Every day starts a new story. We recently traveled to Bellingham, Wash., to see our daughter and our new grandson. As happens on a long drive one begins to notice a pattern. This one resonated of mothers and veterans.
Our first Sunday we stopped for church in Medford, Minn. Like most Catholic churches in the West its sanctuary was elegant in its simplicity. The musicians were an unusual blend of guitar, banjo, and xylophone – a happy sound that was suited for the day. It was First Communion Sunday. I noticed one mother who was proud of her boy and perhaps a bit in prayer that he wouldn’t be too much of a boy till the service was over. Mother and boy, I’ve seen that special bond many times in our interviews.
In Missoula, MT we stayed at Ruby’s Inn where I saw a collage of family photos featuring a WWII Marine from the 4th Division. I asked an employee about the photo and he replied with several great stories of the motel owner and his family’s service. I wished I had the camera.
In Bellingham I met a serviceman who had flown F-86 Sabre jets. Like so many of our interviewees he was unpretentious, and fascinating to the maximum. Again I wished I had the camera. The next day was Sunday. It was our daughter’s first Mother’s Day.
Mothers and veterans – I thought about that theme on the long drive home. I thought of Charles King and how he “Heard his mother’s voice” one night warning him to be careful. That night Dr. King’s position was overrun. That extra bit of caution saved his life.
I thought of Frank Mack and his vision of his mother as his landing craft approached Okinawa. He saw her at church in a dress she made for that Easter. One year later, in his mother’s kitchen, she brought out the dress she had made for that previous Easter. It was the same dress Frank had seen in his dream.