A not-so-thankful Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving will never be the way it used to be for my family before Thanksgiving of 2001. Our oldest son, Brandon, was serving in the Navy and was stationed in San Diego, California. He had his own apartment overlooking the beach, new stereo equipment and a new television, and was only two months away from being a civilian again. He had joined the Navy, hoping to be a S.E.A.L. but, contrary to what his recruiter had promised him, never got the chance. He had spent the last couple of years as a Corpsman after graduating top of his class from Corpsman school at the Great Lakes Naval Training Center, north of Chicago, Illinois.

I drove to LIncoln that Thanksgiving in 2001 to be with my two younger boys, Michael and Will. Linda, their mom, drove up from Arkansas. We had a nice Thanksgiving with each other and Brandon called us late in the day to wish us a happy Thanksgiving and to remind us that he would be with us the following Thanksgiving. Linda drove back to Arkansas on Friday and I came back to McCook on Sunday.

The knock on my door at 6 a.m. the next day after returning home awakened me from my sleep. In that stupor we often find ourselves in halfway between being asleep and awake, my first thought as I climbed out of bed was that it was my girlfriend, but halfway to the door  I realized she wouldn't be knocking because she had a key. Before opening the door, I looked out the peephole and saw two men standing there in uniforms. Still more asleep than awake, it just didn't occur to me that they were there to give me the worst news I had ever received.

I opened the door to find two servicemen, one from the Navy, one from the Marines, in their dress uniforms. As soon as I was face to face with them, I instantly realized why they were there and dropped to my knees in the doorway, asking them what was wrong with my son.

They helped me up, sat me down in a chair, and told me that my oldest son had died on Saturday night. It's amazing the things we think of at times like that because the first words out of my mouth were, "How am I going to tell his mom?"

They reassured me that she was receiving the news at exactly the same moment that I was. They asked me the name of someone to call because they were not allowed to leave me alone. I gave them the name of my best friend, Pete Smith, and the Marine called him, identified himself, and asked him only if he could come to my apartment right away. It seemed like he was there in a heartbeat, but I know that time was literally suspended for me. When Pete arrived, the servicemen gave me their business cards, told me they would be in contact with me and told me to call them if I needed anything at all. Then they were gone, as suddenly as they had arrived.

Pete stayed until my girlfriend arrived, then he went to work. I asked her to go up to my office at the college and bring me Brandon's 8x10 graduation picture from boot camp that I had proudly displayed in my office. After returning with the photo, she stayed with me most of the day while I went about the heartbreaking task of somehow trying to comprehend the incomprehensible.

Most of the readers of this column have heard most of this story before when it happened because I immediately discovered that writing things down helped me deal with the enormity of my grief in a way that was simply not available through any other means.

This Thanksgiving, I'm in Arkansas with my two boys at their mom's house because Linda wanted to commemerate the 5th anniversary of Brandon's death with a memorial service. Brandon had once told his mom that if he died before her, he wanted to be cremated and have his ashes buried in his grandparents yard in Oklahoma.That wasn't possible since both of Linda's parents are deceased and her childhood home had been sold. So during Linda's last trip to Oklahoma, she bought three Oklahoma Redbud trees and brought them back to Arkansas with dirt from the yard of her parents former home. We will be burying his ashes, mixed with the Oklahoma dirt, underneath those trees later today. Many of Brandon's friends are driving over from Oklahoma for the memorial.

It's amazing how one minute everything is wonderful with the world and the very next minute our world is shattered. We had enjoyed a wonderful Thanksgiving with each other that Thanksgiving weekend five years ago. I was driving back to a job I loved in a town that had become my home. I was driving back to be with the woman I loved and with friends that meant so much to my life. Five years later, so much of that has changed. Most of it, unfortunately, for the worst. It was like that knock on my door threw my life into a downward spiral I have not yet recovered from.

I still love Southwest Nebraska and its people, whose outpouring of love, support, and sympathy during that horrible period in my life was so enormous it simply overwhelmed me. Your many thoughtful contributions that helped me survive that day will never be forgotten.

I hope this Thanksgiving has brought joy, laughter, and smiles to your lives because we never know what might happen in the next blink of an eye to change our lives forever.

Our lives were changed forever that dreadful day five years ago and none of us who knew and loved Brandon will ever be the same.