Heart Of A Hawk: One Family's Sacrifice and Journey Toward Healing

"Oh, God, no, Deborah, this can't be right. I'll be right there. I'll do all I can."

Setting the receiver down, Deborah thought about how to best contact Patrick's grandmother, now in Miami, relatives in North Carolina, friends in California, and Kacee in Afghanistan. She supposed the Red Cross could help with notifications to Miami and Bagram.

Seeing the full coffee pot, she poured three cups of coffee, placed them on a tray and took them into the family room. Offering the chaplain a cup, he smiled, saying, "You're not supposed to be doing things for me. I'm here for you."

"Just pray us through this," Deborah said.

While Deborah handed the cups to her husband and the sergeant, the chaplain walked to the family photo table where he picked up a picture of Patrick standing beside a Humvee in Baghdad.

"He's a handsome young man. I know you're proud of him."

"Yes sir, we are," Dave said.

"I'd like to pray with you."

At that moment, Deborah heard the back door open. Jason and Sindy entered the house from the garage, their eyes red and swollen.

"This ain't happening, I know it's not," Jason cried, hugging Deborah, then his stepfather. Deborah watched him move toward Patrick's eight-by-ten military photo that hung on the wall with years of other family photos. Tears flowed down her son's face as he gritted his teeth. With his muscular arms to his sides and fists folded tight, she knew he wanted to hit something.

"We just talked to him a couple of days ago," Sindy said, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I can't believe this. He was coming home in a few more weeks."

Deborah reached her hand toward Sindy's. "I know," she said. "The chaplain would like to say a few words."

Jason moved next to Sindy. Deborah sat down next to her husband as the gray dawn swallowed the morning darkness and the chaplain, holding Patrick's photo, prayed.



Hours later and sleeping peacefully, Kacee thought she was dreaming when she heard her name being called.

"Yeah, what's going on?" she asked, rising to the side of her cot.

"The first sergeant needs to see you." Another female from her unit spoke from the entrance of the tent.

Kacee felt sure she was being awakened to receive a message from one of her sisters. She'd been expecting the death of her mother since before the deployment. Her mother was deteriorating from a stroke and Alzheimer's in a nursing home in Louisiana.

Kacee's bunkmate, Alice, was also awakened and followed Kacee to the first sergeant's office. The captain and a chaplain were waiting for her, faces long and grim in the dim light.

The first sergeant pulled out a chair, "I think you should sit down."

Kacee studied his somber look. He had been a longtime friend. She'd known him most of her ten years with the Guard.

To break the cold silence, Kacee said, "If someone called about my mom, it's okay. I knew it was coming."

After a moment, the first sergeant seemed to know nothing else to do but blurt out the awful words: "Patrick's been killed."

Kacee felt she'd been hit in her belly with the butt end of a rifle. Her head began to pound as though all the oxygen was being sucked from the room. She could hear her heart beat in her ears, someone was holding a pillow tight against her face. She was fighting to breathe. She was frozen in a dark vault. She clutched the chair seat as tight as she could.

Everyone stared, waiting for her collapse. Only her tears had a will of their own.

"Are you sure?" she finally asked. "What happened?"

The first sergeant gave the information that had been received from the Red Cross. Shaking, but trying to remain composed, Kacee looked at Alice.

"I won't let this destroy me. He wouldn't want that."

Alice stooped next to Kacee and placed her arms around her shocked friend's shoulders. Kacee had often told her how Patrick was the first man she'd learned to trust and love since her divorce ten years before. "He's brought me so far," she said. "He taught me that I had to love myself before I could love anyone else. We were making plans for the future."

A doctor stood by to make sure Kacee would be okay and could get back to sleep.

"This is a dream," she finally said. "It has to be a dream. I have to call my sisters."

Alice helped Kacee make the call to Atlanta before leading her back to the tent. Lying down, Kacee knew she wouldn't be in Georgia for Patrick's memorial. Their not being married would prevent that. All she could do now was try and keep her sanity until May, when her unit returned to the states. Too often since August she had stood to honor fallen soldiers in Afghanistan as military vehicles took flag draped caskets across the airstrip, and soldiers placed them on a plane for the final trip home. Now when they rolled past, she would see only Patrick.