War Cry - February, 2014 Page 32

The War Cry | FEBRUARY 2014

Photo

Salvation Army National Archives

Some of them were badly beaten,
some had their fingers amputated
during torture, and still others had
their eyes gouged out."

"My Freddie! Tell me what

happened to my Freddie!" Elizabeth
demanded.

"Fred was castrated."
"Castrated!" There was silence

for what seemed like several min-
utes as Elizabeth pondered the
horrible news. But Freddie was alive
and he still wanted her. No matter
what he suffered in life, no matter
what condition he was in, she was
ready to accept him and love him
as he was.

"Ma'am," the lieutenant said, "a

car is waiting to take you to see Fred."

"Yes, take me to my Freddie."
Elizabeth and the two men stood

up and walked to the door.

Then Elizabeth's alarm clock

went off, startling her. It was 6 AM
and she woke up in her bed, alone,
to discover that the whole encounter
with Lt. Blackstone and Commander
Belmont was only a dream.

My mother wept.
She called me at home in Seattle

and shared her dream with me. I
regret now that I did not accept it
for what is was--an expression of
her inmost desires. Instead I ana-
lyzed the dream like a psychology
student writing a college thesis.

"Mom," I said on the tele-

phone, "Don't you see that your
subconscious mind has devised
a way for Fred to still be alive,
for him to have a valid reason
for not contacting you all these
years, and for it to be impossible
for him to have been unfaithful
to you? It's all very Freudian."

I knew my mother's feel-

ings were hurt; her silence dur-
ing my brief pause on the phone

was all I should have needed
to hear. But I didn't stop.

"Lt. Blackstone? Commander

Belmont? Come on, Mom! Those
are just street names in Fresno,
and your mind made those names
up as part of your dream fantasy."

More silence from the

other end of the line.

"Fred is dead," I said flatly. "He

died fifty years ago. I know that
it must be difficult for you to ac-
cept because there was no body, no
funeral and no closure. But it's time
to accept reality. Fred is dead."

There it was. I said what had to

be said. I said exactly what Mom

needed to hear. There was more
silence and then finally she spoke.

"Son," my mother said with the

slightest quiver in her voice, "you
just don't understand, and perhaps
you'll never understand until you've
loved and lost. I love Fred with ev-
erything I am, and I cannot give up
on him if there is even the slightest
sliver of hope that he's still alive."

"But what about Daddy?

Does he count for anything?"

Never before had I questioned my

mother's love for my father, and I
should not have questioned it then.
Mom, in a measured expression
of gracious restraint, proceeded to
recite her love for my Daddy, telling
me of the good times they shared
and the awful experiences they
endured, "for richer for poorer, for
better for worse, in sickness and in
health... " I got the message loud
and clear--Mama's love was big
enough for us all, including Freddie.

My mother's words that day

reminded me of a profound truth
from a favorite Cole Porter lyric,
"Until you've lived a lot, and loved
a lot, and lost a lot, you won't
know Paree." Maybe my mother
was right. Maybe I would never
understand her life, her loves and
her losses until fully living my
own. After this conversation, at
least I gained new respect for my
mother as I was only beginning
to understand the tremendous
depth and capacity of her love.

Major Randy Kinnamon

is divisional

secretary for business for the Army's
Golden State Division, with headquarters
in San Francisco, California. "Elizabeth's
Story" won first place for nonfiction in
the National Publication Department's
Writers Contest. The story is an excerpt
from Major Kinnamon's forthcoming
book, All About Love: Elizabeth's Story
at www.elizabethsstory.com