A Man Named Dave

Worrying about things that don’t mean a hill of beans. No matter what happens, I know we’re gonna be all right.” I then sprinted and scooped up Stephen, who was wearing his little brown flight jacket. I crushed him to me until he cried out that he couldn’t breathe. As my family and I walked through the sea of people waving flags and cheering, a surge of pride swelled within me. Not only had everyone from the base returned alive, without a scratch, I had everything anyone could ask for. I promised myself that I would do whatever it took to make things right between Patsy and me. After enduring all we had, I knew nothing could tear us apart.
     
    After I came home, things that had seemed so critical months before were now insignificant. I continued to sleep soundly, and I no longer continually pushed myself to the limit as I had in the past. For a few weeks I felt like I was walking on a cloud. Patsy and I were closer than ever. And, for the first time, I could see changes in her attitude. She was upbeat and self-reliant; she faced her situations by herself, head on, without interference from her mother. One day while driving to nearby Sacramento, I reached over to take her hand. “I’m so proud of you, Patsy. I know it’s not easy being married to me, putting up with all that you do, but you have really come a long way. You should be proud of yourself. You’ve made it, you truly have. No one can boss you around anymore, turn their nose down at you, ’cause you’re better than that; you always have been. Maybe the war in the gulf was the best thing … for the both of us.”
    The euphoric honeymoon ended when I officially received transfer orders to Offutt Air Force Base in Nebraska. On a late evening in May, I was overwhelmed with sadness as I drove off from Beale Air Force Base – my home and surrogate family for over eight years. There were no good-bye parties or squadron ceremonies, since others, too, were quietly scattered to other bases. In the process of base closings and personal cutbacks, I was among the lucky ones. At least for now, I had a job.
    A day later, while resting at Grandmother’s home in Utah, I received a frantic call from Mother. Taking the phone, I wondered how she knew I was in the area, since I had no intention of visiting her. But as I listened to the sound of Mother’s pleading voice, something in her tone compelled me to go see her. The next morning, after I became reaccustomed to the odor of her house, Mother and I initially chatted as we had before. Mother complained about her ailments, and this time I knew it was no longer a performance. I could not help but notice how her hands constantly shook. Even when she placed one hand on top of the other, she could not hide her tremors. Only after taking a gulp of what I guessed was vodka did Mother’s shuddering ease. She went on to complain about how hard it was for her to walk and how at times she thought her feet would tear apart from the searing pain. After listening for more than an hour, I realized, even with Kevin still living with her, how desperately lonely Mother had become.
    After a few moments of silence, I took a tremendous risk. “You know,” I lightly said, “I’m involved … with helping kids and others who’ve … had problems.”
    “Yes,” Mother replied with a nod. “Well … your grandmother … she ought to get a kick out of that.”
    We both suddenly broke out in a burst of laughter.
    For a fleeting second the sound of Mother being happy brought me back in time. By her brightened eyes, she seemed to feel it as well. But I knew it was nothing more than a passing moment. I would never receive an acknowledgment of what had happened between us, let alone a sincere apology. And, after all I had been through, I felt I did need it. Yet the child within me felt a tremendous urge to wrap my mother in my arms and absorb every ounce of her anguish. In that moment I would have given my right arm to hear the sound of “Mommy’s” laugh.
    In my trance, my fingers grazed the edge of Mother’s once prized oak hutch. I caught my breath as my gaze became fixated on her assortment of towering red Christmas candles. I snapped my head around toward Mother. Then, looking back at the candles, I wiped off the accumulated dust from their bases. As long as I could remember, the one thing Mother had been adamant about was her treasured Christmas decorations. She always put up the decorations the day after Thanksgiving and put her ornaments away