Authors: Mark Schultz
Letters from War (7 page)
“Thank you.”
While Beth was used to this, the
Hey, are you James
Thompson's mother?
comments, she was never used to the
I'm sorry
affirmations.
It always reminded her of someone saying “I'm sorry for your loss.”
She wanted to say that he wasn't lost. But that's exactly what James was.
“My son saw that interview and said that's what he wanted to do. He wanted to be a hero like James. He wanted to battle those evil people overseas. He wanted to fight for this country.”
“When does he leave?”
“He leaves for Fort Benning this fall.”
“That's where James went.”
“We know.”
For some reason Beth felt compelled to say, “Do you know what I told James shortly after he was there? Or actually, what I wrote to him? Something I remember my husband telling me years ago. He said that the most difficult part of basic training wasn't the physical aspect or the mental aspect, but the overall change. Dealing with being scrutinized and having your entire way of life vanish, along with dealing with fifty-something unique personalities are the hardest parts. Make sure your son finds a few good friends to rely on, because he's going to feel completely alone at times.”
“Those are good words to knowâthank you,” Stan says. “Do you mind me asking⦔
“It's okay,” she says.
“Have you heard anything new?”
“No. Not yet.”
“We're believers, you know. And we're praying for you guys. For James. And for all of you.”
“Thank you.”
Her words are sincere because she knows how valuable prayers can be.
The man shakes his head and seems to think whether he should ask anything else, then awkwardly walks away. Beth pushes her half-full grocery cart toward the checkout counter, thinking with fondness about the place she hasn't thought about for a while:
Fort Benning.
It seems like a hundred years ago. And yesterday.
There is something lost in this era of e-mail. Some might call her old-fashioned, she knows, but reading words on a computer screen doesn't compare to the experience of opening a letter. Knowing that the handwritten words and carefully creased pages were slipped inside an envelope to travel hundreds or even thousands of miles makes their reception all the more wonderful. Tangible
mail is so much more special than the static ping of an arriving e-mail. Seeing a letter in its sometimes messy glory makes it feel like the person who sent it is there, like it's a small version of them they mailed halfway around the world.
On a slow burn of a summer day, the house is quiet after a visit to the local pool. Beth knows enough to stay out of the sun, but even being in the shade on a hot day like today drains the life out of her. She stays inside. She knows that Emily is asleep on the couch, the soft hum of the television in the family room providing the same function that the noise of a fan might. Yet even in the silence of her air-conditioned room, she feels restless. It's the same soft hum that seems to have been there ever since Emily came back.
You know it's been there longer. You know it's been there ever since you heard the news about James.
It doesn't help that friends and family members are openly sharing their doubt. It doesn't help that strangers come up to her with words of “encouragement.” It doesn't help that this is a life she can't take off and put in the washing machine.
Eventually Beth finds herself sitting in her walk-in closet that has plenty of room for two adults and seems ridiculous for one. She's opened one of several shoeboxes, yet instead of opening the Nordstrom box to find a pair of shoes, she pulls out a carefully organized set of letters.
To a casual onlooker, shoeboxes would make sense in a closet. Yet not even Emily knows that these boxes store letters. They date back from the time Richard first went off to training and continue through James's last letter.
The box she has pulled out has the first set of letters from James.
E-mails can easily be lost. All with an errant click of a mouse or a press of a button.
To discard a letter, you have to physically throw it away, something she's been unable to do ever since getting that first letter from Richard back in 1984, the same year he proposed.
She sees her son's meticulous handwriting. Controlled and never careless, just like his personality. Beth doesn't know if handwriting can show a person's heart and soul, but it certainly seems to for James.
The very first letter he sent her is at the top. This is one that she opens often. It still surprises her the way it did years ago. In the large and quiet house on a sleepy June afternoon, Beth opens the letter dated September 24, 2006.
Soon she begins unfolding letter after letter.
They are as powerful as a picture slideshow or a home movie. Perhaps even more.
Pictures and film can show faces and smiles and experiences, but they don't always show sentiment.
Words are different. Words reach the soul.
She has almost memorized these letters, yet she continues to read them to hear from James and to keep believing.
She can hear him speaking as she reads the words.
They are beautiful, just as he is.
September 24, 2006
Dear Mom:
I thought I'd be a little more nervous about the nine weeks ahead of me, but I'm not. I felt more nervous in the hours leading up to saying good-bye. I wasn't sure how the party and the farewells would go. Guess I was afraid of getting too emotional. Good thing I got out right before tears showed up!
I'm writing this on the bus headed to Fort Benning. I'm still stunned at how many showed up at the party. Did you pay people to come or something? I knowâa lot of it is because of Dad. I think that if it had just been the three of us, I would have felt his absence. But the thirty-plus people who came to say good-bye more than compensated for Dad not being able to.
I wanted to write to thank you. Not for the partyâI mean, yes, I want to thank you for that, and I want to thank you for the gift. But I really want to thank you for something else.
I want to thank you for being a really good mother. I could say words like “kind” and “loving” and all that, and you're all of those. But I just think you're an awesome mom. I admire how strong you are, around Emily and me, around others. I can't imagine having another mother. You've always been there for me, and I know even now you always will be. It's comforting knowing
that. I'm sure I'm going to have to remind myself of that a lot over the next couple of months.
Thank you for never once trying to convince me not to do this. I know the words you said before I leftâI will remember them always, Mom. But I'm not going anywhere. Not yet. Right now, I'm just going to get beat up and then strengthenedâphysically and mentally. I'm ready, but I'm sure I'll be even readier after graduation.
I don't know how often I'll be able to be in touch, but my promise to you is that I'll keep the tradition Dad started when the two of you were together. I just ask that you write me back as often as possible. It'll be nice to hear a voice from back home. I'll add the accent myself.
I love you. Send my love to Emilyâthis letter is as much for her as it is for you (not that she'll appreciate it!). Will write and call again soon.
James
October 1, 2006
Dear Mom:
I can't write longâwe only get an hour or not even that of personal time every eveningâbut wanted to thank you for your letter. It means a lot. It's nice to hear those words and to remember them throughout the day. When I can.
I gotta tell youâit sure would be easier e-mailing. But I know you hate e-mail and the Web and all that. I know that was part of our deal.
Training has been tough, I won't kid you. But I'm doing well. The first couple of days with the reception battalion went on forever with waiting around and paperwork. You should see me now. Man do I have an ugly head with my hair gone. Waiting around was hard because I had no idea whatâand whenâsomething was going to finally start happening.
So let me share how God works in great ways.
On day five here, I was emotionally gone. I don't knowâI thought I'd be stronger but it was just getting to me. Getting to my head. I was really going to break down. But this guy named Carter who's from Texas took me under his wing and helped me out. I almost think he's a guardian angel, though I don't think guardian angels use that kind of language and talk about girls that way.
Things are better. It's strangeâyou go eighteen years
and then suddenly your whole life changes. Like that. Not in a bad way. I know what they're doing and why they're doing it and I keep that in the back of my mind. I also think of Dad, of you guys, of the people back in our neighborhood and in our church.
I think about all of you when things start getting too heavy.
I'm not here to follow in Dad's footsteps. I'm here to serve all of you and to serve this country.
Day by day I'm beginning to understand that a little more.
It fills me with pride even when the muscles are aching and the mind is close to breaking.
That's all I can say for now. I'm going to be learning soon how to shoot an M16. Hopefully I'll qualify the first time.
Look forward to talking to you soon and hearing your voice.
Love you,
James
Beth stops reading the letters and puts them back in order.
She remembers the words she wrote after one of these early letters. She shared a passage from Romans that was meant to encourage. She could still recite it word for word:
We also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope.
Beth had told James to continue to persevere and hope. That had been early on during his time at Fort Benning.
I need to do the same. I must do the same. I must remain hopeful.
“This must be your little sister,” the raspy voice says.
“Behave, Murphy. You don't want to mess with Emily.”
Beth shuts the door of the van and walks around the passenger side, noticing Emily's unamused glance through the open window. When she gets behind the wheel of the familiar vehicle, she can hear the man in the back already probing Emily for information.
“I bring Murphy to Mountain Home every Tuesday,” Beth says.
She had woken Emily up and urged her to come with her this morning. At first, Emily had asked if this was
like one of those Angel Tree things they'd done together around Christmastime. Beth hadn't said what they were going to do, but the moment they arrived at the Mountain Home VA Medical Center to switch vehicles, Emily knew.
“Why do you want me to come?”
“To keep me company,” Beth had replied.
But Murphy was company enough.
Beth wanted Emily to participate in this weekly ritual to understand just a little more. A little more about service, about veterans, about a part of the military that she could never learn from her father.
As she starts up the car, she can smell the odor filling the van. It's one of the bitter realities of life. Age has a scent, whether it's the top of a baby's head or the deeply etched wrinkles on a man's hands.
“Tell Emily a little about yourself, Murphy,” Beth says.
“I'm dying, how 'bout that?”
Emily glances over and gives her the
Get me out of here
look.
“Maybe a little something about you. A little something lighter.”
“Lighter, huh? I was married once. For a couple of days. But turns out she couldn't speak English and didn't quite know what she was getting herself into. Plus, the guy who married us wasn't exactly legit.”
“Murphy served in the Korean War, didn't you?”
“Ever heard of that one?”
“Korea?” Emily says, not trying to hide her amusement. “Is that a country or a type of illness?”