Coming home: Ode to a Soldier
-->
Tears formed in the corner of the mother’s eyes as she tried to form a sentence. “I…I want the nicest one you have”, she managed to say to the man on the phone. She sat at her bay window looking out into her lush green back yard trying to comprehend what she was saying.
“African mahogany, um…that one sounds nice. Ok, I will be by tomorrow morning to finish the rest of the arrangements. Uh-huh, thank you. Good Bye.”
She looked out onto her solid redwood deck shaking her head in disbelief. It was only last year, as she celebrated her 50th birthday in Hawaii, that her son worked from dawn until sunset building that redwood deck.
“I hope you like it Mom, I did my best,” she remembered him saying, his tan youthful face chiseled just like his father’s.
She wished she could bring him back; no mother should ever have to go through this. No mother should ever have to plan her own child’s funeral.
She nearly fell off her seat when she heard a knock at the door. She quickly grabbed a tissue off the kitchen table, blotted her eyes and did a quick face check in the hallway mirror. “Just a second!” she yelled. She glanced through the peephole on the door and her heart nearly skipped a beat. It was her son, Jason! His medium built frame was dressed in a black Marine dress suit, his jacket adorned with several lapels and two medals. She hurriedly opened the door.
“Hello, Ma’am. I am Private First Class McCllelan. Your son, Jason, and I were friends. Her heart sank back to the pit of her stomach it was not Jason. It was not her little boy. She stood there in the doorway, tears swelling up in her eyes again.
“I am very sorry for your loss Ms. Ford. Jason and I were in the same battalion in Iraq. He was one hell of a person. He always made me laugh and told me jokes when I was upset and homesick. Ms. Ford, the real reason for my visit today is to give you this. The young man held out his hand and gave her a small pocket-sized writing tablet. She took it and looked it over curiously. "It was his private journal, Ms. Ford. He used to write in it all the time. I retrieved it before the commanding officer and the others went through his belongings. I figured this item would never get past the inspector general to you. I was able to stuff it in the back of my boot. I thought you might like to have it.”
“Thank you….um… Mr. McClellan, Thank you. That was very, very thoughtful of you. I am sorry but, I…..I have to go. She closed the front door just as she erupted into sobs. “How am I ever going to get through this? How am I going to survive Christmas and all the family holidays without my son? Why did he have to go!” she screamed as she threw her favorite porcelain vase onto the hardwood floor. Shiny blue glass shattered around her in thousands of pieces. She lay against the wall then slowly slid down until she hit the floor with a loud thump. She could barely see through her tears as she flipped through her son’s journal.
29 April 2004
It was 107 degrees when I woke up at 1 a.m. this morning for border patrol. I thought I was going to melt into a puddle and absorb into the sand. I hate standing watch, all I see is complete darkness, and occasionally some lost camels. At other times, nothing at all, especially when the wind is stinging my eyes closed. Corporal Jackson would nail me to the cross if he ever saw me with even one eye closed. “You stale boot, pay attention, you have a very important responsibility as a soldier. Moreover, one of those responsibilities is standing watch at O-Dark 30. If you can’t even do that, you must be the most useless soldier here.” I tried to hold in my chuckles. Corporal Jackson can be such a jackass. He reminds me of the little garden gnome in Mom’s front yard back at home.
God, how I would do anything to be back home! I am tired of this heat. I am tired of the freaking ditch I am forced to sleep in. I am tired of the damn bugs in my boots every morning and the scorpions that scurry near my damn head at night! I would do ANYTHING for a comfortable bed right now, one of those cool sleep number beds. I am going to look into one of those when I get home. A comfortable bed and one of Mom’s homemade Cherry Cobblers; god I miss home.
04 May 2004
I was assigned to run a convoy route with McClellan last night to deliver some supplies to another encampment. We had to drive the Jeep, I was bummed we did not get to ride in the Beast. The beast is huge and powerful. It feels like you are in the Star Track voyager when you slide down into it. You do feel a little claustrophobic at times, but still, how many people can say they have ridden in a military tank. The tank reminds me of when I use to play G.I Joes as a kid. I remember using the G.I’s tank to shoot pebbles at my cat, Chubbs. Ha Ha, those were the good ole’ days! Anyways, when McClellan and I were running our convoy we heard missiles screeching through the air. The night sky lit up as if it was New Year’s in Central Park. You can bet I put the pedal to the metal and got to Base 3 lickety split. We had to take cover, down in the pits, for an hour before it was clear to leave. My heart did not stop racing until we got back to camp.
18 June 2004
Well, I finally got the upgraded bed I wanted. I would not say it is the sleep number bed, but it is better then my dirt hole. Two weeks ago, when I was serving as security for our perimeter, I was shot in the lower chest area, almost to my stomach. The Marine Air Ground Task Force was not able to locate the bastard or bastards. I have a feeling it is the sandbags who tried to drop the missiles on our bases a month before. I think everything is going to be fine though. The doc, Mitty he tells me to call him, comes and checks on me every so often and tells me not to worry. He informed me that I would be home soon. My chest really burns at times; it feels as if the sun has decided to set right on my chest. Hey, but what can you expect? I cannot wait to see my Mom, to hug her and kiss her. I will admit I am a Mama’s boy, but how can you not be when she is the only one who has been there for me. I need the doc to tell my Mom to have my Cherry Cobbler ready for me.
She closes her son’s journal she cannot bare to read on. She cradles the journal as she falls asleep on the hard hallway floor dreading what is to come.
___________________________________________________________
She gazes down into her son’s mahogany casket; she tries to hold back the overwhelming emotion consuming her whole body and mind. She feels as if her whole life is flashing in front of her. The day she first found out, she was pregnant with Jason. Jason’s first tooth. Jason’s first day of kindergarten. Jason’s first baseball game. Jason’s first trip to Disneyland. Jason’s first day of High School. The day Jason decided to enlist in the Marines.
“Jason, its Mom. I am going to miss you so much. I do not know how I am going to move on. You were my strength; you were my life. The best son a Mom could ask for. I know you will be watching over me now. I know God will make you my guardian angel. I love you with all my heart.”
Her chest heaved and tears flooded her cheeks as she placed his homemade Cherry Cobbler inside the coffin with love and care.
Comments
Post a Comment