Mother's Pride

Sidney set aside her book as the doorbell rang and stood, padding barefoot to the door, her glass of iced tea held in one hand.

Nearly tripping over her cat, Damnation, Sidney nudged him out of the way with one foot while she slid the chain off of the door and clicked the bolt open.

Reaching up to brush a long tress of rapidly silvering hair away from her face, Sidney froze once she saw who stood on her porch.

Two men in crisp military uniforms stood stoically on the stoop, their caps tucked under their arms as they regarded her with something like pity in their eyes.

Sidney felt all the blood drain from her face and was dimly aware that she had dropped her tea, the glass shattering on the hard wood floor that her son had refinished before he left on his tour of duty.

Sidney's eyes refused to note anything but the bars on his uniform that marked him as a Captain.

Sidney met his gaze dazedly, stupidly wondering if this man with the kind eyes had children of his own. Was his son safe at home? Or was he fighting for a cause that wasn't his, like Jeff?

Feeling a gentle touch on her hand, Sidney's eyes flicked down to see that the man had unfolded her clenched fist to reveal deep gouges left by her fingernails, rapidly filling with blood. She watched, almost detached, as he placed a small metal rectangle on a chain in her hand.

Sidney swallowed, feeling her bottom lip begin to tremble. "How?" she asked hoarsely, squeezing her hand shut around Jeff's dog tags so tightly that she expected the slightly cool metal to slice into her skin at any second. Physical pain would be welcomed. It might overshadow this horrible yawning gulf in her chest that had opened as soon as she saw the soldiers standing on her porch.

"His unit was ambushed," the Captain with the kind eyes told her quietly. "It happened very fast, Ms. Jordan. I'm certain he didn't feel anything. He didn't have time to be afraid."

Dimly aware that her blurry eyes stung and that there was warm wetness on her cheeks, Sidney swallowed around a lump in her throat and fought to breathe against the tightness in her chest and the sharp ache in the pit of her stomach.

The Captain squeezed her hand lightly, then stepped back and put his cap on. "We'll let you know when he's shipped back, so you can make arrangements," he told her.

Unable to speak past the tightness of her throat, Sidney nodded, watching the two men turn and walk down the sidewalk to their car, which boasted military license plates.

Sidney felt her knees begin to buckle and clutched the doorjamb until her knuckles turned white and she heard the creak of wood.

The world faded away as she slid to the floor, clutching the dog tags to her chest and rocking back and forth as she cried.

One of the neighbors, a nosy old woman named Berty who loved to spread people's personal lives around the neighborhood peeped from her doorway, a cordless phone in hand.

Sidney didn't care that the old bat was spreading rumors about her. She didn't care that Damnation was pawing at her, meowing pathetically for his dinner.

The woman next door, Madeline, stepped onto the porch, looking unsure of what to do in the face of Sidney's breakdown. She turned and glared at Berty across the street, then knelt next to Sidney, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Sidney shook her head slightly, unable to do anything but shudder beneath the force of her sobs.

Madeline saw the gleam of silver in Sidney's hand and gently pried her fingers open to see what she held. Upon reading the impersonally engraved name, she let out as soft gasp and pulled Sidney into her arms. "Oh, Sid," she murmured, knowing better than to try and placate the woman who was crying as if her soul had shattered and she was expelling the shards in tears.

Hours later, the Madeline had managed to help Sidney to the couch and take the dog tags from her. "Where would you like me to put these, Sid?" she questioned gently, brushing tears from her neighbor's face with her thumb.

Her neighbor walked across the living room, feeling her heart constrict at what was on the shelf above the fireplace. There was a picture of Sidney's late husband, Matthew. It was an old photo, the color slightly faded. Sidney's husband stared out from the picture, looking handsome and painfully young in his military uniform.

There was a set of dog tags already on the mantle in a small porcelain dish. The name on those tags was Matthew Jordan. Next to the photograph was an elegant, hand-painted urn. She didn't have to guess to know that Matthews ashes lay inside.

Madeline knew Sidney's husband had been gone a long time, having been killed in Vietnam when Jeff was less than a year old. She couldn't imagine losing both your husband and your son to war.

Laying Jeff's dog tags in the dish with his father's, she turned back to Sidney to see that she had fallen over sideways on the couch and was sleeping, her breath still hitching with the aftereffects of crying.

Pulling a crocheted afghan from the armchair in front of the television, Madeline draped it carefully over Sidney's sleeping form, kissing her on the cheek.

Knowing that there was nothing more she could do for her neighbor, Madeline padded to the phone, looking up the number for Sidney's sister Jackie and placing the call quietly. Hanging up with the reassurance that Sidney wouldn't be alone, Madeline slipped out of the house and went home to hug her son, who was seven.

Sidney woke a short time later, strangely numb as she picked up the glass from the tea she had dropped earlier. Depositing it in the trash, she realized she had to call Anne to tell her that Jeff wouldn't be coming home for Christmas after all. She would have to explain to her almost-daughter-in-law that there would be no wedding in the spring. She would have to explain that there would be no wedding at all.

She would have to call Jeff's ex-wife, Carolyn, and tell her that there would be no more alimony, because there was no longer anyone to send it.

She would have to call her own parents and tell her that their favorite grandson, who was studying to be a veterinarian, would no longer be able to take care of their dogs when they went to their summer home in Florida.

Numb to everything, Sidney made phone calls to her family, then to a funeral director to have them arrange for a light blue casket. Jeff's favorite color was blue. Sidney had loved to see him in blue shirts, because they brought out the sky color of his eyes, a trait he'd inherited from his father.

When her sister Jackie arrived from New York, it was four in the morning, and Sidney was still awake. She'd moved from making phone calls and arrangements for the funeral to cleaning the house. Now, she was doing laundry. Because, if she stayed busy enough, she wouldn't have to think. She wouldn't have to know what her only child was dead.

Jackie's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and Sidney was undone. She fell apart all over again, as if the two soldiers were standing on her porch once more, telling her that her son, her sweet, smiling little boy, was never coming home.


	This is the response to losing a relative to war. Based on a true story. Oh, she knows. She takes his hand, and prays the child will understand. As at the door they watch the men go by. Sidney set aside her book as the doorbell rang and stood, padding barefoot to the door, her glass of iced tea held in one hand. Nearly tripping over her cat, Damnation, Sidney nudged him out of the way with one foot while she slid the chain off of the door and clicked the bolt open. Reaching up to brush a long tress of rapidly silvering hair away from her face, Sidney froze once she saw who stood on her porch. In the clothes that Daddy wore, Mother's pride, baby boy... His father's eyes. He's a soldier waiting for a war. The time will come. He'll hold a gun, his father's son. And as he grows, he hears the band. And takes the step from boy to man. Two men in crisp military uniforms stood stoically on the stoop, their caps tucked under their arms as they regarded her with something like pity in their eyes. Sidney felt all the blood drain from her face and was dimly aware that she had dropped her tea, the glass shattering on the hard wood floor that her son had refinished before he left on his tour of duty. "No," she whispered harshly, shaking her head in denial. "No. Not Jeff." One of the men stepped forward, holding something out to her. Sidney's eyes refused to note anything but the bars on his uniform that marked him as a Captain. "Ms. Jordan?" the man questioned softly. Sidney met his gaze dazedly, stupidly wondering if this man with the kind eyes had children of his own. Was his son safe at home? Or was he fighting for a cause that wasn't his, like Jeff? Feeling a gentle touch on her hand, Sidney's eyes flicked down to see that the man had unfolded her clenched fist to reveal deep gouges left by her fingernails, rapidly filling with blood. She watched, almost detached, as he placed a small metal rectangle on a chain in her hand. At the shore she waves her son goodbye, like the man she did before. Mother's pride, just a boy... his country's eyes. He's a soldier waiting at the shore. He breaks her heart, the time has come to lose a son. Sidney swallowed, feeling her bottom lip begin to tremble. "How?" she asked hoarsely, squeezing her hand shut around Jeff's dog tags so tightly that she expected the slightly cool metal to slice into her skin at any second. Physical pain would be welcomed. It might overshadow this horrible yawning gulf in her chest that had opened as soon as she saw the soldiers standing on her porch. "His unit was ambushed," the Captain with the kind eyes told her quietly. "It happened very fast, Ms. Jordan. I'm certain he didn't feel anything. He didn't have time to be afraid." Dimly aware that her blurry eyes stung and that there was warm wetness on her cheeks, Sidney swallowed around a lump in her throat and fought to breathe against the tightness in her chest and the sharp ache in the pit of her stomach. Forcing a tight, insincere smile, Sidney croaked,"Thank you." The Captain squeezed her hand lightly, then stepped back and put his cap on. "We'll let you know when he's shipped back, so you can make arrangements," he told her. Unable to speak past the tightness of her throat, Sidney nodded, watching the two men turn and walk down the sidewalk to their car, which boasted military license plates. Sidney felt her knees begin to buckle and clutched the doorjamb until her knuckles turned white and she heard the creak of wood. The world faded away as she slid to the floor, clutching the dog tags to her chest and rocking back and forth as she cried. And all the husbands, all the sons, all the lovers gone-- They make no difference! No difference in the end. One of the neighbors, a nosy old woman named Berty who loved to spread people's personal lives around the neighborhood peeped from her doorway, a cordless phone in hand. Sidney didn't care that the old bat was spreading rumors about her. She didn't care that Damnation was pawing at her, meowing pathetically for his dinner. The woman next door, Madeline, stepped onto the porch, looking unsure of what to do in the face of Sidney's breakdown. She turned and glared at Berty across the street, then knelt next to Sidney, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Sid, what happened?" Sidney shook her head slightly, unable to do anything but shudder beneath the force of her sobs. Madeline saw the gleam of silver in Sidney's hand and gently pried her fingers open to see what she held. Upon reading the impersonally engraved name, she let out as soft gasp and pulled Sidney into her arms. "Oh, Sid," she murmured, knowing better than to try and placate the woman who was crying as if her soul had shattered and she was expelling the shards in tears. Still hear the women say, "Your Daddy died a hero." In the name of God and man, Mother's pride,crazy boy... his lifeless eyes. Hours later, the Madeline had managed to help Sidney to the couch and take the dog tags from her. "Where would you like me to put these, Sid?" she questioned gently, brushing tears from her neighbor's face with her thumb. Sidney raised a shaking hand to point at a space above the mantle. Her neighbor walked across the living room, feeling her heart constrict at what was on the shelf above the fireplace. There was a picture of Sidney's late husband, Matthew. It was an old photo, the color slightly faded. Sidney's husband stared out from the picture, looking handsome and painfully young in his military uniform. There was a set of dog tags already on the mantle in a small porcelain dish. The name on those tags was Matthew Jordan. Next to the photograph was an elegant, hand-painted urn. She didn't have to guess to know that Matthews ashes lay inside. Madeline knew Sidney's husband had been gone a long time, having been killed in Vietnam when Jeff was less than a year old. She couldn't imagine losing both your husband and your son to war. Laying Jeff's dog tags in the dish with his father's, she turned back to Sidney to see that she had fallen over sideways on the couch and was sleeping, her breath still hitching with the aftereffects of crying. Pulling a crocheted afghan from the armchair in front of the television, Madeline draped it carefully over Sidney's sleeping form, kissing her on the cheek. Knowing that there was nothing more she could do for her neighbor, Madeline padded to the phone, looking up the number for Sidney's sister Jackie and placing the call quietly. Hanging up with the reassurance that Sidney wouldn't be alone, Madeline slipped out of the house and went home to hug her son, who was seven. Sidney woke a short time later, strangely numb as she picked up the glass from the tea she had dropped earlier. Depositing it in the trash, she realized she had to call Anne to tell her that Jeff wouldn't be coming home for Christmas after all. She would have to explain to her almost-daughter-in-law that there would be no wedding in the spring. She would have to explain that there would be no wedding at all. She would have to call Jeff's ex-wife, Carolyn, and tell her that there would be no more alimony, because there was no longer anyone to send it. She would have to call her own parents and tell her that their favorite grandson, who was studying to be a veterinarian, would no longer be able to take care of their dogs when they went to their summer home in Florida. Numb to everything, Sidney made phone calls to her family, then to a funeral director to have them arrange for a light blue casket. Jeff's favorite color was blue. Sidney had loved to see him in blue shirts, because they brought out the sky color of his eyes, a trait he'd inherited from his father. When her sister Jackie arrived from New York, it was four in the morning, and Sidney was still awake. She'd moved from making phone calls and arrangements for the funeral to cleaning the house. Now, she was doing laundry. Because, if she stayed busy enough, she wouldn't have to think. She wouldn't have to know what her only child was dead. Jackie's eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and Sidney was undone. She fell apart all over again, as if the two soldiers were standing on her porch once more, telling her that her son, her sweet, smiling little boy, was never coming home. Clutching her sister tightly, Sidney moaned,"My baby's dead." He's a soldier now forevermore. He'll hold a gun 'til kingdom come.