Knock
I hear a knock knock knock on the door. I’m terrified to answer. Who the heck knocks on the door at 3:36 a.m.? You have got to be kidding me. The knock gets louder and more violent but I finally decide to answer it. Standing at the door are two military police officers, dressed in full dress blues, as well as the county sheriff, my life-long friend Fred Ubank. He grabs me by the shoulder and says “Dave, I’ve got some bad news.” As he says this, one of the MPs hands me a folded American flag and with no doubt I know what the news is. Fred continued, “I’m sorry to say but your son Tom was killed in action today.” I started to sob as the sad assumption becomes a grim reality. “He was trying his hardest to save a friend when he took a bullet to the chest. He bled out right there on the ground.” Now even Fred is crying. How could this happen? My baby boy killed in battle. I somberly walk to the phone and call my ex-wife, Tom’s mother. When I spoke at his funeral I talked of all the good times I had with him. That knock on the door will forever change my life.