Big Red One

My son Ben’s family lives in Colorado, so when I go out to visit I drive on I-70 and pass Fort Riley in Junction City, Kansas, home of the 1st Infantry Division. That’s where Ben was officially stationed in 2000 before he went to Germany. The “Big Red One” symbol looms high on a tower visible from the highway, so as I drive by, I salute, hand flat, angled, barely touching my forehead. If others are in the car with me, I ask them to salute, too. For Ben.*

Sadness follows. I miss Ben. I try not to think about it. I’ve perfected the survival facade. Throughout my years of loss people ask me how I go on. How I maintain a positive attitude. My answer is that there are two choices: to stop or keep going. Ben would want me to keep going. And so I have. I’m happy, content, satisfied. I live an active life, and I’m fulfilled.

But someone huge is missing from my life. My son, Ben.

Here is my truth: grief never leaves. Nothing heals. I’ve gotten used to carrying it around but it is always there, always. It can erupt at any moment. Grief hurts.

I can’t speak for everyone. But I know others who have lost a child at various ages, including unborn, and it’s all the same. When a child dies, they take part of you. I don’t fear death, or aging. The worst has already happened.

When I see the Big Red One, I think about all of the soldiers who have died for a greater cause. Ben said he joined the Army to protect our freedom. His dream of serving began when he was a small boy. He planned to serve as an officer, then retire and go into public service.

The photos I have on display feature Ben as a boy, up until his teen years. When I visit his family in Colorado, I see more photos of him as a young man, and father. He didn’t get to serve long in the Army, but he served with all of his heart. He also loved his wife and sons with all of his heart. When I visit them, I see him in each one, all unique and yet tied together, and also tied to me, through Ben.

I’m home now after a fun and fulfilling visit. The four boys are all men now, so smart and interesting, raised to be members of the world by their dedicated and kindhearted mother. My heart is soothed.

*For those who don’t know my story, Ben died at age 28 from a glioblastoma brain tumor. A 1st Lt. in the U.S. Army, stationed in Germany, he first exhibited signs of a brain tumor just a few weeks after chemical warfare training in Poland.