I remember a time when a family friend asked me how it felt to be a father of someone at war in Iraq. He then stated that he would be out of his mind with anxiety and worry. I thought about his question briefly and then answered that I was OK with it, that my son wrote us and continued to assure us that he was fine.
Later on, that day I thought about my friends question and my simple positive answer. I thought again and again about the question and my answer. I thought about it as my wife and I hung an army star in our window, signifying we had a son at war. I thought of it early each morning as I rushed to turn on the news and see how the war went that night. I thought of it each time someone pulled into the driveway unexpectedly, looking to see the size and shape of the car and whether someone was walking toward our door in a military uniform. My son and his fellow soldiers were the first thing I thought of each morning and the last thing I thought of each night.
I realized after a time that when my son went to war it was like I put on a heavy chain mail suit. That no matter how bright the day or joyous the event there was a cold heavy weight on my heart and my mind.
Thank God he returned. That weight did not leave me until he marched into an airport hanger in Fort Sill at the head of his command.
Links:
[1] http://iavaaction.org/files/Andy and his dad.JPG
