Thoughts From The Heart

My middle son, my friend, the little boy I used to rock to sleep, is at war.

All of those traditional father-son roles are reversed. My child risks his life to protect ME and I am powerless to help him. Worry has become a way of life.

Since November he has faced roadside bombs, mortar rounds and bullets. I'm proud of his service - but I'm also terrified. I am faced with the reality that very few Americans seem to be sharing this stomach-churning fear. My heart is protected by nothing more than God's will and his flak vest.

Soon after he deployed, and before I knew where he was located, I heard a snippet of news on the TV. "Three Stryker Brigade Soldiers died in a vehicle roll-over." My stomach cramped up so much I couldn't finish what I was doing. What three Soldiers? Where? From that report on, every war-related news bulletin cuts like a knife.

When I hear about our losses, a sense of dread comes over me until I know it isn't him. Maybe it's only a few terrible minutes. Maybe a time-stopping hour, or even an ever-lasting half-day before I know it isn't him, but every announcement that begins, "Today an American was killed" makes my world go dark. When I find out it isn't my son, I feel an intense relief followed by an intense guilt because of that relief. Because someone else is getting the news.

My eyes will fill with tears for no reason. My wife suffers, too. She takes a sleeping pill every night and has since November. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with moonlight pouring through the bedroom window and wonder: "Did this moon provide light for a terrorist as he wired an IED to kill more Soldiers? Will today be the day?"

His telephone calls and email are precious. I want to know how he's coping. Is he becoming a better or worse person, is he being hardened or made kinder? Is he surviving spiritually, emotionally? Has he had to kill? Is his cheerfulness during the few short phone calls as insincere as mine? When he contacts me I know then that we are a day closer to his home coming.

"I hear they were shooting at you guys this weekend," I say as casually as I can. "Did they report that in the news?" he asks. "Yes." "They shoot at us all the time. Don't worry. Their aim isn't very good." How can I not worry? I know deep inside that he feels the same fear I feel but is being strong for me.

One morning while driving to work, I turned on the radio. "Today an American soldier was killed and five wounded when a patrol in northern Iraq was attacked." I wanted to slam on the brakes. I wanted to turn around and drive back home. My thoughts. They said "a soldier," not "a Marine," the media can't keep the two straight. How long does it take for the military to send someone to inform the family? Certainly by now they'd be here if it were him. It's incredibly hard to get through some of those days.

The United States has an all-volunteer military and they do their job well, but the army of parents, wives, children, husbands, girlfriends and boyfriends of those who serve in our military, have only one job and that's to love - to love unconditionally.

And it's our job is to struggle with our fears while watching the seemingly carefree lives of those around us - the lives we used to live - and in plain sight of our friends and everyone else who have no loved ones at risk, no fear of the war.