It's enough to completely stop a heart.  The being told.

I heard again today, soldiers lost.

My heart stopped.

Not at war, they said.

Not off an ocean away, in the face of known dangers, presumed risks.

Home.

I thought of soldiers and soldiers.  My husband as he left for WWII, a young 19-year-old pilot, up to safe altitude then open your orders, Europe or Pacific?  Who knew?  Not until then, but an easy guess based on what was packed for the journey.  Off from a field in Indiana hopping across the Atlantic, Newfoundland-Greenland-Iceland, until finally, Ireland.  A mother left behind in Chicago, who went states away to pin his wings on him before he left.

And held him close.

His great-uncles.  Just landed from Ireland, then off to fight the Civil War.  Letters from the great battlefields.  A mother, holding them close, never intending to lay them in the cold ground of social conflict, a world away.

******* 

Less than a week ago, I sat in a restaurant in Atlanta across from my oldest grandson and his girlfriend.  I wanted to hold on tight, and never let go.

Home in the middle of a second tour of duty, this time to an undisclosed location, first time to Iraq.  We make assumptions about where he is now, but he can't say, and neither could we if we knew.

I think of his dark eyes, dark hair, light heart.  I see him as a child, running through the forest, building teepees out of sticks, laughing.  Not a care.  

And hold him close.