Letters from War (4 page)

“There are plenty of more important things for people to worry about.”

“I'm just telling you the truth.”

“Just because something is true doesn't mean it needs to be shared.”

Josie shakes her head. Perhaps Beth should have seen this coming. Maybe it's a long time coming. But letting go means giving up, and she has no plans to give up.

“Please—don't be angry.”

“I'm not angry. Hurt, yes, but not angry.”

“I can't imagine what these past two years have been like.”

“I'm not asking you to. I'm not asking anybody to imagine.”

“But we're here alongside you. You know that. We're praying just like you're praying.”

A server comes and asks if they want anything more to drink. Beth smiles and tells him they're fine.

“Didn't we have this same conversation once before?”

“Beth—”

“Didn't we? But the thing is, I needed that conversation. You were right to tell me it was time to move on. Because Richard wasn't ever coming back. It doesn't mean I took all your advice. I mean, it's not like I'm hitting the dating scene the way you encouraged me to do.”

“I still don't think that's a bad idea.”

“This is different. This is far different. I will never let go, Josie. Not until someone comes to my door and tells me where James is. I managed to move on when Richard died. And if it's God's will, I'll move on again when the time comes.”

“Maybe that time is now.”

“Is there something wrong with believing? Is hope such a bad thing in these dark and cynical days?”

Josie glances down at her plate, thinking for a moment. “It's one thing to have hope and trust in God. But it's another to let it go on too long.”

“And what? Become an obsession?”

“What about Emily?”

Beth would have already left the conversation far behind if it had been anybody else. But Josie was family. She had been there and continued to be there and this was just one more way Josie was trying to help.

She has no idea what she's asking me to do.

“Emily is strong.”

“That's because she has your genes and you're one of the strongest people I've ever met,” Josie says, moving in toward her. “But sometimes you have to be strong enough to—”

“No.”

“Beth, please.”

“Please what? I know you're trying to be a friend. And friends are honest with one another. Phil and you have been a wonderful support—your whole family has. But this is something that I can't—I won't—do. It's not like some bad habit I need to give up.”

“But it's okay if you—”

“He's my son. He is my son.”

Josie sits back in her chair, her face drained, her shoulders slumped. Beth wonders if she was a little too emphatic with her last statement.

“Would anybody like some dessert?” the server comes and asks.

Beth moves her hand across the table and squeezes Josie's.

“Let's split one. Come on. It'll be good for us.”

Waiting is worse than knowing.

Beth thinks this as she sits in the comfortable armchair attempting to read the worn Bible in her lap. Like a blanket on a cold night, the verses wrap around her, keeping her heart and soul warm.

Yet for a moment, she slides off her glasses and rests them on the page.

Maybe Josie is right. Maybe it's time to move on.

She tries to do what she should.

Be still in the presence of God, and wait patiently for Him to act.

The sound of a fan nearby is the only thing she can hear.
Nine out of ten people reading at this time of night might drift off with that engine purring in their ears,
Beth thinks. But worry carries a much louder sound, and it's a constant whine she hears all day long.

Oh, Lord, I am calling to You. Please hurry!

Two years is a long time to call. A long time to wait. A long time to ask for assistance.

Hear my cry, for I am very low.

She wouldn't be human if she didn't have moments like this. Beth knows this. She will always be a mother.
She could be the first human being to ever step foot on Mars, but she'd still say her crowning achievement were those two beautiful and blessed babies.

I am losing all hope.

David knew and he knew it well. His words weren't all glowing praises to God. Many of them were the desperate longings of a man broken and bruised and waiting.

Waiting.

Beth sighs and slips her glasses back on.

She continues reading the psalms.

She wonders if James is indeed alive, and if so if he can recall David's words.

Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy! I look to You for protection.

Does James call out morning, noon, and night for God's protection?

I will hide beneath the shadow of Your wings until this violent storm is past.

When will the storm pass? When will the clouds lift and the sun shine down on shadows and allow her to finally know? To finally see the truth?

My heart is confident in You, O God.

Can she say the same?

Beth isn't sure.

She wants to but she can't say that God looks through her heart and believes her.

Just as she's about ready to turn off the lights downstairs, the door opens and she hears Emily coming in.

At least she doesn't have to wait for her daughter to come home.

At least one prayer was answered on this night.

“Why do you have to worry so much about what I'm doing?”

“Why do
you
have to keep it some big secret?”

“Why do you think I have secrets?”

“If you don't have secrets, why can't you just tell me what you're up to?”

Conversations like this are like riding a carousel,
Beth thinks.
Eventually you end up getting dizzy and nauseous if you don't step off.

Emily seems a bit more irritable this Friday morning. She's got the college look down pat, with bags under youthful eyes, sweatpants and a college tee on, a bowl in her lap as she watches one of the morning shows.

With a mouth full of cereal, Emily says she's not keeping anything a secret.

“Then where were you?”

“Are you going to be like this all summer?”

“Are you?” Beth asks.

The morning talk show host seems far more important to Emily than her mother does.

“I was just asking.”

Emily turns around on the sofa to look her way. “I went over to Trish's house, then we went to someone's house. We went to a bar—it was just silly. Country music, nothing but a bunch of rednecks. Went back to Trish's to watch a movie.”

“What was so wrong with telling me that?”

“You've been overly worried ever since I got that job at O'Malley's. You wanted me to get a job, didn't you?”

“I would have preferred something a little less—”

“Wild? Sorry, the convent didn't ever call me back. I can become a nun next summer.”

“I don't need to explain the types of people that end up at bars,” Beth says.

“Did I do something wrong last night? Did I go AWOL or something?”

“Don't.”

“Don't what?” Emily asks.

This time she's the one who doesn't reply. Beth goes back in the kitchen.

Her daughter knows how to shut down a conversation.

Loading the dishwasher, Beth worries about pushing Emily. She worries about going into enemy territory. She worries that if they go there, they won't be able to come back. They've been there before.

Words are like land mines. There's nothing you can do once you've triggered them.

When Emily comes in with her bowl, Beth offers to take it.

“I wasn't doing anything bad. Okay?”

“Okay,” she tells Emily.

“Mom, nothing's going to happen to me.”

“I know.”

“I think you're more worried when I'm around than when I'm at school.”

“When you're at school, I keep my mouth shut. I have to.”

“I'm glad you're not like some of the mothers. They're texting and sending their kids messages on Facebook.”

“Why not just call?” Beth asks with a smile.

“Why not just smother?” Emily says.

“What am I going to do with you?” Beth gives Emily a hug. “You won't ever understand until you have your own child.”

“Yeah, but I don't think you necessarily want that to happen now, huh?” Emily laughs in the same mischievous way she has since she was two.

She remembers the first time silence covered her.

It was when James had been in Iraq for only two months. She had already spoken to him on the phone
several times as well as received letters. Yet on the day he had told her he would be calling, there was nothing. All attempts to contact him didn't work either. She got Emily involved, asked her to try to e-mail, yet no response came.

A day was one thing.

But as each day passed, she felt as if a rope was attached to her legs and was pulling her into a deep black ocean. Her hands were holding on to the rails of the boat, but each day the weight grew heavier, her grip more unsure, the burning in her hands and legs more severe.

Waiting is wearisome.

Waiting is life on pause, watching on the sidelines, restless and troubled.

Bible verses comforted her and prayers helped and Emily tried to encourage and family and friends supported, but…

None of those things diminished the overwhelming, oppressive nature of waiting.

She compared it to watching a sky slowly begin to turn black, bit by bit, until night was there while everybody was telling her it was only noon.

Finally, the phone call came and it was James.

His unit had been put in a temporary blackout due to a soldier's being killed in combat. The army did this to make sure that the family would be notified properly
instead of discovering the death online or hearing about it via e-mail from a long-lost acquaintance.

For the first few minutes that James was on the other line telling her what happened, Beth was on her knees.

On her knees because of both the fear of the phone call and the fear of God.

She was thankful for both of those things, and the tears showed her gratitude.

“You okay, Ma?” James asked her.

And she told him she was, trying to hide the terror that had encased her for those few days.

Little did Beth know that those few days were just an appetizer for this feast of grief.

She'd gotten just a taste—a nibble—but not even that prepared her for these past two years.

Now she knew how quickly she could go underwater, how dark the liquid could be, how cold and silent it felt under the surface.

As soon as she heard that James was missing in action, she decided to be especially present in her own life. Beth had remained busy and on guard and prayerful and mindful.

The Bible and prayers fueled her. Family and friends kept her sane. She needed to keep moving and keep trekking. Keep “humping,” as Richard used to say.