Here am I! Send me!

Isaiah 6:8
Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, "Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?"
And I said, "Here am I. Send me!"

One of the most beautiful scriptures I have ever read. When the III Corps Chaplin read this passage at the ceremony at Fort Hood days after the shooting, these words brought me a lot of comfort. Any immediate thoughts of "Why? Why? Why?" were truly washed away, when I imagined my brother saying, "Here am I. Take me." I know a little more about what happened on November 5th than many do. And we will all know soon. Maybe his death could not been avoided. But I am certain he would do it again if it meant sparing someone else.

Many of you want to know the status of the issue our family has been struggling with. As a reporter was standing beside the cemetery director and the widow, she reported that a headstone has been ordered. The following day, the same cemetery director told me they never said that...a headstone was being "finalized." Kinda like a headstone has been being finalized for 8 months. So really, we are no farther along than we were when we exposed this. I am in the process of obtaining an important document that could really help the effort to get JD a respectable headstone. Soon.

However, the cemetery took it upon themselves (to stop the harassment, I'm sure) to order a temporary marker. They did not ask for approval, and if there is an objection, it will have to be removed. Just seeing a postcard-sized piece of marble brought a little bit of peace, knowing that if a fellow soldier drove across the country to see his brother at arms and pay respects, they would know where to find him. However, it was the sea of flowers and the enormous flags that adorned his resting place with more honor than any rock ever could.

And we were quickly reminded that we are not in control, as a spy drove past us, asking if the temporary marker "was nice." Basically a flex of a muscle to make sure we knew who was really in charge. We couldn't even spend 1 hour with JD alone. Very reminiscent of JD's funeral and wake. Although I am reluctant to call it JD's funeral.

My mom and I had the opportunity to meet some of the heroes who took it upon themselves to show JD the honor that he deserves. Over 20 PGR members, patriots and family members gathered together yesterday with a common bond of respecting and honoring JD. If you have never been to Oklahoma in July, let me tell you, it's no ice box. It was over 100 degrees in the shade, humid and sticky. I watched as each member of the patriots present took 10 minute shifts, switching their guard over JD's grave with a salute, then standing at attention in silence. We were there for over an hour, and this never stopped. As they were relieved from their "shift" they would retreat to a nearby tree next to a lovely pond and sip cold water; their faces blistered from the sun and their shirts drenched in sweat.

Here am I. Send me.

I watched as JD's devoted friend - a classmate of his from Tipton - took a shift with her sister, and stood at attention for 10 minutes in the blazing heat. It was the most beautiful thing to see.

I have driven up to this place a handful of times with a heavy heart as I remembered my brother's funeral. I made the mistake of staying at the cemetery while his body was lowered into the 6 foot rectangular hole that was to be his grave. I heard the clanking of the device as they lowered a metal vault that had his name on it. Clank clank clank clank clank. I can still hear it.

So when I would visit his grave and saw a patch of rectangular dirt, then a patch of rectangular grass, it was a constant reminder that his rectangular coffin was below my feet. And inside was his body. The body that sat on my couch every Christmas. The body that hugged me when he returned home from war. The body that housed a beautiful young man. There are many reasons why a headstone is helpful. Not just to show that a life worth something to many is gone, but maybe a little to distract his loved ones from staring at the ground with nothing to do but picture him down there.

When members of the PGR and other friends told me of their decision to stand for JD, words cannot express how much it mended the part of our hearts that were so damaged by manipulation and control. Just receiving the email from them saying they might do this was enough to show us that more people cared to respect JD than those who don't. When we actually SAW images of what they did to show that respect, well, there are no words. I know JD would find this to be the ultimate honor; more than meeting the President or 4 star generals; more than having his name on any stone, anywhere.

I wanted to take a turn standing for JD. I have been doing all I can to stand for him in a different way for a long time. Longer than 8 months. Longer than 8 years even. But I was so humbled by this vigil for him, and I asked if I could have the honor of participating as well. PGR members gently assisted me in the hand-off, and the beautiful soul who was standing guard at that moment asked if he could share part of my shift with me. I stood there with Randy Gilreath in complete awe. What a beautiful moment. To be participating in pure honor and to feel pure love and support. What an incredible feeling. Randy then let me have my turn to stand for JD alone.

My mind was so clear, and I felt like I truly spent time alone with JD for the first time in 8 months. No one was hovering over me, telling me I didn't have the right or the paperwork to do it. I was just allowed to be with my little brother in a way that finally respected his life and his death. Although he is with me every day, I cannot explain how special it was to be standing there and to be permitted to be a big sister. I looked down at all of the flowers and heard the wind whipping the 6 flags around his grave. I felt the sun glaring directly into my eyes and sweat immediately poured from every pore on my body.

And for the first time in visiting his grave, instead of looking down, I started looking up. For the first time, I knew JD wasn't there. He was everywhere else, but he was not in the ground. I immediately started reciting to myself "Do not go to my grave and weep. I am not there, I do not sleep. Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there, I did not die," from an amazing Hopi Indian poem. I talked to JD and I saw his face and his smile and his voice saying, "You're crazy sis. I'm not down there!"

I saw JD in the flags around me. I saw JD in the sweat on each patriot's shirt. I saw JD in the sunburned faces, who stood in the summer heat for only him, not for themselves, not for us. I saw JD in the flowers of love - selfless love, not self serving love. JD's spirit is in everything that is good and kind and gentle and pure. JD is not in the ground.

Randy came back to check on me during my shift. He gently whispered to me that he did not want to take away my time, but to make sure I did not stand there too long. "You don't realize how long you're here sometimes." Those words echoed in my ear and I truly realized what these people sacrificed to do this one act of honor. How many shifts had they taken - pushed 10 minutes longer than their body should allow? When my shift was over, I went to the shade tree, parched and drenched with sweat. And I stood there for 10 minutes. Once. I looked over at Steve Lewis, with his leather vest, jeans, long beard and sunburned face. The only other sacrifice that compares to this is that of our service members who have volunteered to do their selfless job in serving our country. And most of these guys did that once too, and now have another job...this is their hobby. I can write a thousand words, but mostly I can only say wow. Wow.



I asked if I could play Amazing Grace out of my car on a CD. Amazing Grace is a touchy subject for us. My mother's only requested 2 things at JD's funeral (er, "the" funeral). That he not be cremated, and that she'd like to hear Amazing Grace. The first one was granted, after a torturous day of "I'll think about it," and the second was not, because it was "too religious." While it may be true that JD may not have hummed Amazing Grace in his car while driving, I found this one of the most hurtful of the 1000 things that I will not list; that a mother couldn't hear Amazing Grace at her son's funeral. Absurd and appalling.

So we all gathered in a circle around JD's grave. I lead a prayer, which I'm certain was not poignant nor perfect, but all I could muster up at the moment. I went to my car (with permission of the cemetery) and turned up the most beautiful voice (one of my best friends) of the a cappella version of Amazing Grace. As we all stood in a circle, surrounding JD's final resting place with love and honor, we all cried and had a very, very special moment. Finally - Amazing Grace. How sweet the sound.


Since the decision to bring our issue to light, I have received an interesting amount of hate mail. As I said before, I take it on with pride, knowing that I stood up for my brother when he couldn't stand up for himself. And he would. Without a doubt.

"You have enemies? Good. That means you've stood up for something, sometime in your life." ~Winston Churchill

I came to my computer tonight with a lot of bitterness. Even after this beautiful day yesterday, I reflected on how any moments of peace are taken away from us so quickly and intently. I reflected on the defaced cross just days ago, when someone realized that the only thing marking my brother's grave was the name "JD" written with a magic marker on a wooden cross, and that even his name is trying to be controlled. Which brings up another point. Hey, it's my blog, and I'll cry if I want to.

What do you think LL Cool J's mom said to him when he came home one day and said. "Maw, I know you named me James, but I'd like you to start calling me LL Cool J." Laugh much? What about J Lo? I can see her mother refusing to write on a Christmas present, "To J Lo, Love mom." And I truly wonder how Meatloaf's mother responded to him. "What's wrong with Marvin? I named you that in my womb! And I refuse to call you by a dinner recipe!" And Eminem? Oh Lord. I guess Marshall doesn't sound like a tough rapper, so that one is forgivable.

If you knew JD, you knew a sweet young guy who thought about everyone but himself. The day after he was killed, the media tried to find people to answer questions about him. When they called our high school asking for Jason Hunt, nobody knew who they were talking about. "Oh, JD! Yes, we know JD."

If you knew Jason, you knew a man who was establishing his independence and wanted respect. It's funny that the people who called him that give him the least amount of that.

And if you knew Hunt, you knew a brother at arms who would give his life for you. And did.

He tried, in vain, to correct us sometimes. "My name is Jason." It was like saying "My name is Meatloaf" to me and my mom though. My dad named him Jason Dean because his dad's name was Jay - so "Jay's son" meant something to him. Dean is my dad's middle name. No one - not one person - called him Jason for over 18 years. So trying to switch over to calling him Jason was like trying to switch over to calling him Frankenstein. It was not to be mocked . I truly saw the independence he was trying to establish in his life, in more ways than his name. I thought a good way to start would be to tell my kids, who have not been accustomed to saying JD for so many years, to call him Uncle Jason. But still to me, I chuckled each time they said it, because it sounded as weird as Uncle Meatloaf.

We have a cousin named James. James was Jimmy his entire life. He tried the switcharoo on us too. So after only a few months of JD telling us "My name is Jason" he came over when Jimmy was there. He kept saying "Jimmy this" and "Jimmy that" and we joked with him, "Whoa! Wait a minute! If he can't be James, then you can't be Jason!" I still remember his response. A sweet, humble grin and then "Yeah, I get it. You're right." And from then on, it was okay to call him whatever you wanted, no matter who says differently. So no matter what color in the crayon box your mama chooses to name you, a mother's name for her child should not be disrespected any more than a person who chooses to change it.

We all knew the same person. I won't get upset or storm out of a funeral (twice) if you call him Jason. But truly, a name cannot be controlled. JD is my brother. So is Jason. So is Hunt.

I don't say this in spite. But this is one of the many, many ways, we are silently (and sometimes not so silently) controlled. We are not able to call JD anything but the approved name of one person. And I won't deface a cross, or disrespect a general if you call him Jason or Hunt or Specialist. As long as you call him a hero.

Why am I taking so long to harp on this? Because it's apparently a BIG issue. Not for me. Every fit that is thrown about such a ridiculous issue further proves my point that there are only a few people that knew JD, Jason and Hunt, all 3. I am lucky enough to be one of them. So please, keep insisting that you only knew him as Jason. I couldn't agree more.

I took the time to write this VERY lengthy blog post to tell you, and mostly myself, that I am taking a bit of an emotional break from this aspect of JD and focusing on another positive aspect of him. I have a lot of work to do for a very big ceremony to honor him, as well as attend an incredible retirement ceremony for my mom's CAO as well as a grief camp. All before my sweet firstborn starts kindergarten in 5 weeks.

The Patriot Guard has decided to pause their literal stand for JD since a marker, although minuscule, has been placed. They told us that they will continue later, if he is not honored with a more dignified marker in a reasonable time. Because the cemetery has "met their obligation" to provide a marker, they informed us that they will now sweep the ground of any thing left on his grave because they have bent the rules long enough. They will remove everything. Every. Single. Night. Flowers cannot be left if they are not in a permanent bronze vase. And a permanent bronze vase cannot be placed without a larger permanent marker. I'm not sure anyone was listening for the last 8 months as I fought for this (aside the last 2 weeks, of course). To think I'd look at this little brick, with no way for my dad to leave flowers or flags for his son every day and say, "Okay. That'll do," makes me think we're still not getting the point of honoring a fallen soldier. Or a Vietnam vet, for that matter.

While I have an indescribable amount of peace from what the PGR and other patriots have done, I am not giving up on standing for JD. I still have an attorney. I still have many, many things planned. But I'd like to take sometime to breathe, as well as observe how others honor him, from a distance. I have been doing that for 8 months, quietly, and I'm sure behavior is always changed when you know someone is looking. The point is, I'm not ever going to stop fighting for JD. Ever. No hateful emails (and I received a colorful one tonight!) will ever stop me. No lies or manipulation will control me. I'm not afraid of an enemy. After this journey, I'm not afraid of anything.

Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush,
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there. I did not die.
~Hopi Indian Poem