Letters from War (14 page)
Authors: Mark Schultz
Has all of thisâthe letters and the praying and the worry and the believingâhas all of it been for nothing? Has it been wrong for her to carry all of this?
Beth thinks of her daughter's words. Then she recalls the angel's words to Abraham.
I know that you truly fear God. You have not withheld even your beloved son from me.
Holding the pen in her hand, Beth wonders. Is she still holding back? Has she truly given everything to God?
There is hope in this world. But there is also letting go.
“Lord, please show me the difference. Show me how to fear you and how to withhold
nothing
.”
She knows that even though she prays, she's not ready. Not yet.
She needs help letting go. But there's no one around who can truly guide her through that.
But maybe there's something that will help. Something that you need to do. Something that you've put off for so many years. Maybe it's time.
Beth buries the thought.
So maybe there are a few good reasons for Beth to have a Facebook page. Emily's just shown her one.
For quite some time, Beth has been against getting one. The first reason is she doesn't want the invasion of privacy. The second is thatâwell, that pertains to privacy too. Most of the reasons have to do with keeping her life her own.
She doesn't want a page for people to send their prayers and commentary. There are already several pages up for James and that's fine. She can respect people wanting to remember and lift James up in prayer. But she does not need a thousand comments a day saying how and why and when they're praying for her or telling her how to handle his absence. Especially when they're strangers who don't know James or her.
Yet just a moment ago, Emily informed Beth that she received a message from her friend Josie. She was one of those people who spent lots of time uploading photos from family trips and fun onto her Facebook page. She also tweeted or whatever it was called.
Emily reads the message and says, “Josie says since
you don't have a page yourself, she wanted to send it to me. It says, âHave your mom check this out. It would be fun to go to!'”
“How can you read on that thing?”
“It's not that small, Mom.”
“I don't think I want to know what she wants me to check out. Please tell me it doesn't involve men who look like Tom Selleck.”
“Tom who?”
“Sometimes you make me feel really old, you know that?”
Emily smiles. “Well, I don't want to tell youâ”
“No. Stop. Don't continue that thought.”
“It's nothing to do with men. It's some kind of horse stable.”
Emily shows her on her phone but she can't make out anything.
“I need my glasses,” Beth says.
Emily shrugs and then mouths the word “old.”
“It's got a bunch of horses you can ride. Sounds like Josie wants to take you horseback riding.”
“She's been on me about doing lots of things.”
“Why don't you?”
“Speed dating isn't my thing.”
“Yeah, but you planning on dating a horse?”
“There are probably a lot more horses out there that I'd like to spend time with than men.”
Emily laughs. “Does Josie ride a lot?”
“Josie does everything a lot.”
There's a certain tone in her response that almost echoes off the walls around her.
“Just sayin',” Emily adds.
“Well maybe your mother is going to start doing lots more things too. Just sayin'.”
“Like getting a Facebook page?”
“Let's not go overboard.”
July 19, 2007
Dear Mom:
War is hell, Mom. It really is.
It is the culmination of hate and violence and want and greed. The face of bigotry and prejudice. The hand of the devil that only destroys.
The devil recently paid our unit a visit.
There was a guy named Rodriguez who was supposed to return home in less than thirty days.
He wasn't blown up with some suicide bomb or cut down by enemy fire. He was killed brandishing his weapon and charging the enemyâhe was killed during a simple training exercise.
Of course nothing is simple, especially out here. Things happen. Right?
I'm struggling with this.
He had a wife and two kids back home. He was going to leave the army when his commitments were done. Finish up school. Be a father and get on with life.
I wish God would let me know why.
It's hard enough seeing the blood of a fallen brother, but to see a life lost like this. Such a waste.
Pray for his family, Mom. Pray for his wife and children.
I can still hear his laugh sometimes in my dreams. I'll wake up wondering if he's around the corner.
I really want to come home.
James
July 27, 2007
Dear James,
We're praying for you during this difficult time.
Three Bible verses come to mind that give me hope.
Psalm 34:18â“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.”
John 14:27â“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”
And 1 John 5:14â15â“This is the confidence we have in approaching God: that if we ask anything according to his will, he hears us. And if we know that he hears usâwhatever we askâwe know that we have what we asked of him.”
I will be praying for you and for your unit as well as Rodriguez's family.
Keep these verses and other passages close at hand and close to your heart. Bring them out even when you don't feel like reading them. Remind yourself of them and others when you are low and angry and confused.
Please call when you can.
Love,
Mom
August 4, 2007
Dear Mom:
I apologize for getting all introspective and melancholy in these letters. Whenever I write the words “Dear Mom,” I think I start to get a bit sad. I miss you and Emily and Britt and everybody else.
I'll try to lighten the mood. At least this time.
I shared what happened to Rodriguez. But let me tell you about some of the other guys in my unit. They are something else.
There's Mac. That's his nickname. He's a crazy Irish guy who's a bit obsessed with Britt and thinks she should marry him (the redheaded connection, I guess). He's from Baltimore and likes playing video games.
There's Bruce, and he's one of those conspiracy guys. Thinks that Elvis is still alive, that the government killed JFK, that the war in Iraq is part of a bigger conspiracy. He's an X-Files nut and loves that show. Lost too. He's always talking in a hushed tone about some kind of cover-up.
Bruce is tight with Jackson, who writes fiction. He dreams of writing military thrillers. I see him writing a lot. He asks me about these letters and then wonders if I've ever tried writing. He's always reading something, too, and is constantly telling me books and authors I need to check out.
There's Sam, who looks like he's on steroids. Maybe he is. He's always working out. He moves like a tank.
There's Carter, who's from Alabama and has the thickest accent in the world. Sometimes even I can't understand him.
So many guysâthese are just snapshots. I can't really do justice to them, or to the stuff we've seen and the stuff that's happened to us.
I don't want you to worry. I'm with some great guys. Really.
Sometimes this war and this place get to me but not most of the time. Most of the time I'm doing okay.
Most of the time I'm doing just fine.
Love you!
James
The big white set of teeth seems to surround her the way a picket fence might surround a graveyard. A never-ending smile from a never-ending siphon.
I can't do it. I don't want to do it. Not again. Not this year.
Beth's bones feel attached like tectonic plates, rubbing against one another, just bracing for the eventual earthquake. Nobody can see this on the surface, but she feels the chafing every day.
She wants to hurl the cup of expensive coffee at the wannabe politician in front of her and run for the glass door and then keep running.
What's gotten into me lately? What's my problem?
“We're counting on you,” Sonny Stephenson says, that grin going like the Energizer bunny.
She has the craziest thought, thinking of Sonny's initials and then thinking they actually fit him.
“I don't think I can do it this year.”
“Oh, come on, Beth, you gotta be in it. No walking necessary. I promise. You can ride on our float.”
Of course I can.
“We just want to remember James and what he stood for.”
Of course you do.
The southern drawl and smile really don't help Sonny's cause. Beth knows that the businessman is just doing his job, and that maybe deep down he really does care for what James
stands
for.
“I'm just not sure I'm up for being in the parade,” Beth says. “This year.”
Sonny sees someone else who calls out his name, and this is how Beth breaks it off. She is having coffee, or trying to have coffee, with Leah. Her friend is at a booth in the corner, a place where Beth can sit with her back to all the potential Sonnys who might want to come up to her and talk.
When did I become so antisocial, so uncivil?
She tells Leah about the awkward interaction. Leah can't help but laugh, knowing Sonny and why he wants her in the parade.
“You know you're a celebrity, even though for an awful reason,” Leah says to her.
Leah can say that because Leah understands. She's a mother of two boys in the service, both stationed
in Afghanistan. Leah has taken it upon herself to buy coffee for Beth as often as she'll indulge, which is about every other week. This little act is a big blessing.
“He got to me already, though you know me,” Leah says, “I'm always doing it. I'm a sucker for anything related to celebrating the military and waving a flag. Especially on the Fourth.”
“I used to be too.”
Leah's grip is as strong as her heart. “And you will continue to be. You can be proud to be a wife and a mother of a soldier. That never has to change.”
“Sometimes I want a break.”
“And sometimes you
need
a break, and loudmouths like Sonny can deal with it. But just know why you're taking a break, that's all I ask.”
Beth sighs. “I don't know. Things have suddenly gotten a lot worse.”
“With what?”
“With everything. The waiting. The silence. The not knowing.”
“How's Emily?”
“She's not exactly supportive. Maybe that's one reason whyâwhy it's suddenly become this giant issue I can't get around day after day.”