not included in, I have discovered that he is even more thoughtful, caring, devoted, and genuine than I ever imagined.

My only disappointment is that he can't be around to experience this newly recognized love I have for him.

The Jason Frye Memorial Country Dance - this Sunday!

2006-07-04T21:30:00.000-04:00

WE NEED YOUR SUPPORT!

Please plan on attending the very first
Jason Frye Memorial Country Dance...

This Sunday, July 9th from 4-9:00PM (dance lessons begin at 3PM) at the Landisburg Fire Hall.
Click here for a map of Landisburg; the Fire Hall is located on New Street... come into town this Sunday and you won't be able to drive by this event!

If you cannot attend our memorial dance, but would like to show your support, please donate to The Jason Frye Memorial Fund. Most importantly, please pray for our men and women in uniform, as well as their loved ones.

Please spread the word - help us to make this event a success in honor of Jason. He was a terrible dancer, but he put his heart into every step. We hope to see you Sunday!

Jason is in the white shirt with stripes, in a black cowboy hat.

We were having a good 'ole time at Tractor TWANG just one year ago.

Awaiting Life and Death

2006-07-03T21:56:00.000-04:00

I can't believe tomorrow is another 4th of July already. Just 13 more days until a very dreaded benchmark in my time here on earth...

On July 17th, 2006 it will be one year exactly since I last saw Jason Lee Frye. One year exactly since we shared the same breath of air. One year exactly since we embraced. One year exactly since I turned my head away from him as he pulled down my driveway one last time - I just couldn't watch because I had a sense of dread that I would never witness that sight again.

I am exhausted and have been for a long time. But these days the exhaustion of past months is catching up to me, it's all condensing at once upon a fragile soul. I have not slept well in nearly a year, beginning at about this time last summer when I knew Jason would die. I don't care if no person ever believes me - that's not of any importance to me - but it's true. His mother felt the same unspeakable dread... the kind of thing you can't ever mention but the dread is shared between certain folks who can just know together, without words. Jason knew it himself. He planned his entire funeral before he left for Iraq, right down to the Bible verses.

I did not intend to write about this today, or any day. Jason knew he would die. I will likely never fully explain how and why we know this to be true. That is only painful discussion, gutwrenching painful. But it's true.

I have often stopped and wondered exactly how Jason knew the moment of his death was approaching. If you will believe me (without proving explanation) that Jason Frye knew he would die on his first tour of duty in Iraq, then also believe that he knew within days when that moment would come. That ultimate moment of God. He knew, and his mother and I knew. We could hear it in his voice and by the irregularity of what was spoken from his lips several thousand miles from us. The Marines with him, in retrospect, could also sense a change in Jason just the night before his death.

It's a morbid thought... a morbid discussion within myself and with only very few people. As I have previously alluded to - the human mind is oustanding in the face of such traumas as human death. A mind is a most powerful creater of ideas, some so depressing and morbid they dare not be mentioned. But I will mention this...
I wonder if Jason saw an angel with him. I wonder what Jason was thinking. He was always one step ahead of me in the way of thinking... so I often wondered what he was thinking, about anything really. But I would really like to know what he thought during his final sleepless night on earth. I can almost guarantee that he did not sleep that night.
Most of the tears I have shed are in utter frustration... they are more often tears FOR Jason, not tears because of what happened. I am hurt and angry that someone so indescribably worthy of life's earthly promises - someone so worthy of a thousand more sunrises and sunsets - would have to lie alone in a desert one last night knowing that he would very soon die. He would leave behind his belongings that surrounded him, and he would never again sleep in his own bed in Perry County. He would never again take a shower in his house - which happens to be the very first thing he wanted to do when he came home. He would never again even steal a smiling glance at the girl for whom he would willingly shed his own blood. Never again brag to someone about how beautiful his mother is or laugh with his brother or Dad about some funny trick they played on Mom.

What makes Jason nearly indescribable is that he probably would not think all of those things. If he did, it would be only for a few minutes, maybe an hour. Jason would recount every kiss from me, every scrambled egg his Mom made for him, every prank with his brother, and every day of golfing or tennis with his Dad. Jason would pray to God for forgiveness of his sins, and Jason would think he had sinned terribly for the duration of his 19 years. Jason would pray for the safety and blessing of his brother and new bride, that they may enjoy a long life together on earth. Jason would pray for my brother's wisdom teeth scars that had healed two months before, and he would thank God for my parents' 24th wedding anniversary, for which he reminded me to wish them well when I myself did not recall. Jason would pray for the brothers in arms who lay sleeping around him. Jason would have a lump in his throat when he prayed to God for me to have happiness again. Just the thought of him praying that prayer for me makes me weep. The kind of sad painful weep that finds me for only a few moments a week, but its accompanying agony lingers beyond the week in which it came.

Death is exhausting. Absolutely exhausting. I realized today why this is so, at least in my case. I find myself pushing and hurrying all the time. Pushing to be preoccupied or busy and hurrying to move on to the next distraction. As long as there is no lull in the schedule... not even a five minute break in the monotonous mental rhythm...then Jason doesn't have to be dead. Those are the most difficult times, when nothing is happening. When I am sitting still, with nothing urgent to accomplish. That is when I have time to think of how I desparately wish Jason was alive, sitting right beside me.

DONATE to the Jason Frye Memorial Fund

2006-07-01T22:50:00.000-04:00

If you are unable to attend The Jason Frye Memorial Country Dance on July 9th but would like to donate to our cause...

Please send donations to:
The Jason Frye Memorial Fund
C/O The Frye Family
681 Sheaffers Valley RD
Landisburg PA 17040

All of the funds we raise will be placed into this memorial fund for Jason. We plan to use the money to support our troops - in every military branch - in the form of personalized care packages. There will also be a scholarship established in Jason's name at our high school. In the coming year his family and friends will begin construction of a large memorial building to serve as a community center in our hometown, where we will host future country line dances and fun family events. Jason himself knew almost every soul in our area... he cared very deeply even for strangers and knew the general life story of most people around him. And they knew him too, which is why our families and friends have experienced such support since he was killed in October 2005.

In honor of Jason... in honor of anyone you love who has served, is serving, or will serve in the United States military... please contribute to this great effort. Most importantly, please pray for men and women who sacrifice all their Sunday mornings with families, all the little league baseball games, all the evening meals with their spouse and children. Consider the lonely Christmas for the Mom with a son on his 3rd tour in Iraq. Imagine the war widow who will never again drive to the grocery store with her husband, a man whom she shared breathing space with only a few weeks out of an entire year, but a man whom she desperately loved every second she took breath.

People in the military are real people with real hopes and real dreams. They are your cousins... high school prom king... local mechanic and college roommate.

Please PRAY for their safety - for their knowledge of Christ.
And pray for all their beloveds, who are left to carry on.

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT!

Where my feet were on July 1st 2005... visitor stickers and a pretzel promise

2006-07-01T21:42:00.000-04:00

At 2:30PM today I had a peaceful thought. I realized that I knew with ABSOLUTE certainty that one year ago at that very hour, I was in Jason Frye's presence here on earth.

Last summer July 1st was a Friday. I worked as an intern in the city of Harrisburg, and I only worked for the morning hours that day. Jason came to visit me - this was actually his second visit to my workplace - and we spent the afternoon together.

From the beginning of June last year until Jason left for Iraq, we spoke on the phone nearly every single day. My typical work day... call Jason on my way to work because he was just then jumping into formation at 0700 down in North Carolina. Then I called him the minute I stepped off the elevator to go the gym on my lunch break. I would juggle the phone while lacing my tennis shoes in the locker room, then finally get him to say goodbye so I could go work out. I called him when I left the gym to return to work. Then called him on the way home to make plans for the evening together. There was always something to say between us, and it was never negative. That is one of the things I miss most - just talking to Jason. Never a lull in conversation like with most other folks I know. Never with Jason.

So every day I walked past the soft pretzel shop on my way to the gym... and every day I would complain to Jason that I just wanted to skip the gym and eat a warm and greasy soft pretzel in peace. He knew I only very rarely eat junk food, so he teased me a lot and was always trying to get me to have some just so he could laugh. I told him that I would wait until he came to visit me at work, and we would eat a pretzel together.

When Jason came to visit me at work on July 1st we skipped the gym (on his first visit we actually went there together, which is another story) and bought three soft pretzels for lunch. One for me and he ended up eating two by himself. I remember now that he begged me to help him finish the second one. We left the Strawberry Square complex and walked over to the park surrounding our state capitol. We sat on a bench to eat our 'lunch' and I now recall someone nearby. Another person was sitting on a bench not far from us, and I remember thinking that person must be interested in watching two wacky kids so obviously goofy in love.

We made a promise that day to each other. A silly-in-love kind of promise that I will always keep. Jason said we should wait and eat a soft pretzel only when we were together again. He came up with quirky things like that; he often made me laugh and I certainly agreed to his plan. Now I will never eat one again, and even though it's a silly promise, it has a meaning to us that most simply would not understand out of ignorance.

Jason had never been to the state capitol before, so we went inside then. The Pennsylvania capitol is a beautiful building - literally one of the grandest state capitols in the country. I remember going through security and receiving visitor stickers to wear while we were in the building. I have been to the capitol many times in the past, and for many different occasions. I know my way around pretty well for the average civilian, so I showed Jason where I had given a speech at a rally and where I had pretended to be a House Representative. We walked up a flight of stairs tucked away in the corner of the main room. Jason laughed because the security guards kept staring at the two of us. We didn't do anything suspicious, but I suppose it was odd that just the two of us were wandering around the second floor. Since I knew my way around I probably looked too comfortable in that government building. Jason must have made some comment to suggest his power as a Marine because I laughed along with him.

After Jason died there was a House Resolution enacted by our state House of Representatives for him. I was unable to attend this ceremony, but I know that it took place in the very same room that I showed Jason when we visited the capitol that day. There are, of course, many rooms in that building, but I chose to take him in that room. He thought it was beautiful.

We took pictures inside and out. I remember trying to setup my camera on the steps outside the capitol so I could use the timer to take our picture together. I think a man offered to take it for us but I declined; Jason and I became very skilled at taking our own picture together.

When I spotted a Marine Corps flag waving across the street, I asked Jason to go and stand in front of it so I could take his picture. He never ever hesitated when I asked him to pose for a picture - he loved it. So he stood there for nearly ten minutes while I waited for the flag to open at just the right moment in the wind. I remember mentioning how "the passersby must think we are nuts for standing here so long."

That day Jason had me use my camera to make a video recording of him talking to me. He started out by pretending he was a tour guide and introduced his "wonderful day here at the state capitol with Meredith Odato" and got his words all jumbled up and repeated himself because he was so excited. He did that often. So I told him he sounded way too dorky and made him start over, but I told myself that I better keep that extra footage of him just to have someday, and so now I have it. The next recording is sort of haunting, and I may not play it for myself for a very long time. Jason essentially professed his love to me on camera, the way you would if you were a dying parent talking to a very young child left to grow up alone.

At the end of our day at the capitol we decided to keep our visitor stickers. Jason watched carefully as I put mine on my wallet, and so then he proceeded to do the same. He wanted it to be another special way for us to remember the day.

After he died and we went through his items sent home from Iraq, I wanted to physically crumble when I saw certain things in those boxes. Things like the rosary I had given him and the visitor sticker that was still on his wallet. Mine is still right where he watched me put it, and it will stay there. I have yet to touch any of Jason's things from Iraq, so his visitor sticker will stay right where he placed it.

I am busy inside myself throughout the day. Since it is Jason time - the time of year when, one year ago, he was beside me - I try to replay those memories in my mind. Today was the day we spent at the capitol. As I sat inside my home today I wondered how I will feel in five years when I replay those same date-specific memories. For all I know, it could be five minutes before I see him again. That is all part of God's mystery for me. And isn't it spectacular? Even in a very sad way - my life is spectacular. The changes nowadays just make me chuckle to myself... thinking, "God only you know..."

Fireflies ... Exactly One Year Later

2006-06-28T22:29:00.000-04:00

Tonight the fireflies are illuminating the forest behind my home... just as they did when I noticed their brilliant dancing exactly one year ago.

Last June 28th Jason and I had gone out to dinner with friends and returned late in the evening to my home. As we stood in my driveway I noticed the fireflies - millions of them - dancing in the air surrounding our backyard. We stopped talking and watched them for a while. Their symphony made the forest appear to be really alive, even in the dead of night.

Tonight's fireflies are the first I have seen this summer. I could feel my heart in my chest when I realized their appearance. I sat in my driveway alone this June 28th and allowed my tears to reflect the brilliant lights that I have waited anxiously to see again. Now it is officially Jason time.

Lately I can feel myself disengaging from this state of being... from Jason's death. I dabble at thoughts of being just Meredith again, being my own person - not connected to any of this. That will never be possible again, and I do not wish to ever be disconnected from Jason's memory in someone's mind, but I wonder what it would be like to be just plain old Meredith Odato.

My experience in Florida allowed me time to think. I left all my Jason stuff at home, for fear of losing anything on the plane or in a hotel. So all I had with me was my mind... my thoughts. Funny how you can carry that with you wherever your feet may lead.

We traveled to Florida for my uncle's wedding, which was not so saddening for me as I expected. Instead of feeling sorry for my own lack of wedding plans, I learned a lot about love that I didn't even realize I needed to know. There is a new type of love known to me now... a mature love - a prepared love. Mine and Jason's was so different because it had to be different - we only had a few weeks. Our time together, our resulting love, is evidence of the power of God. And so is the prepared love - the marriage between a man and a woman. Witnessing the recent wedding gave me renewed hope in a very unique way.

I do not know God's intended plan for me, nor do I wish to know His secrets. But I was somehow reminded that it will be glorious. I must consider His plan from start to finish - and not dwell on the difficulties of in between times. I will not be able to evaluate God's plan for me until it is complete, until I have captured it all. There will always be love. I found some peace in realizing that I do know one thing with absolute certainty - Jason Lee Frye will ALWAYS love me, because he died doing so and waits for me as the same young man who left this earth.

A Trip to Florida

2006-06-20T00:09:00.000-04:00

I am in Ft. Lauderdale for another week. I am a bridesmaid in my uncle's wedding. I anticipated this being a difficult trip for me. While I enjoy spending time with my family, and south Florida is not a terrible place to be this time of year, I wish Jason was here with me. When he came home from Iraq, we were to go on a special trip together. We planned to come to Florida by ourselves, or I would have asked him to be my date for the wedding.

Some days I can see Jason sitting beside me here... and I know him in such a way that I can very clearly (and probably very accurately) guess what he would say in almost every situation. I know he would rather sit beside the pool with me than go out to the main drag with my male cousins and uncles. I know Jason would have gotten up with me every morning to go for a run on the beach. I know he would have placed his head on my lap while we laughed at all the

Spanish channels on television.

Last summer I went kayaking with Jason on the Susquehanna River. By the time I beat him to our campsite, I was well sunburned. The next day Jason showed up at my house with aloe vera gel. He had made a special stop just for sunburned me. He told me to lay down on my couch and he even put the gel on my sunburn for me. I still have that bottle of aloe gel, and of course I was sunburned after my first day in Florida, so I pretended Jason was helping me when I used the gel yesterday.

We spent nights talking on our front lawns at home. Last night was the beginning of "Jason Time"... June 18th of 2005 was when he came home for pre-deployment leave. Eighteen days to fall in love. And it certainly happened that way. That very blessed way. So I went to the beach last night and placed a mat on the sand. I stayed there for a while and looked up at the one bright star right above my head. I have never so stronly wished for the company of a specific human being.

The plane ride to Florida may have been the most difficult part of this trip. There was an empty seat beside me. A seat for Jason. When we were in the air, I liked to think we were closer to heaven, and I stared out the window almost the entire ride. I felt a knot in my stomach when we encountered turbulence, and I could imagine my stomach dropping as such a plane felll from the sky. We arrived safely, empty seat and all.

We landed in Ft. Lauderdale at night... when Jason flew over London he pretended all lights in that huge city were reasons he loved me and cared about me... but, according to him, there still weren't enough lights.

These are the lights I observed when I remembered what Jason told me about London. It was a difficult memory... a sad memory. Sad because every light in Ft. Lauderdale that night was a dream with Jason that I created in my heart... that's what they are - dreams. And they will be just that forever.

Heart Petals for Jason

2006-06-10T23:42:00.000-04:00

Just a few more days until Jason time... he came home last summer on June 18th, and he came to visit me at my house that very day as soon as I called him to say I was on my way home. This is also the time of year when my special heirloom roses are in bloom.

June 24 2005...I called ahead to Rillo's Italian Restaurant in Carlisle to make sure if I would be allowed to bring rose petals for our table. I reserved a table for two on a Friday evening. Rillo's is my favorite restaurant locally, and Jason and I had planned such a date way back on Memorial Day 2005, long before he actually came home for his predeployment leave. This was about a week after he had come home. He was excited about what he should wear - I refused to tell him where we were going... I wanted to do something special for him.

I was nearly to New Jersey that day for work, and I rushed home so that I would have time to prepare. I was frustrated with traffic - of all the days for a traffic jam on the Carlisle exit of the PA Turnpike. I was terrified that I would not be ready on time for him. If I remember correctly, our reservation was set for 6:45PM that Friday.

I stopped at a grocery store in Carlisle on my way home. I was in a terrible hurry and I was already exhausted from being so excited and antsy - I just had to make everything perfect for Jason. I raced to the rear of the store to find a dusty bottle of sparkling grape juice on the bottom shelf. When I reached the cash register to pay, I was asked to present my ID card. (In the state of Pennsylvania, alcohol is only sold in designated distributor stores - not grocery stores or gas stations). The bottle was clearly labeled, "non-alcoholic beverage," and there was not a drop of booze in that entire store, according to state law. The cashier was a young man who obviously did not have all the right pieces ... I had to explain to him that I should not need to present my underage ID to purchase a bottle of fancy grape juice that had sat on a shelf for a few years. Just one of the tribulations of that day that slowed me down before finally reaching my house in time to shower and get ready.

I wasn't quite ready when he arrived, but I told him to come inside the house. I walked down the steps to see him smiling away. I remember that face now... he stood in that Jason stance and smiled that Jason smile. After he kept pestering me, I had finally told him to just wear a black shirt and tie - he was just so excited to wear the perfect outfit for our date.

We stood in the driveway then and I asked him to put on a blindfold. I could tell as soon as I said this that it made him very uncomfortable. Jason always has to be on his guard - it's his Marine attitude - he has to know what is going on, where people are, who is around him... he said, "I'll only do it for you" and then willingly blindfolded himself with a scrap of green cloth that he kept in his vehicle if he ever needed to make a sling for a broken arm. That's Jason. Just in case.

While he did that I ran over to my rose bush and pulled off some petals for our table. I jumped back in the vehicle and off we went to Carlisle. My mother let me drive her fancy vehicle after I begged - I wanted us to really ride in style. I played a Frank Sinatra CD the whole way to Rillo's, which is about 15 miles or so from my house. That was the hint... but Jason had actually never heard Frank Sinatra so he didn't catch on to the Italian theme.

When we were driving over the mountain, Jason asked where we were... he couldn't see of course. He was very obviously on edge with the blindfold but forced himself to appear comfortable. I told him we were headed towards the opposite end of the county. When we finally pulled into Carlisle he asked if we were still in Perry County - I fibbed and assured him that we had never left the county.

I told Jason to wait just a few more minutes while I went inside to "check on some things." I ran inside and asked the waitress to show me to our table, which I decorated with my rose petals. I told her I had brought in the grape juice, and she thought that was a wonderful idea. We had a booth in the corner just for us.

Jason was so happy to be liberated from that blindfold that he didn't notice where we were at first. Then his eyes got big and he smiled in awe. When we walked in I said, "We already have a table..." and when he saw that table he couldn't say much.

We ordered Bruschetta Caprese to start, and our waitress was very kind. She asked if we would like champagne flutes for our grape juice and I said yes. Then she also brought us a bucket of ice, and she treated our $5 dusty old grape juice as if it were their most expensive imported red wine. It was fabulous and funny at the same time.

Jason ordered a caesar salad because I told him that Rillo's makes a good caesar salad. And he had chicken parmesan while I ordered my favorite dish, chicken and shrimp marinette. I remember that I did not finish my meal, and Jason never even made it to his side of linguine. I can remember eating the leftovers for lunch the next day.

At one point in our conversation I looked directly at Jason for a long time from across the table. His eyes were shining and his smile glowing. I had never seen anyone look so captivated by what was going on around him. With profound sincerity he kept saying, "Nobody has ever done anything this nice for me before..." and I absolutely could not believe him - how could that be? Jason treated everyone else like kings and queens, and literally thrived on being of service to others. He simply never did anything for himself and would give absolutely anything he had just to bring hope to someone else in their day. I could not understand how no other young person had ever shown an appreciation for that in him.

I also told Jason about "the test" to determine if the glasses in a fancy restaurant are real crystal. Without realizing that he would actually attempt to do this, I casually mentioned how if you rub a wet finger around the rim of the glass it will produce a humming sound. Jason quickly dipped his finger in his water glass and ran it around the rim... I thought to myself, "Oh my goodness" when he wouldn't stop - he wasn't able to produce that sound, but he refused to give up and so proceeded to try for a few minutes.

For dessert we ordered tiramisu, my favorite Italian dessert. Jason had never had this before, and I remember he insisted I take the last bite since he knew how much I enjoyed the dessert. He was so happy to pay for that meal for us, no matter the cost. We stayed there for a long time - almost 2 hours.

I cannot really describe how defining those few hours were for us... when we started to leave Jason asked me if he could keep the empty bottle of sparkling grape juice, and I noticed later that he had put it on a shelf above his bed in his room. Not only that, but he had taken the time to rewrap the gold foil as much as possible around the bottle lid. I remember standing in the kitchen of his home while he stuttered to explain to Brie the dessert we had eaten. Brie graduated from the Culinary Institute. Despite his prolonged efforts, Jason simply could not pronounce the word "tiramisu." He didn't even come close - not even after hearing one of us correct him several times. There were a few funny words that Jason said a little different than most folks, and we still laugh when we hear those words and phrases passed between friends.
Afer he died I found in my room the swatch of green cloth that served as his tormenting blindfold. Before he left for Iraq I bought him that Frank Sinatra CD because he had enjoyed it so much... he sang along to all the songs. And no, he did not know the words or the tunes. He sang anyway.
Jason had wanted to return to Rillo's when he came home - he wanted to take me out again, but this time he would wear his full dress uniform, the Marine Corps dress blues. Jason did not have a reason to buy them until after he came home from Iraq, so he never owned the blues with the gold buttons and proud insignia. What I would give to hug him in such a uniform. I will never again wear the sparkling black dress that I wore on our date. It hangs in my closet, sandwiched between a set of Jason's camis and a shirt I wore to church with him that I know for certain that I was wearing when he hugged me. His touch is still on the fabric, so it too must hang in the Jason part of my small closet.
I wrote a letter to the manager of the restaurant after Jason left and thanked him for making our evening so special; their staff was so helpful and mindful of what Jason was about to do. I had explained that he was a Marine about to leave for Iraq. Everywhere we went people offered him luck and prayers.

I did not use all of the rose petals that night - there were still a few left in the bag I had transported them in. After tossing them onto my desk I forgot about them in the excitement of spending time with Jason before he left. Just before he did leave I discovered a use for them. Each one had dried perfectly flat, so I made Jason a special gift. I took one of our favorite photographs and pasted the lyrics to Keith Urban's "Memories of Us" one the reverse. I sorted through all the dried rose petals for the ones that were shaped like hearts and used those to outlne the lyrics, then laminated each side. I knew that I did not have to tell Jason of the significance of those petals... he would remember.

When his belongings were shipped home from Iraq after he died, I found that gift and noticed that it was well worn. He had held it often. And he had written, "Keith Urban" in his usual scrawl at the top of that page, just so he would know who sang our song. My heart aches when I comb through the things that were sent home from Iraq. I keep them in the huge box that they came home in... and I only open that box about once every two months. It is haunting to reach inside and see the gifts I gave him... I feel like a detective, I have pieced together so many 'memories' just by careful observation. I can see how often Jason listened to the CD I made for him by observing the scratches on the backside, and I know how often he flipped through his pocket Bible because I can feel where the pages naturally open to what must have been his favorite starting point.

Recently I visited his grave on the 8th month day. I took him the first few heirloom rose petals of this summer. I searched through the petals but could only find a few of the heart-shaped ones to pass through my fingers onto the ground.

Jason's grave is a peaceful place, but I believe it will always feel surreal like he is not really there. He is all around me all the time. Still, you cannot imagine the feeling of peace that is felt in my heart at finally being so close to him again. I would so love to lay my chest across his beautiful walnut casket again to know and feel that he was only inches away from me.
Even before he died he was far away from us for a long time. Although I spoke to him on September 29th, I have not seen him since July 17th of 2005. No matter where God leads me next, or how long I must exist on this earth, I know Jason will always be worth the wait. And there will be plenty of rose petals to make me smile along the way, so long as I stop to pick them for him.

Eight Months and Still Seein' Turtles on the Road

2006-06-06T22:03:00.000-04:00

Today marks the eighth month since Jason Lee Frye entered the Kingdom of God. I have noted every single month on this site, and my general emotion at each month mark has been very different from its predecessor. Today I feel myself withdrawing from this way of life - from this situation. Inside my mind, I am stepping away from thoughts of anything as I try desparately to retreat to earlier months of a sedated heart. Essentially, I feel exhausted... every hour of every day I am exhausted. I have not reached any major conclusions or revelations in a while - I am just wishing to be done. I wish to be done with Jason's death... I don't want it to have ever existed. But I would never offer to trade a single second of the little time that I spent with him. Not for anything.

In my experience herein, I belive the most difficult characteristic of this "death" is its permanency. Jason is PERMANENTLY un-alive. His heart has permanently stopped beating, and on no inch of this earth are his very feet standing. This frustration has come over me before, and I despise this state of mind. Inside myself I am so estranged from reality that I cannot remember Jason as well, can hardly recall his voice in my mind. I know this too will pass, and I am hopeful for a clearer mind again.

I keep thinking that something should happen... life shouldn't just end up like this - Jason and I shouldn't end like this on earth. I know we will go on forever in heaven, but I am disgusted and disappointed at the way our lives together ended on this earth... something has to happen - this can't be it...but then I remember one of my favorite verses, in Philippians 4:

Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

I keep begging for a sign from God or Jason or both. Just a sign that Jason can hear me when I talk to him - that he really is just walking beside me throughout my days. I have faith and I believe that he is doing so. In his last phone conversation with me, Jason promised to be with me and always be here for me, and I know he is. But how wonderful a sign from him would be to me.

One evening last June ... Jason had just picked me up to go out with his best friends for dinner. As a surprise for Jason we ended up going to the Texas Roadhouse, one of Jason's favorite restaurants. That in itself is another long and rather amusing story.

We had just pulled out of my driveway and crested the first small hill of our journey that evening. In my excitement, I told Jason to stop so we could help a turtle cross the road. My Dad always stopped for turtles, so he sort of instilled the value in me as well. It's not even that I am so crazy over turtles and reptiles - just a habit I've kept for a long time. Jason wasn't used to this habit, so he chuckled at my enthusiasm. We stopped of course, and I took photographs of Jason holding that box turtle.

In another instance he and I were walking down to the creek and we stopped to watch a box turtle cross our path. I took a photograph of that one too and posted it on here in an earlier entry. Something about turtles between us...

This summer I am doing a lot of driving on back roads for my job. Believe it or not, I am seeing more turtles on the road than I ever have before. I stopped for three today, and two yesterday. Today as I was driving along a winding road I prayed for a sign from Jason, just a little one... and around the very next bend was a box turtle. Without explaining why - I think of Jason every single time I stop for a turtle. In my own illogical and heartbroken way I find every turtle on the road to be an "I love you" from Jason.

Secrets of Memorial Day and Settling on a Grave

2006-05-29T22:00:00.000-04:00

One year ago, on Memorial Day, Jason Lee Frye and I fell in love. We were sitting in an Applebee's restaurant with some of our friends. Jason had come home from Camp Lejeune for just a few days that time, and he wanted to take us all out to lunch simply to spend time with his friends. He and I both ordered a cowboy burger, both ordered cheesecake for dessert. I sat beside him in the booth. The restaurant was not busy that day, and our group of friends stayed there for almost four hours. I could tell that Jason was reluctant to leave - he knew he should cherish the little time that he did get to spend with his friends from home.

At one point in the afternoon, Jason returned to the table and started talking to someone across from him. In between everyone else talking, he stopped to look at me. I glanced back at him, and our eyes met then and held on for a long time. He just smiled a big, slow and glowing smile. When we left the restaurant that day, Jason and I were walking to the vehicle ahead of everyone else. We were joking and laughing when he extended his right arm to me so he could lead me to the passenger side door - and I accepted his arm without hesitation. He told me later that he was so excited when I took the arm he offered to me. We both agreed that instant in the restaurant was when we each felt something special.

I learned a few days ago that Jason thought of me much longer than I ever knew. His best friend from high school - also one of my good friends - told me that they used to talk about how much he liked me. She said Jason was reluctant to ask me to even hang out with him because he immediately assumed that he was not up to par. I was a good student in high school - I earned good grades and kept my nose on success, whether on an athletic field or in an extracurricular activity. Throughout those four years I was very driven to achieve, and my efforts did not go unnoticed. Most people knew that I wouldn't party with the rest of them - at campouts I was the lone sober friend who stayed up all night to tend the fire just because I enjoyed doing so.

He told his friend, "I like Meredith... but I know she would never like me, and it's okay, I already know that she wouldn't want to date me." I never knew he felt that way. And he did for quite a long time - since early in our senior year of high school. Jason and I were good friends in high school, and he was always so happy to see me. I just assumed he was like that with everyone, but in retrospect I suppose he wasn't. He would leap up from where he was sitting just to shake my hand or give me a hug and he would yell, "Well Meredith Odato, how you doin'?" I thought he was crazy nice. Turns out he was crazy in a secret love. We had different class schedules, so I did not get to see him as much I as would have liked, but when I did he was sure to stop me.

We were both voted to prom court, and apparently Jason was excited at the potential outcome for us to be king and queen together. (Jason was voted Prom King and in his typical good-natured fun made his entire family bow to him for a few days after the prom had come and gone.) He was nervous when we went shopping with two of our good friends after we had graduated high school and he had just returned home from boot camp. I had no idea.

When our friend told me how Jason had felt for so long, I felt sick to my stomach. I wanted to slump to the ground and scream. Why didn't Jason just tell me? Why didn't anyone tell me? His friends apparently knew all along - that's why they insisted that I take the front seat with Jason anytime he drove us anywhere. That's why I was invited along on those early trips to the mall, despite the known fact that I don't even like shopping.

With this new knowledge, I reread everything he ever wrote to me. And his love for me takes on a new dimension. Last night I spent time rereading the few e-mails he was able to send me after he left home for Iraq, and I experienced one of the most difficult nights of my life. I screamed in bitter agony for a love that essentially went unfinished... or unstarted... I can't even decide.

As with most feelings I experience, I cannot fully describe to you this new feeling...

With the knowledge that Jason Lee Frye loved me long before I loved him in the same way, I can reexamine the last 10 or so years of knowing him... I can recall every single memory in the new frame of mind. Jason Lee Frye loved me... when he ran up to me at our high school graduation and asked to have our picture taken together - he loved me. Jason Lee Frye loved me...when I wrote him a special thank you card last spring and he told me he cried when he read it - he already loved me. My heart has found peace with this new knowledge, but my heart has discovered new pain at the same time.

How different could our time would have been if I had only known... if Jason had only taken one step further, been just a little bolder way back then.

In order to save my sanity, I keep reminding myself that Jason knew to trust in God and let the power of His will bring us together. And so He did. And our time in love in each other's presence on earth was perfect because of Jason's faith in God's plan.

Even as we grew closer, Jason continued to doubt that he deserved someone like me. I felt awful when he insisted that if I married him, I would "be settling" - essentially accepting less than I deserve. I hated when he said that, and I told him so in an effort to make him stop thinking such thoughts, which he eventually did. Jason is absolutely one of the most spectacular souls ever to take form as a human on this earth, and he is even more spectacular because he never knew it.

From time to time nowadays, I realize that I will eventually have to settle. But not on him - I would never consider my life as his wife something to just 'settle' on. But if I ever again find a young man who loves me, I will not feel reluctant to instead settle on him, like Jason warned I may have to do. I have already known a love that some never find in an entire lifetime. I am only twenty years old, but I know the pure love of one young man's heart... a heart that loved me long before I ever knew. You can't imagine the feeling - to be a dead man's dream come true. A dream that he prayed for every single day, even after he found me. He wrote to me that he hoped "God really has plans for us.. because you have no idea how much I want to spend the rest of my life with you." He prayed to find a perfect love on earth... our friends say he often told them of how he just wanted to fall in love... really in love with someone genuine. Such an honor can never be matched.

This photograph was taken when we returned from Applebee's restaurant last Memorial Day. I couldn't understand why Jason was so reluctant to leave my house that day. I even felt bad for his two buddies who had ridden over with him - they were made to patiently stay for a long time because Jason and I wanted to fiddle with taking pictures. I asked my mother to take this photograph of us just so I could have an excuse to hug him, and I wantedto print out the photo for him to have with him so he would think of me. From what I learned the other day, he thought of me even without the photo to look at.

Since today was Memorial Day, and one year since I fell in love with Jason Lee Frye, I decided to finally go to his grave. I have not stood on that ground since October 18, 2005. He has been dead and buried there for nearly eight months. I will not share with you what happened in that cemetary today, but I will reveal that I was simply yearning to be close to his arms again. And that desire is what pushed me over the crest of the hill in that little country church cemetary. While laying in the grass that is gradually covering his fresh grave, I realized this...

Should I ever realize a person to love me half as much as you do, Jason,
then I shall realize a reason to remain living, and not simply existing, on this earth.