I got the call last night, around 11:15. My cousin was killed in a roadside IED in Afghanistan. Thirty days before she was to come home, on one of her last missions … two weeks before she was to turn 30. On the other side of the world, in a tumultuous nation filled with strangers who have no idea who she is. Her two young children hoped that the fallen soldier was another woman who just looked like their mom.
NBC News acknowledged her passing, such as it is. Yet the heart-wrenching anguish her mother shared with me last night, the choking urgency I have to grab my fifteen year old and squeeze him hard—so I could re-absorb him into the safety of my body and my soul—is overwhelming.
So I offer a moment of silence, for my cousin. I pray that her mother and father, and her two children, might find a moment of peace and grace, so they can face the sadness and duties that will face them in the days and weeks and months and years to come.
For you shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace:
the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing,
and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands.