You were in the bedroom cleaning out some of your late husband’s clothes into old brown cardboard boxes ready to donate them to the Salvation Army. Though he was killed in action in the Gulf War over two decades ago you could never really bring yourself to clean out his stuff from the room you once shared. You always felt that as long as his things were there you would always be together. Perhaps it was the foolish hope of him coming through the door one day because they never found his corpse, or maybe you just couldn’t let go.
Your son would always tell you that it’s okay, to take as much time as you needed, but when you looked into his young clear eyes you could tell that he wanted you to move on with your life. Whatever the reason, you’ve finally gotten yourself together to clean up, expecting your son’s homecoming from Iraq next Monday. You want to surprise him by telling him that all that mattered to you was him, you want to let him know that you will love your family with all your heart, you want him to know that his wife, Carla, is expecting your grandchild. Most of all, you want him to be here when his child grows up, unlike his father whom he never got to see.
You told your son it was a bad idea to go out to war and be in the army like his father, but he wouldn’t listen, he just had to find out what his father had to die for – and live for his sake. He promised you he’d be home after every tour and he has kept that promise. Still, you pray for him and think of him at every meal you’re not together and every night he’s not home. But what can you do? All you could do is spend time with Carla every weekend trying to fight off the loneliness. You’re just lucky you ain’t in an old folk’s home yet, treasuring independent life while you still can. He told you he ain’t ever gonna put you in a home mama, that you can live with his new family mama, but you said you didn’t wanna be a bother. Now you’re reconsidering the offer.
Someone’s ringing the doorbell, but you’re not expecting anyone today. It might be Carla? But she’s not supposed to come over to plan the homecoming party until tomorrow morning, who could it be? Ding dong! The doorbell goes off again politely accompanied by three firm knocks reminding you to check the front door. Ah! It must be the mailman delivering your newly ordered blender from Amazon. You rush down the stairs while apologizing, hoping that the mailman won’t miss you and have to collect the registered delivery from the post office.
You open the door and you stand silent. You shake your head vigorously in denial and take two steps back from the front porch. No, no! He promised, it can’t be!
There he stood, a lieutenant in his pressed green uniform with his cap under his left arm. An array of ribbons on his chest, a silver belt buckle, and a pair of shiny polished shoes. Behind him was a sergeant who stood in front of a white Crown Victoria like a tin soldier. The side of the car had “ARMY” written on the front door.
It can’t be, it just can’t be true. A single tear rolls out of your left eye as you try to compose yourself, but the truth that you are denying overwhelms you in a torrent of tears. You kneel and you pray and you beg the Lord to bring him back even though you know he’s gone. What are you going to tell Carla?
“Ma’am, on behalf of the President of the United States I would like to thank your son for his service to his country. He was killed in action last Tuesday and died an honorable soldier. The nation is sorry for your loss and grateful for his sacrifice.” The lieutenant said.
He’s gone.
