During this time of Thanksgiving, I am truly thankful that my son, who is stationed at Fort Hood, didn’t get hurt or killed during the shootings. I can still remember how I felt. Feeling tired because of a cold, I decided to lie down for just a bit, leaving the TV on. Just as I started to feel myself drift off to sleep, I heard the words, “A mass shooting has just been reported at Fort Hood, Texas.”
Fear, unlike anything I ever felt, rushed throughout every part of my body, from the very core of my being to the tip of every strand of my hair.
I needed to call there. I knew my son didn’t have a cell phone, so I was going to call his friend Julia. “God, I hope she has heard something,” I thought as I ransacked my home, frantically searching for my phone.
“Where is my phone?” I snapped, “Where is my f—ing phone?”
I pushed my husband, who was trying to help me. “Go check my car, maybe I left it in my car!” I barked at him. Knowing my son was OK is all that mattered in that moment.
My husband returned from looking in my car; he was speaking to someone. “So, you’re OK?” he asked.
“Is that Jonathan?”
He nodded. Just as my husband had opened the car door, my phone rang. It was my son, Jonathan, calling to let me know he was OK.
“Give me the phone!” I just wanted to hear my boy’s voice – I needed to hear his voice, to know it was actually him and that he was truly safe.
Thank God, Jonathan was safe. I was still trembling inside as he explained to me that he and his platoon were doing some work outside when they were told to get inside and wait there, that there had been a shooting.
When I asked Jonathan if he was scared, he said he wasn’t. I was scared enough for us both, I told him.
I decided to contact Channel 4, which was the station I’d been watching when the news broke. I figured it would be the fastest way to let his family and friends, some who didn’t know how to contact me, know he was OK.
I was still in a state of panic as I spoke with the news station, but slowly the realization that my son was safe started to set in, I began to sigh heavily in relief. So much adrenaline was rushing through my system. I continued to sigh heavily throughout the night.
As my mind was returning to normal thought processes, I remembered Julia. She’s a friend of my son, and the person whose house I stayed at while in Fort Hood. She lives in off-base housing, but was still close to all of this.
When we spoke, Julia said she was just now able to get to her four-year-old son, James, whose school was on base. This was 7 o’clock at night. Although she knew he was safe, she worried until she could finally see for herself that her son was OK.
I knew how she felt. The thought of that little boy being stuck at school among all this chaos and not being able to talk to his mom was so sad. He must have been so frightened.
Julia also informed me that although Jonathan finally had been released from lockdown, everyone was required to remain on base.
They were taking every precaution. So soldiers had to be there, ready to dress in full gear with weapons if anything else were to happen. Fear had come rushing back. I couldn’t imagine what those on base were going through.
When my son first decided to join the Army, I knew he would be at risk. However, I never imagined it would be at his own Army base.
It wasn’t making any sense to me. I had just been in Fort Hood the weekend before, spending some time with my son.
Jonathan had shown me around the base. Nothing had seemed out of the ordinary. There was no ominous presence noticeable, but it must have been there, just lurking.
My first thoughts were that perhaps the shooter was a young soldier pushed past a breaking point. We all have heard of soldiers dealing with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
Instead, the shooter was a high-ranking officer, a major. I began to feel angry, as I couldn’t understand how this could be.
A major is someone who is supposed to be a leader, someone who sets an example for others. What kind of example was he
setting?
Soon my anger turned to sadness. As I lay in my bed, I felt tears roll down my face.
I felt sadness for those injured and sadness for those who were killed. I felt sadness for their families. But my greatest sadness
came from the realization that even on an Army base, we are not immune from senseless violence. As my emotions continue to flow, I am now filled with thanksgiving for my son’s safety.
I am grateful for Julia and her family’s well-being.I have immense gratitude for all of the soldiers who have served, now or ever, and for their families who have stood by their sides.
So, I hope and pray that as we sit down and enjoy our Thanksgiving dinners, we remember those who will have empty chairs at their tables.
For some, those empty chairs are just for a moment, as their loved ones will soon be home.
Sadly, for others, those empty chairs are forever, as their loved ones will never come home again. Those soldiers and their families have sacrificed greatly for us, and for the love of their country – and for that we can be truly thankful.
