The Idea Man

ImageDo you remember the movie “Night Shift” with Michael Keaton and Henry Winkler? It was about two “average joe’s” who work in a morgue. One of the character’s, played by Michael Keaton, called himself an “idea man”. He walked around the morgue speaking into a personal recorder with every money making invention he could think of. 

One that I recall involved tuna fish. His idea was to mix mayo directly into the can for convenience, he immediately “one-bettered” himself by suggesting you feed the mayo to the fish prior to slaughter and canning (are fish slaughtered?). Anyway, I received a phone call moments ago from my oldest son, now serving in the United States Air Force. 

He called to share an idea. An idea he is very excited about, one that if seen to full fruition, could be life changing. He is a visionary to say the least, a true “idea man”. I can’t share the details, lest you heist his gold nugget of inspiration, but I can tell you this…if ever you see a tuna fish being force fed mayo prior to slaughter, remember that the greatest inventions were first thought ridiculous or unachievable. 

If Steve Jobs, Thomas Edison, Mark Zuckerberg or Henry Ford didn’t have the courage to work their dreams how would things be different in our world today? Here’s to the “Dreamers of the Dreams”! We will forever benefit from the brilliance and fortitude of those willing to take a chance on an “idea”. 

 

Mother Love

ImageSomeone once said: “to be a mother, is to have your heart reside outside of your body”. Never has that felt so true than the day Casey left for boot camp. The pain I felt was so heavy, so real, as if someone had physically punched me in the chest. 

I knew the separation, the restricted communication, would be temporary but that offered  no relief. The fact that he would be far away in an isolating, foreign environment among strangers without the physical or verbal support of his family and friends caused me great distress. 

I remember that day vividly, almost 2 1/2 years ago. I was heading north, alone in my car sobbing uncontrollably like a lost child. With the sadness came anger. Why did MY son feel  he had to serve? Couldn’t someone else’s child take that burden? It didn’t matter that I had three more boys at home, no one could replace Casey’s presence in my heart and home. 

Before my angel left I reminded him that no matter where he was, or how long he had been away, if he looked at the moon he could find comfort that I was gazing at the same heavenly entity, thinking of him, praying for his strength and safety. Indeed every evening I would go outside and look at the moon.

Prayers and tears would find their way to the surface as the familiar pain would return afresh, like a wound reopened. Eight weeks is a long time when it separates a mother from her child, but the end did come, as ends do. I miss my handsome Airman as much as I did at the beginning of this journey, but the pain has dulled now, and I know longer feel angry. 

I feel pride. Pride that my son chose to serve. Pride in myself for my sacrifice. Pride in my son for his sacrifice. I feel love. Love for my son, love for my God. I feel thankful. Thankful to God for protecting my baby, thankful to every military family who has endured separation and loss. 

Another person once said: “Home of the free, because of the brave”.

Brave service men and women. Brave mothers.