‘Forever missing you, sweet boy’

Dear Alex,

Last week one of my fifth-graders lingered at the end of class and began to hum to himself as he packed his books for the day.

The sound immediately evoked memories of you as a child and your habit of humming whenever you were playing quietly in your room.

You inherited the Valdez-Carbonaro passion for music, but fortunately you were born with more talent than me or Papa.

Your lonely red Ibanez [guitar] stands in a corner of your room, unpacked after your first deployment to Iraq, pining for the familiar hands of its owner.

Somehow you knew you wouldn’t need it on your second deployment, and you wisely left it behind.

School continues to be the force that gives me purpose, son.

It’s true that on any given day I see your humor, your pride, your hurt or your intelligence on any of the bright faces in my charge.

To be surrounded by the innocence and candor of young children, what more could I ask for at this point in my life, son?

Actually, Alex, I think you would be very proud of Papa and me and what effort we’ve put into being productive and simply staying busy.

Papa bought me a beautiful bike, and can you believe I’ve actually ridden it to the Cathedral and back a few times per week?

I’ll admit it takes a lot of coaxing, but I’ve managed a lot more miles per week than you would have imagined your old mom had it in her to do.

You’d be proud of your Gilly, too, Alex.

I can almost picture your blue-green eyes smiling in the knowledge of Gilly’s accomplishments.

A widow at 22, she had to bury so many dreams.

But despite unspeakable grief, she has been picking up the pieces, and this past August she began law school. It’s my hunch she will be a force to reckon with in the field of law.

The cherry tree that Maj. Fenty’s widow planted between your grave and her husband’s at Arlington [National Cemetery] continues to grow. We look forward to seeing the first bloom this spring.

This morning I dropped Papa off at the airport for an early morning flight.

Returning in the pre-dawn darkness, I saw the exit for Arlington, and I thought about the little tree and you and the sorrow that Arlington represents for our family, son.

It still seems unreal that you are no longer here, that you did not return from Iraq, that your bright future was cut short, that we will have to become accustomed to live without your vibrance.

A silent scream wants to break out of my chest in the contemplation of your stark absence and in the thought of the young men who will die today and tomorrow to fill the other graves that have been prepared at Arlington.

Give me strength, son, to carry on and to do you justice.

Forever missing you, sweet boy, forever hoping to live a life that honors you.

Love,

Mom