Boy next door

My former next-door neighbor and good friend is the business manager of our local library. After our kids grew up and I moved to a different part of town, Mary and I didn't seen each other much until she got this library job. Now we frequently see her and catch up on family news. There is something special between next-door moms and kids who grow up together.

I saw Mary last Wednesday. We talked for longer than usual while my girls looked for books. We told stories of old neighbors we've seen and what our kids are up to. She always asks about Damien--her favorite of my kids. I asked about her son Marc, an Army medic, who recently left for Afghanistan. She said Marc was eager to go and that his girlfriend has just forwarded a picture she'd received from Marc. Mary said he had a big smile on his face and that he'd grown a beard. I pictured the little blond, blue-eyed boy I once knew--now a man--and we laughed about that.

On Friday Damien called me, devastated, broken, weeping. He responded to my cheery voice on the phone, "I guess you didn't hear the bad news." A chill went through me. What bad news? "Marc was killed in Afghanistan."

Oh no oh no oh no oh no! It can't be! It can't be because I just talked to his mom and she said he was okay! So how could he be dead?? The horror of it! My thoughts go to Mary. How can she bear this? Oh, the world is a terrible place. This should not have happened.

A sign in front of our municipal building explains why the flag is at half-mast. In honor of Marc.