This post has been weeks in the making. I tag up to it and run,
unable to collect myself. I don't know where to begin, how to fast
forward, or how to wrap it up. I'll start with these blessed words that I
heard first, when answering my phone to my son on the other end, 10
weeks or so ago:
"Mom. Moore's ok..." I was crying before I got out the words "what happened?"
"He's
on his way to Germany. He's ok. Afghanistan. Roadside explosive, his
buddy stepped on it. He's ok. We're waiting for more news."
Steven
Moore, or "Steebmo," I dubbed him when I declared he needed a pet name,
was my son's gunner in Iraq. The first tour was hellacious, and this
young man saved my kid's life on more than one occasion. When they were
released for leave upon returning home, Steebmo opted to join Brian in
my home, before they went to visit his Mama.
Best Mother's Day Ever, 2008.
We celebrated their coming home in ridiculous fashion.
Lord, I wish I could do it for each and every one of them.
Hey, while you're home on leave, resting up from a year in hell,
would you mind blowing the pine needles off of Grandma's house?
"Yes ma'am. I'd be glad to."
(Holy shit, I actually put them to work.)
He
and and Brian served another year in Iraq, in '09-10. Upon their
return, Brian was moved to Ft. Hood, Texas, while Steven and his new
family went to Ft. Lewis, Washington. Steven touched base with me early
this year that he was going to Afghanistan, but I lost track of his
deployment date.
I was merrily blogging, a month
earlier, about how I was in a place in this world that I had little left
to worry about, all the while I had soldier babies in Afghanistan. I
feel a punch in my stomach every time I think of it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Moore is ok.
I've been hesitant to tell his story, or to bother him or his wife too
much, for fear of sensationalizing his injuries, or just getting in
their face when I can't imagine what they have been through. Of the
hundreds of troops we've sent packages to, my Steebmo is the first I've
known personally that has been injured. How it completely undid me is
fodder for another post.
He has a broken finger, artery
damage in his arm, and lower tissue damage. He is home with his
beautiful wife and children now, and begins physical therapy soon.
His
comrade lost both of his legs that day. When I finally got up the nerve
to ask my son about him, he said, "it's crazy, Mom," and we both sobbed
like babies.
Steven's wife has kept us as much in the
know as we need to be. I have utmost respect for her, and her protecting
her family and her husband with gentle updates that they needed space.
She is Mama Bear, and yet has taken the time to share with me that:
The
rest of Moore's company, still with several months left to serve in
Afghanistan, has lost 20% of their troops to injury, death, PTSD, and
suicide. Morale, as you can imagine, is very low.
That
the rest of his company struggles now, trying to hold it together in
the midst of these statistics, has brought me roaring out of my place of
complacency. A Toys for Troops APB has been put out on the wire, and
cookie bakers came out of the woodwork.
Five
platoon leaders of this company have cookies galore coming their way,
along with a letter asking them to check us out, contact us, and if they
think us worthy, to send us the names of their troops.
My
message remains steadfast: we might not be saving the world, but if we
change the direction of even one lousy day, we've made a difference.
We remain, warriors for warriors.
Stay tuned.
(Love you Steebmo & Kesha!)
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