a Patriotic Son-A Mother's Story

She gazed straight at the wall, her eyes quickly welling up with tears. She wasn't too surprised over the fact she could still shed tears, even though her eyes felt like they had hot specks of desert sand in them. Still, she refused to look away. In front of her was a portrait of her family bordered by a deep mahogany frame, center positioned on the living room wall. It was your typical family pose, not particularly different than any other you'd probably observe in other homes across the country.

Her husband, Jeff, stood behind two overstuffed chairs, a well-practiced smile on his face. Both of his hands were braced on top of two chairs. She sat bolt upright in one chair holding their youngest child, six month old Ryan, dressed in a typical infant boy's baseball outfit. His cap was tilted lopsided, shielding his bald head. Her four year old daughter, Chloe, sat in the chair next to hers, dressed in a frilly pink dress. She remembered how long it took to get Chloe to stop swinging her legs back and forth and sit still for a few seconds, while the photographer hustled to snap the image of their perfectly posed family. When the photograph was finally captured she remembered the photographer's relieved sigh, as if he was saying, "Thank the stars, they're done."

During particularly rough family moments she often stood in this same spot, basking in the peaceful image of her loving, put together family. The portrait was taken over twenty-four years ago, but even though she had several more portraits taken after it, she never removed this particular one. It always held a prominent place in her home, even through three hectic moves.

Now her eyes focused on her son's face with his chubby angelic expression, a portrait of pure innocence. As Ryan grew, this same angelic expression managed to always wiggle him out of serious trouble. It just melted her heart, and she'd completely forget what he'd done to make her so mad in the first place, when she wanted to threaten him with grounding for forever and a day.

Ryan joined every sports team he could try out for. Baseball in the spring, football in the fall, and still managed to get on the basketball team at the tail end of football season. He was always happiest whenever he held some type of ball in his hands.

"Mom catch!" She recalled his words when she was mixing cake batter in a blender bowl. He rushed in and lobbed a nerf football her way. Not prepared in anyway for it speeding her way, the ball plopped in the blender bowl and splashed chocolate batter all over her face, shirt, counter, and floor. Ryan's pure expression of befuddlement rapidly switching to one of amusement and then blatant fear, as he wondered if he was going to be grounded again, made her burst into hysterical laughter. Together they cleaned up the cake batter streaked kitchen. Ground rules for no tossing balls in the house except if she was fully armed and ready, were once again reinforced.

Having a son quickly enlisted her into becoming a back-up practice coach whenever her husband wasn't around. She found herself quite capable at tossing and receiving her son's quick passes.

"Honey, are you ready?" Jeff asked, slipping up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist tightly, rocking her gently back and forth.

She relaxed against his body, sensing his remarkable strength. She sighed, "Can you give me a few more minutes, Jeff? Please, if you don't mind."

"Of course honey. We're waiting outside. You know, you're my heart."

"No, you're mine." She replied, finishing their phrase of love. A phrase uttered more in the past few days than the entire past year.

Her eyes shifted back to the portrait, zooming in on Chloe's slight frustrated grin. Her once non-stop swinging legs grew rather quickly into a set of professional dancer's legs. From the time her daughter was two years of age, she pranced around. Her legs just seemed to feel music and had to keep moving. She wore the experienced role of a proud mother whenever she sat in an audience watching her dance in, "Alvin Alley's Dance Company," often as the lead dancer.

Her husband's stiff practiced smile drew her gaze. He stood behind them protectively, shielding them, being their rock in any storm. In twenty-eight years of marriage he hadn't frayed from the promise he made when they first met at the altar in church on their wedding day.

Momentarily her eyes shifted to the wedding portrait on the left side of the wall. They both looked too young, fresh smiling innocents in love, she thought. Today she felt comforted, aware as husband and wife they'd always be there for each other. Even though they experienced a few marital squabbles, times when both of them might've felt the urge to race out the nearest exit, they still managed to resolve their differences and more importantly maintain their love. She learned to accept the fact he was going to toss dirty socks on the side of the bed instead of placing them in the laundry basket, and he learned to ignore her addiction to sampling every new candle scent in the stores. Their years of marriage drifted by rather quickly, but she'd relive every single moment if she could. Her gaze shifted back over to Ryan's cherub face.

Through the years she constantly worried about his safety, warning him numerous times about his dangerous stunts, his absentmindedly way of strolling through life. It seemed the more adventurous the activity, the more thrilling it was for him. The excitement drew him in, like a moth to a flame.

Bumps, scrapes, and stitch repair, in the emergency room in the middle of the night occurred often, but Ryan brushed them all off, calling them his badges of honor. "Mom, you should've seen the other guy." Words he repeated whenever she was hovering over him like an overly protective mother hen.

What else was a mother for, if she couldn't protect her children? As they grew older and flew out of the nest, she realized she couldn't protect them from the evil world anymore, but hoped her guidance had directed them into being capable of making the correct decisions.

Ryan decided to join the Air Force after meeting a recruiting team after a football game at his school. Even though she felt intense doubt towards his decision, he managed to convince her it was the right choice for him.

"Mom, Dad, they even have a football team I can play on." He said, bouncing a basketball around the patio as he talked.

He looked so handsome in both his football and Air Force uniforms. When he graduated, he seemed to have grown at least a foot taller. His stance, his demeanor, altered from wild youthful antics into a capable, mature young man. She felt beyond proud as she watched him graduate as a first class officer, and blubbered the entire time on Jeff's shoulders. He held her close, with a proud father's beaming smile of accomplishment plastered on his face.

The day Ryan informed them he had orders to go overseas; she smiled, because he acted like a huge gift was just tossed into his lap.

"I'm joining the guys, Mom. Going to help my country by being over there." He grinned, leaned back in his chair and tossed a football high up in the air.

Her husband acted even prouder, as if he'd done all the hard work raising their son to such a confident, brave young man.

"Promise me you'll email me every day. Just let me know how you are. Make sure you eat right and keep...yourself safe." She instructed.

Ryan gave her a big bear hug, practically taking her breath away. She watched him grab his gear and march off into the airport terminal. A plane was waiting on the tarmac to transport him to his Air force base, where his job was to be piloting military transport planes.

"Piece of cake Mom, don't worry about me. And I won't forget to brush my teeth and say my prayers every night." He grinned, and rushed back over to give her one final bear hug.

She recalled those last words. He acted so eager, so confident. Staring at his six month baby photo she couldn't stop herself. She uttered a low gasp, almost a groan.

Everything happened so fast, with her family forever altered. She gasped again, grasping her chest as a wave of agony slammed her, realizing it was time for them to leave. Outside her husband and her daughter waited underneath the big pine tree, hugging each other. Together the three of them walked over to the big black limo waiting for them. She had to act brave because it was what her son would've wanted.

Much too soon her husband and daughter tentatively guided her up the aisle of the church she was married in, guiding her into the front pew. She didn't even know if her feet would've taken the staggering steps on their own without their support. Her eyes landed on the flag draped casket of Ryan, her son, her baby boy, guarded by four comrades, standing at attention on each corner.

Ryan was declared a hero by the nation, now an eternal hero. He'd given up his life in order to save these same four comrades. When a military car pulled up in front of her home five days ago, it was as if black smog engulfed her home. As two stoic men in starched white uniforms spoke in her living room, explaining what occurred, she felt cool air being sucked from her chest. They had to repeat their story several times before it finally sunk in. Her baby boy was gone. This was a military mother's worst nightmare. It was beyond belief. The dense fog of clouds surrounded her through the past days as she drifted on automatic, accepting condolences, being forced to eat, to sleep.

Ryan was piloting his plane and just took off with a unit to fly to a home base, where they'd be returned to the states for a well earned extended leave. His plane was lambasted, attacked from nowhere. Somehow he managed to keep his wits about him, using expert training to safely fly the plane out of enemy territory, losing fuel and having one failed engine. He did his job well, performing emergency maneuvers.

Unfortunately the plane's second engine failed, but Ryan still managed to crash land the plane with the least possible impact. Unfortunately his cockpit took the full blunt force of the crash, rendering fierce shockwaves taking his life and injuring his co-pilot. His passengers survived, bearing a few minor injuries. These passengers from his unit stood at attention behind Ryan's casket. She noticed two of the men wore dark blue slings supporting their fractured arms, and three were on crutches, but all stood proudly next to her son.

Now she realized she had to remain stoic, because this is what her son would've wanted. Her heart was slowly shredding. Each teardrop initiated shards of pain as if someone was repeatedly stabbing her, but wouldn't allow her to slip off into peaceful oblivion. Her physician offered her mild sedatives but she refused, wanting to experience and remember every moment of laying her baby son, her hero, to his final slumber.

Gentle tremors from her husband's arm wrapped around her, made her realize he was experiencing just as much agony. How could anyone bury a child? It wasn't supposed to be this way, she thought. She was supposed to grow old and die first, after she saw her children married, and after she saw her grandchildren grow up. Ryan would never experience the joy of holding his child, or experience the love of a wife.

Her son laid in his final slumber on blue satin sheets, garbed in a starched white pilot's uniform. His medals of honor and bravery were properly placed on his chest. Never again would he crawl into wrinkled football team sheets haphazardly tossed on a bed. He'd never run around in ripped sweats; the ones she attempted to toss out many times but were always rescued by him. If it was up to her, she would've buried him in those same favorite sweats. She knew they were crumbled in a ball in his dresser drawer. The last few days they were a great comfort when she went into his room to lie on his bed. She held them close, inhaling his scent. It allowed her to momentarily slip away into comforting oblivion, when he was young, safe from harm.

Ryan was so proud being part of a unit that protected his country. He was so proud when he completed his pilot's training, clutching his license in his hand and waving it high. His emails home were always upbeat, rarely discussing mundane or dangerous duties. He commented often on how proud he was of his fellow comrades, so it was only fitting he was buried in his Air Force uniform, as a proud service man.

Her husband gently squeezed her hand. His palm felt damp. She looked over at him, noting his tears freely streaming down his cheeks. She gently caressed his cheek, feeling the dampness on her fingertips. The sensation shredded one more layer of her heart. Her daughter's dry hand clutched her other hand. She glanced her way, noting her white knuckled grip. She squeezed back, confirming her daughter's sense of pain and loss. Not only had Chloe lost her younger brother, she also lost her closest friend. Her children grew so close as they developed into adults, even with their exuberant teasing.

She realized her family was going to face the next few days, weeks, and even months of grief. She knew she'd probably mourn his lost forever. Her family was going to hold onto their love, and eventually accept the drastic changes to their family unit. They'd grieve together and separately, over Ryan's loss. She believed her role as mother and wife was to nourish their love, remember their portrait of love, even if one of them wasn't physically present. Ryan would always be here in spirit, and so their portrait of love would continue, she thought.

Leaning on her husband again, she gazed at her son's flag draped casket and smiled. She was surprised she could even smile, but as she listened to one friend after another stand up and memorialize her son, with their wonderful, amusing, portrait of love stories, her smile became warmer. She sensed love surround her and her family.

"Hey Mom, catch this one."

She was only slightly startled hearing Ryan's serene voice, clear as a bell, as he whispered by her ear. Somehow his angelic sign of love comforted her even more.

The End