One
glance at a book and you hear the voice of another person . . . To read is to
voyage through time. ~Carl Sagan
My dear friend Katherine presented me
with a gift, a small 5” x 7” book published in 1918. When I opened the package my
eyes filled with tears. I want to share the
first
entry with you from Mrs. Leila Atwood Foust’s book, With God and the Colors: A Mother’s Prayers for Her Soldier Boy.
The
title of the book came from a letter my son sent me. He was in Iraq for six
months and had six more to go. His letter asked questions: Will I make it back?
Will I be the same? Will I be happy? He said, “ All I know that is certain is
you, and I rely on that fact alone to get me through the sweltering reality I
live in.“ He signed his letter; I love
you deeply, more than you know. Your son, Joe.
Our stories are a living history. When
you read our book, you will hear our voice.
Wendy Anderson wrote the chapter
entitled, “The Christmas Miracle.”
I have a very special mouse, given to me by my mother
as a Christmas present when I left home, and moved into my first apartment. He
is also special to Derek. The mouse is smaller than a pea, made of glass, and
although he is over 30 years old, not chipped or cracked. The mouse is still
perfect. And he only comes out at Christmas.
Every year as a
child, when we would unwrap ornaments and his brothers would grab the biggest,
brightest decorations, Derek would look for that mouse. Derek would take him
gently out of his cotton ball and marvel at it. “How can this be, Mom? We lose
our jackets, our shoes and our car keys, but we have never lost this mouse. And
he is so small!” “ I don’t know,”
I would say. “It’s a Christmas miracle.”
When Christmas came and Derek was in Iraq that is
what I sent him. I know a man his age doesn’t need a glass mouse. But he did
need a piece of home. My husband was afraid for me. He told me I would never
see that mouse again. I put the mouse in his cotton ball, and sent him overseas.
Celeste Hicks wrote “Army Strong—A
Family Affair.” Not only are five
of her children serving our country, they all married military spouses. Sometimes in order for a mother’s voice
to be heard, she has to remain anonymous for the security and protection of her
son.
I am the mother of a
U. S. Navy SEAL, and he is living his dream with the best of the best. We were
recently with him at a public event where military were asked to stand and be
recognized for their service. Our son simply sat quietly and applauded the
others. That is the way of a SEAL. You will rarely read about the medals and
awards that SEALs receive, and there will be no articles in the newspaper about
their deployment or return home. You won’t see them in uniform at an airport.
You may never know when one is in your midst.
My son has asked that
I not use his name, or mine, in this story. You will not see our picture.
Instead, he told me that I should create a pen name for myself. In his honor,
there is really only one way that I can sign this story because I love him more
than he will ever know.
~ “The proud mother of a U.S. Navy SEAL”
As the mothers shared our stories in
Love You More Than You Know, we bonded together and felt less alone.
I feel that same bond with
Leila Atwood Foust when I heard her voice calling out. Ninety-four years
later the prayers from mothers for their soldiers are the same.
Love You More Than You Know holds 45 powerful tales
of love, faith, and courage, reminding our readers that our children stand in
front of our flag, risking their lives so that we can live ours.
Hear our voice.
- - - - - - ---- -
I'm adding a note of thanks to Janie Reinart for offering this insight into her inspiring collection of stories from 45 very strong and loving families. Love You More Than You Know makes a thoughtful gift anytime.
I'd also like to add a plea to, whenever and however you can, let our service men and women (and their families) know that you appreciate their almost unimaginable commitment to upholding this country's ideals. ~ Diane
Today's experiment with Swimming Home by Deborah Levy seemed appropriate - the paperback version is just about 160 pages long. And it's sad, so I didn't want to delve too deeply into its meaning. (If you know me, you know I like movies and books that make me laugh, not cry.) It's clearly got something to say about sadness, and marriage, and mental health. Not necessarily in that order. 
