Pop.
Pop.
The sounds coming out of the rifles were loud, breaking the hushed, muted silence.
Men and women were dressed in their full military regalia. Some with more medals than their dress uniforms could accommodate. Others with one or two ribbons, they were the ones who were slowly moving up the ranks.
I’d met most of them at dinners or galas celebrating military traditions. My mother made sure we went and attended on his behalf, even when he was halfway around the world.
Pop.
I’d stopped counting after I heard the ninth shot.
He would have loved it. The honor that his two and a half decades’ worth of service awarded him.
Then again, there was a side of him that would have hated it. He didn’t like to create fuss, to bring so much attention to himself, that it removed him from his regular duties.
I looked at the wide expanse of greens that surrounded our group, the headstones sticking out of the earth.
At one point, they were men and women who walked the ground that was now above them.
They were sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, mothers, fathers.
Father.
William Thomas Worthington
Lieutenant Colonel
US Marines
January 10, 1956 - May 5, 2007
Loving husband and father
Of all the honors he’d achieved, the last four words engraved on his headstone were his most prized.
I felt the weight leaning on my left shoulder start to get heavy. She had looked so composed, even kept herself together when everyone was offering their condolences.
I pressed my hand to her shoulder and hugged her tighter, the familiar scent of rosemary on her hair brought me comfort.
She’d removed the black feathered hat that covered her dark hair; her best friend, Lorrie, who was standing on her left helped her secure the pins that had gotten loose from the bun hairstyle she loved to wear.
It’d only been two weeks, but it seemed like a hundred yesterdays when I found her lying on the floor of our living room.
I’d just gotten home from a day of bumming it at the beach with Markus and Viggo. We were all looking forward to a summer filled with sand, surf, and girls. I’d just dropped off Viggo, who was too lazy to walk to his house that was three miles from La Jolla Shores. I’d planned on dropping off Markus, who lived five blocks away from me, after we got some grub at the house because my stomach was freaking rumbling. We’d come in through the back door so we wouldn’t disturb Mom who’d mentioned that she was going to be busy with musical arrangements. I was busy snatching the bread and turkey from the fridge when Markus said, “Dude, isn’t your mom working? Why’s your TV so fucking loud?” When Mom was working in her studio, the house was normally so quiet that you could hear a pin drop.
Markus was right so I quickly abandoned the sandwich and yelled, “Mom! I thought you were gonna be working? Are you watching that home shopping channel again?”
No answer.
As we neared the living room, I could hear the noises coming from the TV. They weren’t of the high-pitched and overly enthusiastic variety that made women call the station within minutes after introducing a product. Markus rounded the corner first and his face, sunburnt from being a beach bum who didn’t believe in sunscreen, started to pale, “Oh shit…”
I rushed ahead of him and adrenaline started to surge through my system – a male announcer from CNN was relaying the news, “We’re just receiving the report that there has been a series of suicide bombings in Fallujah...”
The news faded in the background when I saw her tiny form on the floor, a cellphone in her right hand.
“…Three major marine embankments were damaged, several injured…it’s a mess down here.”
“Mom! Mom!” I shook her body, my lifeguard skills kicking in. I checked the pulse by her neck. She had one, it was faint but regular. She didn’t need CPR, but Markus was already calling 911.
I picked her head up off the floor and laid her on my lap, she most likely just fainted. Granted, she had never fainted before. I looked at her face, willing her eyes to open, willing her to say something... To give me hope that maybe what I was thinking wasn’t true.
More often than not, media coverage was pervasively over-the-top, so far from the truth–
But my mother never watched the news.
It was what kept her sane and functioning when Dad was gone for months at a time.
Markus kept his eyes on the TV screen as the sounds of the sirens neared our house.
I held her hands as we waited for her to gain consciousness.
Markus unlocked the door so the paramedics could get in and he explained the situation.
One of the guys wearing a black uniform with a yellow striped band on his shirt said, “I need to take her vitals.”
I nodded my head and he proceeded to check her pulse, kept her head elevated, and as soon as he started moving her hand, mom stirred into consciousness.
Her blue eyes met mine and as the tears slowly began to fall from her eyes, I knew all of it was true.
Her mouth shook and her voice trembled as she said, “Wes stopped by, he was trying to call you...” Wes was my father’s second in command in Iraq. I’d heard he was home for two weeks then he was off to wherever Uncle Sam sent him.
I checked my shorts for my phone. Fuck, I must’ve left it in the car.
With the go-ahead from the EMT, I helped her sit on the couch. “He didn’t want to leave me… But I asked him to look for you. He brought Carson, too.” Carson was another soldier under my father’s wing. When you lived the Marine life as long as we had, you tended to know everyone on a first-name basis.
The EMT spoke up, “Her vitals are okay. I don’t think she needs any hospital treatment.”
I nodded. My mom held my hands tighter, her shoulders sank and her head bowed, my mother – a woman who commanded thousands of audiences in the world, was slowly fading away. For the first time, she didn’t want to address any other person except for me.
I thanked the EMTs and Markus led them out. Markus sat on the small chair adjacent to where my mom and I were situated.
His voice was low, “Mrs. W, I’m here for you and your family.”
My mom’s eyes slowly shifted to his and a tight smile appeared on her face, “Thank you, Markus.”
Her eyes, eyes that reflected mine, rounded on the screen, she tried to lift her shoulders, but it looked like she couldn’t, then she leaned her head onto my chest and I thought of all the times my dad talked to me about this. If this exact scenario were to ever happen. What I could and should do.
But no matter what preparations you took, no matter how much you think your mind and body could take, there was nothing anyone could ever do to get your ready for that.
My face in her hands.
My hands folded on the couch beneath me.
Tears clouded her blue eyes, her voice so gentle yet scared.
As if saying it out loud would make her nightmare become real, even when we both knew that it was already.
I closed my eyes because I couldn’t look at the misery in the eyes of the woman who brought me into this world, who’d served as the beacon that guided me from choosing right over wrong every single time.
I closed my eyes because maybe my hearing would be numbed as well, that maybe I wouldn’t be able to comprehend that what she was revealing was now the truth.
But even if it was only darkness I could see, I still heard her loud and clear when her shaky, defeated voice finally came to life.
“Lieber Sohn, your father’s gone.”