A Mid-East Summer Night Dream

Someone was knocking at the door. I wondered why they didn't use the door bell. From the kitchen, I could barely hear it. Wiping my hands on a tea towel, I started toward the front door. Before opening my solid wooden door, I looked out the window and saw a dark green car I didn't recognize in the driveway. Fixing my hair a moment, I opened the door to greet my visitor. Standing in front of me, were two USAF officers, a 30ish tall slender women with short dark hair carrying an attaché case, accompanied by an older distinguished-looking, white-haired gentleman with a book in one hand.
After introducing themselves, the man asked if they could step inside to speak with me. Of course, I invited my guests inside and asked them to sit on my sofa. I offered them something to drink, but both politely declined. They seemed to be so solemn, but I supposed that's the way military officers behave. Apparently waiting for me to sit down before speaking, I turned off the stove burner under my whistling tea pot and joined them. The man reminded me of my favorite uncle so I felt at ease enough to joke with him and asked if they were sure they didn't want to have a cup of hot tea with me.
The female officer asked if I was married. I told her, "No... divorced for nine years now." The gentleman asked how many children I had. I told him, "Three sons and a daughter." Wondering what all the chit-chat was about, I asked the purpose of their visit. The woman began speaking, "Ma'am, your son has been killed..." I never heard the end of her sentence. I'm sure she finished it, but my mind began screaming, "NO!!!!" My heart stopped. I didn't care if it started again. Unable to contain myself, "Tell me it isn't so!" I demanded. Suddenly, the dam broke and tears flooded down my face. Gasping for breath, I began wailing without limitation. I don't doubt my neighbors heard me at the other end of the block.
The woman came to my side and put her arm around me. She handed me tissues and asked if I wanted her to fix me a cup of hot tea. I thanked her and nodded my head affirmatively. I don't know how much time passed, but my tea had become lukewarm before I took my first sip. As I began recovering from the initial shock, the gentleman stated he was a pastor and asked if I would like for him to share some scriptures with me. I managed to reply, "Sure, why not?" in between sniffles. The pastor flipped his Bible open to a bookmarked passage in the Book of Psalms and began reading. The words were soothing, but I was not ready to receive them. My heart was still hemorrhaging from the unexpected horrifying news that my middle son had been killed serving his country in Afghanistan.
Suddenly, I felt myself flying. Although scared of heights, I found the courage to look down. Oddly, I was not frightened. I saw arid mountains and desert lands scroll beneath me. Simultaneously, my son's face kept flashing before my eyes. His trademark grin and dimples invoked a rapid stream of previously forgotten memories when he was a child. Then my mind went blank. I felt a falling sensation. I began spinning round and round, falling faster and faster. I looked down and saw myself, naked. Shrieking in fear, I pass out. At this point, only God knows my fate.
I woke up with my sheet and blanket all knotted up at the foot of my bed. I looked at my alarm clock and realized it was 3:30 a.m. There had been no visitors. My son was safely stationed at Lackland AFB in San Antonio, TX. Nearing the end of his six-year enlistment, he had survived three Middle East tours and was being released from the USAF next month. I thanked God that I was not one of those unfortunate Americans whom had lost a child, parent, brother, sister, or spouse in the Iraq or Afghanistan wars. Most Americans take so much for granted. The ultimate price paid for our way of life seems distant and unreal until it becomes personal.
Later that morning, I called my son. We talked for almost an hour. I savored every word of our conversation. He promised to come visit when he takes his terminal leave. I hung up the phone and thanked God again. In the mood to reminisce, I began looking through a family photo album and came across a picture of my favorite aunt and uncle. Seeing Uncle John reminded me of the white-haired gentleman. I still couldn't shake the previous night's dream.