Authors: Mark Schultz
Letters from War (6 page)
“Oh really?”
“Yeah, totally,” Emily says with an amused look on her face.
“That's funny, because in my letter he said not to believe a word you say until you're twenty-five.”
“Twenty-five?”
“Yes. So you have four more years.”
“I wonder what he said to James,” Emily says.
“Probably that he was going to pray for him, now that he was outnumbered by the females in the house.”
AUGUST 17, 2000
The cap was a faded and ugly shade of orange, but James believed it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He'd found it an hour earlier in the garage on the neatly organized shelf. It belonged to his father. James could confidently say the Vols cap belonged to him now.
It felt heavy in his hands as he studied it. Even though his father had worn it to dozens of games over the years, James had a hard time picturing him in it. He didn't know why. Even with the big framed photo of his father back at the church, James kept forgetting what his father looked like.
Sometimes,
he thought,
you neglect to really look at someone when you see them every day.
The room was quiet. Mom and Emily were somewhere downstairs, which was good. He didn't want
to be bothered. He didn't want to be asked how he was feeling. He wasn't exactly sure how he was feeling, and even if he was, he wouldn't have told the person asking. The only person he'd have told was the one person he couldn't.
The last Tennessee game they'd gone to was the last home game of the year, Vols versus Vanderbilt. Even though they didn't end up winning a championship as they had the year before, the Vols still had a good team and beat Vandy by twenty-eight. James and his father had kept their father-son outings intact, even though his dad had started showing definite signs that he was sick.
Grandpa gave Dad this cap.
James could picture his grandfather's face at the funeral. A blank sheet of white. Nothing there, like some ghost passing in broad daylight. The image shook James even more than seeing his father in the casket. Grandpa knew what James did. That bodyâthe one that failed him so early in lifeâ
that
wasn't Dad.
He's somewhere else and he happened to forget to give me this cap so he reminded me when I was in the garage. He reminded me by causing the light to shine right on what first looked like a big tangerine with a white T on it.
James was going to try on the cap but then heard knocking. He felt caught, as if he were holding a can of beer or a cigarette in his hand. He managed to fling the
hat across the room to his desk and miss it by an inch when the door opened.
“James? You in there?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I come in?”
“Yeah.”
His mother looked strange in black since she never wore it. Her blond hair stood out against the shoulders of the dress.
“How are you doing?”
“I'm okay,” he said.
“What were you looking for in the garage?”
“Just looking around.”
His mother glanced around the room, then noticed the cap. She picked it up and placed it on his desk, then sat down on the bed next to him.
“If it were up to your father, he would've been buried in that cap and his jersey.”
James forced a smile and glanced at the carpet. His mother moved to face him.
“Do you know that when I told Richard for the first time I was pregnant, for the longest time he didn't want to hope for a son? I'd bring it up and he kept saying that we were going to have a girl, he was sure of it. We didn't find out, you know. So when you were born, your father just had this lookâthis look that I'd never really seen before. I'd seen glimpses. At Vols games, for instance.
Or when he was in his uniform. But nothing compared to that moment he held you in his arms and finally could see with his own eyes that he was holding his little boy.”
A knot the size of a grapefruit quivered in James's throat. He looked away from his mom. He didn't want her to see the emotion in his face, the sadness and regret and hurt. James needed to be strong like his father. James needed to be strong for his family.
“James.” Her voice cracked and he looked at her. “I just spoke with your sister. I told her the same thing I'm going to tell you. My parents are still alive, so I don't know exactly how you feel. All I know is this: there's a reason that God took your father. We might never know that reason. But I know and I believe there is one. I want you to know that I'm here and that I love you. You understand?”
He nodded and tried desperately to hold back the tears. He felt as if he was on the edge of a slippery, muddy canyon holding on even while inch by inch he slipped closer to dropping off. His hands were sweaty as he clenched them to avoid shaking.
“I have something for you. Something your father wanted me to give you.”
She gave him a long, white sealed envelope. It trembled when he took it.
“I didn't read it. He wrote one for each of us.”
James nodded again, looking at the wall, unsure
what to say. He wasn't about to start reading it in front of his mom.
“I'm sorry, James. I'm sorry that he's gone.”
There wasn't anything else to do but hug her. He wasn't touchy-feely. Hugs always made him feel childish and silly. Yet this was all he could think to do.
The hug lasted a long time. More than anything, it felt important.
“Why don't you come down in a little while? We'll be in the kitchen. Grandma and Grandpa are coming over soon.”
James watched her go out and close the door behind her. He hesitated to open the letter, unsure about reading words from a man now dead, afraid of how they might deepen the wound he felt.
Then slowly, carefully, he opened the envelope and pulled out the paper inside.
He recognized the orderly handwriting as he opened the folded letter.
My dearest James:
The last thing in the world you need now is more words. I am sure you will have heard enough by the time you read this letter.
But, Son, I don't write for your today. I write for your tomorrow. I write for the times when I should be there but can't be. I write for the times when the world won't make sense and I should be the one to make some sense of it.
Life doesn't make sense, James. Not this tiny little patch of life that we're given. But life is a gift, and when God decides that it's our time, there's nothing we can do. We need to be thankful for what we've been given so far.
Let me ask something of you.
Do not be sad. Be strong.
Do not let despair weigh you down. When you read these words, it might sound easy. Yet it may be tempting to wallow in what could have been. Instead, wake up tomorrow and be thankful. Know you are alive for a reason; you have a responsibility.
I know you are twelve, but I tell you these things as if you were a man. I wish I had time to watch you grow into one.
Your responsibility is to take care of your mother and your sister. Do not ask how. You will learn how. I know you can do this because I know you. I know your heart.
You are strong, James. You are like your mother that way. I might be the one who served in the military but your mother is the one who showed her true strength.
God will watch over the family and I hope that I will be able to as well. Your mother and sister will need your help.
Do I ask too much on this day? No. Because you don't have to start today.
Today you start with yourself. Those feelings I know are inside of you. Pray, James. I know you have heard us say this time and time again, but pray.
I remember what it was like to hear orders from our commander in chief. Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to stroll into his tent and ask to sit down and talk with the man.
Praying is like that, times infinity.
You are able to stand before your Maker and have His attention. You can do this any time you want. He does not always answer and when He does, it might be in His own way. But He hears you. He sees and loves you, James. So speak to Him.
When the time comes, you will take care of the family. I know that.
I already said the things I needed to say to you, but, Son, know how proud I am to have lived long enough to have spent time with you. Know how
fortunate I am to have loved you long enough to be able to let you go.
Know how blessed I am to have gotten to know my son.
Follow God, Son, for He will never let you down. You will let yourself down, but do not let that stop you.
Follow your passion and your heart. Take that hurt and confusion and build it into something meaningful.
I pray that God blesses you with a long and healthy life. But remember that this life is just a tour of duty. It's a minute tour compared to the long journey ahead.
I have already started mine, and I believe with everything in me that if I could share what I see and feel now, you would be happy for me.
I wish I could tell you what I'm seeing and feeling, but I can't.
I can tell you this.
Do not fear. Fear is of the enemy. There is nothing good about it. Do not be foolish, but neither live with fear. There is only one Person who controls everything, and He states, “Fear not, for I am with thee.”
I love you. You remember that on the days when I can't tell you in person.
You remember that love and you keep it alive.
Forever,
Your father
James folded the letter and then stood up and walked over to the dresser. He opened the thin black box and looked at the medal inside. They had wanted to put the Bronze Star on him in his casket, but his father had been vehement about James keeping it.
“That is your medal, Son. You keep it front and center to remind you.”
He had given both of his children something. Richard had been awarded the medal for saving another's life.
James glanced at the letter, then slipped it underneath the black box.
He studied the star but his thoughts were elsewhere.
They were with his father.
He wondered if his father watched him now. He wondered if his father could read his mind.
I want to be just like you one day.
James knew then and there. There wasn't any question, not anymore.
Beth
“Excuse me. You're Elizabeth Thompson, right?”
The man with the round face and wide eyes stands between her and the registers at the grocery store. She doesn't recognize the man but instantly assesses that he's probably not military and probably not media.
Hopefully not media.
“I'm Stan Maddox. Hi. My son is planning on going into the army. He just graduated from high school. His name is Vinceâa good kid, tooâand he was inspired, like all of us, really, by the story of James. You are his mother, right?”
She nods and tries to reassure him with a polite smile.
“We saw that piece on the news last Christmas. Amazing story. I'm so sorry.”