In a moment of shocked clarity, instantly connecting the dots, knowing only one group from the local Armory was deployed in Iraq, she barely made it to the bathroom before violently retching into the toilet. Sensing her life ending, she collapsed to the bathroom floor as her life with her son flashed before her eyes. Crying uncontrollably, the cold hard tile most cruelly accentuated her pain. With each passing hour her panic and anguish increased – she desperately prayed she would not be visited by members of the military carrying out the most dreaded of assignments. Mercifully, with loyal co-workers standing vigil, the next day she received an official call and was told I had been medevac’d to a field hospital in Balad, north of Baghdad. Days later, she was told that I was at the U.S. military hospital complex in Landstuhl, Germany.
One of the survivors, I had gotten off easy: a concussion; puncture wounds, numerous cuts, bruises and sprains; cracked and broken ribs; and a serious injury to my left eye. I awoke with no idea where I was, or how I got there. My right eye had been covered to reduce the movement of my injured left eye – blindness amplified my disorientation and fear. I heard distant female voices and called out “Mom, is that you? I can’t see… Mom…”
Two nurses quickly came to my side to comfort me, and apprise me of the situation. I’ll never forget their concern, gentle care, and kindness. Nurses: they do God’s work, just like his angels.
The next day, when the staff were sure I had my wits about me they made a call for me to Mom. I thought it best not to mention the full extent and details of my injuries.
“Hi Mom… I love you… I’m in Germany… I’m fine… just a few bumps and bruises… I love you… I’m fine… I love you.”
It was a short and one-way conversation. I talked, Mom cried.
The days in Germany dragged on in slow motion. My good eye now uncovered, I settled into the routine, steadily recovering. One fine day, without advance notice I was headed stateside. During a long flight on a C-17 Promise Keeper to Andrews Air Force Base, as I mingled with my fellow patients and tried to help out I came to realize just how fortunate I was. I vowed to never complain about anything. Ever. Arriving at the hospital, the first thing I did was to call Mom. It was eight in the morning for her.
“Hi Mom – I love you. I’m at Walter Reed… I’m going to be here for a while… I can’t wait to come home to see you.”
We talked until one of the staff motioned to me that it was time for me to go.
“Mom, I’ll call you again tonight around 8 or 9 o’clock your time.”
At midnight local I called her. Knowing she went to bed early, when she didn’t pick up the phone I wasn’t surprised, and I went to bed. When I woke up at 0600 I had hearty breakfast. At 0800, one of the staff asked “Who wants more coffee?”
“I do – outstanding idea!” was my enthusiastic reply.
A moment later, coffee was being brought to me by a beautiful, petite, black-haired angel streaming tears of joy. “Tommy” was the only word she could say.