Jean's Son

USMC Staff Sergeant Ronald Johnson
Ward 57, Walter Reed National Military Medical Center
8901 Rockville Pike, Bethesda, Maryland, U.S.

Dear Mom,

First, let me put your mind at rest. I'm in hospital, but I'm going to be fine. By now, the USMC have informed you I was wounded in action, which probably sent you into DEFCON 1 level panic. Yeah, I was shot. But, honestly, it's not as bad as it sounds. I'll explain more when I see you in person, hopefully sometime in January.

I had hoped to be allowed home for Christmas, but the doctors say I need another operation to stabilize my lung. After that, I'll be here at least one more week. I'm so sorry I can't be there with you, especially under the circumstances. Please don't be angry with Sarah, but last month she wrote me about how serious your cancer has become, so I planned to be there. I pray for you every morning when I awake and every evening before I lay my head to rest.

Now that's out of the way, I must apologize. We've grown distant over the past three years since Dad died, and that's mostly my fault. I blamed duty, but the truth is I could have made more of an effort to be there for you when you were going through such a tough time. Caught up in my own grief, I became selfish and self absorbed. Can you ever forgive me?

Though I've been abroad during the past two Christmases, I've often thought back to the family holidays of my youth. Remember how each of us would choose a new ornament for the tree every year? It was getting difficult to find room for them all on the branches. Dad was an amazing cook. You know, I can still taste his specialty brandy butter on home-baked mince pies. You made such a great job of wrapping each present like an origami masterpiece, and the base of our Christmas tree looked like the cover image for a lifestyle magazine. Joni Mitchell was right about how we never appreciate what we've got until it's gone.

You'll be shocked when we do meet. My priorities and attitude have undergone a revolution. The events of the past week shook me to the core, and I've been forced to face my mortality and many shortcomings. It's easy to see my faults in glorious technicolor. There are changes I feel compelled to make, starting with my relationship with you. Lying on the rubble in a ruined factory with the smell of cordite in the air and the agony of a gunshot wound in my chest, I believed I was going to die. In that painful instant, like a guardian angel your face invaded my consciousness, and I instinctively called out to you for help and comfort. I suppose it's a cliché when a man facing death cries for his mommy, but I don't care. It's what happened. I needed you then, and I need you now. You're all the family I have left, and I want to spend quality time with you while it's still possible.

Lingering in bed over the past five days, I've had time to reflect. What kind of legacy would I have left if I died on that factory floor? I don't like my answer. You're not the only person I've let down or hurt. In fact, my journey through life has been much like that of a plowshare tearing through the earth, leaving behind a path of churned up mud and devastation. There are some people to whom I owe apologies and others to whom I should strive to make amends. In fact, some of my past misdeeds are beyond forgiveness or redemption.

Thankfully, God has been good to me and offered me a second chance at life. Through His redeeming Grace, my sins are forgiven if not forgotten, and God willing I'll have time to make up in some small ways for the thoughtless actions of my youth. “When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child. But when I became a man, I put aside childish things.”

Another thing I've learned here is how important the work of some people is to society. Yeah, it's important to defend our great nation, and I'm not unaware of how vital it is to keep some kind of policing force in the world. I mean, there are some folks who perform miracles every day: first responders who save lives at accident scenes, nurses who keep patients alive in ER, doctors who’ve studied for years to gain the necessary knowledge to treat the seriously injured or diseased, and surgeons who perform acts of wonder in operating theaters around the nation. I'm awed and humbled by their daily labor. Watching them at work has made me rethink my future. I plan to leave the Marines and seek a medical career. I'm not smart enough to become a doctor, and the skill of a surgeon would be a greater miracle than my salvation, but if I worked real hard, I think I might make a capable nurse. I've been praying on it, and I'll look into my options when I come home.

Talking about nurses, mine's arrived and is fussing over me, so I'll have to sign off for now. Don't worry. The doctors are confident my last operation will be a success and say I'll make a swift and complete recovery. I'll write more as soon as I'm able. In the meantime, pray for me and know that you are in my thoughts.

Your loving son,

Ron xxx

***

Mrs. Jean Johnson forced a smile as her red-haired friend helped her into an armchair near the crackling fire. Her head spun a little as she settled in place, an unwelcome side effect of chemotherapy. It was good of Sarah and her daughter to invite her to spend Christmas Day with them at their house, but she couldn't get Ron out of her mind. She'd received his letter only yesterday, and she was thankful to hear he survived his wound, but that mention of another operation had her nerves on edge. Her already gray hair had grown grayer. That's exactly what her dear departed husband’s doctors had said to her a few days before his death. She'd agonized over telephoning the hospital only to chicken out. She couldn't face what they might say.

“Is there anything else I can get you?” asked Sarah as she draped a tartan blanket over Jean’s knees.

She shook her head. “You've done enough. I'd have gone crazy if I'd been alone at home today, and that turkey was delicious.”

A loud knock at the front door drew their attention. “Now who can that be?” muttered Sarah.

“I'll go see,” said her daughter, already stepping into the hallway. A moment later, she shouted, “There's two men in uniform. One looks like a Naval officer. Oh. They're asking for Mrs. Johnson.”

The blood drained from Jean's face and her heart raced. Sarah had no connection with the Navy, and there was only one reason a Navy officer would go trailing around Jacksonville on Christmas Day searching for Jean. One more operation, Ron wrote. It must have gone tragically wrong. Tears poured down her cheeks, and Sarah gripped her hand painfully tight. There was some commotion in the hallway, and through blurry vision Jean became aware of two men in dress uniform entering the living room. She squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to face the inevitable.

“Mom?” said one of the men.

Her eyes shot open. “Ron?”

Her son limped over. “Why are you crying?”

“Y-you said you wouldn't be here today.”

“It shouldn't have been possible, but I made a quicker recovery than expected and a few rules were stretched so I could escape.” He placed a warm hand over hers and gestured to the officer behind him. “Lieutenant James gave up his Christmas Day to escort me so I could be here. We went home first, and when you weren't there, I knew there was only one other place you could be.”

Jean's eyes welled up once more. “Thank God you're here.”

“There's no other place I'd rather be on Christmas Day.”



Word Count: 1400

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