Contributions by Michele Hiester Marcum

For those of us who have lost a service member, we have our own story about a journey, a star, and the blue that turned to gold.

Ever notice how holiday greetings begin with “happy”? Happy Thanksgiving! Happy Holidays! Even Fridays become Happy Friday!

A decade. Ten very long years that have seemingly whizzed by on dragging feet since my brother left this earth.

It’s that spook-tacular time of year, with all things creepy and frightening lurking in the shadows and lunging from television ads.

Guilt. Regret. Sorrow. They all have their place. But so do joy, humor, and forgiveness.

More than nine years have disappeared since my brother died in Afghanistan. Nearly 3400 days. Or more than 4,896,000 minutes, if I were counting.

Being a true Patriot means that we actively seek ways to honor the fallen by teaching the living.

I have my memories, both old and new. And for that, I am grateful.

The truth is, there really is a magical quality about the holiday season. When you’re not grieving, that is.

I remember the sacrifice, both my brother's and mine. I remember your sacrifice too. Yes, yours. I remember the very person for whom you grieve.

I feel like I’m somehow betraying my brother’s memory by not being rip-roaring, chest-beating, sky-screaming bitter about his death.

I communicate. It's what I do. Ironically, one of the highest hurdles I've had to cross is that of communication after.

To scramble them in any way would be awkward and somehow less meaningful.

Through TAPS, I have met so many thoughtful, caring, “been there” people who have become like family. I look forward to this annual tradition of “coming home”.

When March 1 rolls around, I feel like every emotion within my being has been placed in a cup and shaken with an enthusiasm I no longer possess.

It’s nearly Valentine’s Day, my friends. What does your heart remember?

Grief, like the waves, has a way of healing us, of returning us to dry land.

Well, this will be our eighth Thanksgiving without my brother, and I just really can’t believe it’s been that long!

Vacations have always been a prominent source of my most treasured childhood memories.

I have a wish for YOU! Not a wish that speaks of regret, but one that leads to healing. Explore the opportunities TAPS provides.

Am I supposed to be celebrating your birthday? Do the angels throw parties in heaven like we do on Earth?

I don’t know where I’m headed most days, but I know where I’ve been. And I’m learning that my destination is one of discovery.

Co-conspirators. Confidants. Comrades. Two apples from the very same tree. Two peas tucked in a single pod. That was us, my brother and me…

Memorial Day no longer ushers in anything more than my official right to grieve the loss of my brother.

I am Michele. And I am a survivor. My story mirrors that of every other TAPS survivor.

We’re learning to allow laughter back in, to allow the mirth to meld with the sorrow. It’s the way Michael would have wanted it.