Eighty years ago today, the body of a young American soldier was loaded onto a Jeep in Saint-Lô, France. A few of his belongings were placed in an envelope and shipped to Powder Springs, Georgia.
Two servicemen pulled up alongside Macedonia Road, got out, and walked into the field where the young soldier’s parents were working. There, they delivered the news: their son had been killed in battle. His mother fell to her knees in disbelief. Her heart was irreparably broken.
Across the field, two of the soldier’s younger brothers watched as the news was delivered. They saw their mother fall to her knees. They were young, but they knew exactly what had happened. They understood the message the servicemen had brought.
The elder of the two boys wanted to put on a uniform right then and there. He was only 16. But within two years, he, too, was off to war. His life’s goal became avenging his brother’s death.
This young soldier advanced rapidly and continued to work in military intelligence even after victory had been declared. While he was away, his father succumbed to grief and died of a broken heart. His mother, back home in Powder Springs, was left to cope with the loss of her son, her husband, and her father—all within a short span of time.
The young soldier returned home in 1949, a return that soon became permanent. He was working with W. R. Tapp when he heard about a farm near town. On the farm stood an old house—still in decent shape, though unpainted. Somehow, she managed to buy it.
When she wasn’t working the fields, the now-widowed mother would sit in a particular window, staring out until it was clear she had drifted to a very sad place. A single tear would often roll down her cheek.
The young soldier spent the next 24 years of his life trying to help his mother cope with the pain.
I happened to be born almost in the middle of that period. I was born into the reality of war.
The 16-year-old in this story was my dad. I live on this farm. I love my country. I’ve never worn a uniform. I have tremendous respect for our military, but I am not a fan of war.
I will be praying for peace.
War doesn’t end well—even when it ends well.
