I sure do appreciate this young man. Helping me to find my son's name and all. You look so handsome in that uniform. Where are you from? I'm from Texas. I just arrived here this afternoon. I've only been to Washington once, but my younger son, J.D., he's been to Washington many times. He's an attorney in Austin.
Oh. Look at all the names. I've got goose bumps all over my body!
You can't imagine the time I had getting here. I told the family that never in my life had I asked for much...but I had to make this trip. Billy loved his family. He loved his Mama. The least I could do is pay my respects to his memorial. You see, young man, my older son was killed August 15, 1968, over there in Vietnam. Of course we know he's with the Lord now. Billy is..Billy is what we call him, actually his name is William J. Pearson, Jr. But we've always called him Billy. I'm Billy's mother, Fran. Fran Pearson.
I talk to the Lord about Billy on his birthday and holidays and... well, just all the time. Oh, I do rattle on, don't I? I'm just so excited! Thank you, young man, for showing me here. So nice of you. I'll be fine now.
Let's see...where is Billy's name? Goodness, there are so many names! Look at all the flowers and notes and things families have left. It's kind of like a cemetary. Reverent. That's what I feel. Reverent. Now, where is Billy's name?
There it is. Yes, that's him. I wish they could have put "Billy" in parentheses. We never did call him William. He was so young.
Billy. Billy, I brought a couple of things with me. Here's your old football. Your sophmore year! You made the Honor Society and the varsity football team! We were so proud of you! Hard work, that's what it took, hard work!
Look at that: "William J. Pearson Jr." Billy this is an auspicious occasion! I'm so thrilled to be here! There are so many people! Lot of them crying. Some praying. Bless their hearts. This is a very special place, Billy. I can feel it! I knew it would be.
Now, Billy, your Dad. He refused to come with me to the Memorial. Said it was nonsense to come all the way from Texas just to stare at a wall. In fact, Bill pays no attention to anything about it. It's a real bone between us. Such a shame. Such a shame and a pity he won't see his son's name. He just never has come to grips with your death. He can't talk about you like the rest of us do. Bill always was a quiet man. Maybe that's why he married me--because I'm seldom quiet. Except during the church or when I'm asleep. But I think I talk a lot because he talks so little. Naturally, he says I've got it backwards.
Your little brother is doing fine. J.D's a big shot lawyer in Austin now. But he'll always be my boy. Just like you. You two boys. Sixteen months apart! The Lord knows I had my work cut out for me! Like the time you and J.D. dug that three foot deep hole right smack in the middle of my garden? Said you had heard that if you dug deep enough you'd wind up in China! No telling how big that hole would have been if y'all hadn't become afraid of digging yourselves into hell first!
Or how about the time you two boys unravelled a whole roll of toilet paper all over the house so you could see how long it was. I was in the garage washing clothes and of course Pastor Mitchell picked that very moment to pay us a visit. I had to invite him into a living room covered with wall to wall toilet paper! I was mortified, absolutely mortified! Pastor Mitchell's only comment was: "Well, Fran, when the ROLL is called up yonder, we know YOUR boys will be there."
Goodness, it seems like yesterday. Didn't know how wonderful those days were at the time.
Remember Mr. and Mrs. Horn? Well, they were coming home from the grocery store day before yesterday--Homer was driving--and BAM! A pick-up ran a stop sign and hit them broadside! Eloise said they were shook up but not really hurt. But then that truck backed up, spun around, and was fixin' to peel out of there and his engine died. The maniac got it goin' again and zoomed off! Well, Eloise didn't get the license number but she did read a bumper sticker on his fender. It said: "I don't have to be born again, I was born in Texas!" Isn't that tacky?
Life's kind of like that, isn't it? You go along, never expecting the worst, and BAM.
Hit us hard when the lieutenant came to our door. It was after our Sunday meal. I can recall what I was wearing and the fried chicken we had for dinner--but I can't tell you much about your funeral. What the preacher said. What anybody said for that matter. You were twenty years old.
I was expecting you when I was twenty. The day you were born I was lying on that hospital bed and the nurse brought you in to me for your first feeding. Right off I counted your fingers and toes. They were all there and perfect, thank the Lord! Pink healthy and perfect! And then I just looked at you, wondering what kind of person you'd be...
Look at me! I'm rattling away again. Where's my Kleenex?
Months after your funeral, I finally made myself go through your things. It was difficult, I mean, what does a mother do with her dead son's model airplanes, books, sweaters, underwear? The collections of a boy's life? I forced myself to give away those items that could be put to good use by people. Most of it went to the Goodwill. I worked alone. No one else could do it.
This teddy bear I kept. You couldn't sleep without it when you were little. You held this little bear in your sweet arms many a night while I read a bedtime story...and we said our prayers.
The Lord tells me that weeping may remain for a night,... but... rejoicing comes in the morning.
I have put my hope in His word.