Reckless Hero

He had died in combat, thousands of miles away from home. Mom and I hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye. It had almost killed us both. But while my mom retreated into herself for years after, I’d done the exact opposite.

At the time of my father’s death, I was pre-law. I had almost finished my bachelor’s degree and I was getting ready to take the LSAT. Law school was right around the corner, but all of that changed when my dad died. My entire life plan was thrown out the window and I knew there was only one thing I could do.

Enlist.

I joined the army and spent four years serving my country through the Savage Soldiers.

It had been the best and worst four years of my life. I flew around the world, helped people, and saved lives. But the whole time, I was reminded every day that no one had been around to save my dad.

If I had been a law student back then, would I have been able to keep him alive?

If I had been there—if I had gotten to him fast enough—would he still be here?

Four years in the army did absolutely nothing to silence those troubling thoughts.

When my time was up, I moved back home and tried to reemerge myself into the life of a regular Savage citizen, but it was no use. I was no longer the same person. I was now the guy who went home twice a year to see my mom through the difficult days—the anniversary of my father’s death and Christmas. Other than that, I stayed away from the small military town I once called home.

By the time November 3rd rolled around this time though, I had been home for six months. After taking my mom to the cemetery to honor my father’s five years in the ground, we went home. Mom barely spoke two words the whole drive, and when we walked through the front door, she went straight to the kitchen and sat at the table.

I followed and sat beside her, looking at her gently. Despite my lack of patience with our annual visits, I knew my mom was fragile and that it was my job to take care of her.

With my dad gone, I was all she had left.

“This came in the mail for you,” she said with a faint smile. She pushed a thin envelope across the table toward me. “I didn’t know you applied again.”

I looked down at the envelope and saw the UConn School of Law symbol on the top left-hand corner. My heart skipped a beat as I looked back at my mom. I hadn’t told her because I hadn’t been sure how she would react to the news of me leaving again. But when I saw her face, she was smiling at me.

“I was going to tell you. I just…” I trailed off and a small silence ensued until she broke it.

“It’s okay,” she said. “Just open it.”

I nodded and took a deep breath. Sliding my finger under the lip of the envelope, I felt like my entire life was either about to begin or end; I didn’t know which, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to find out.

When I tore open the envelop

e, I automatically reached inside and grabbed the piece of paper. It was just one sheet, small and folded in three. I laid it flat on the table, my eyes quickly scanning the words.

It took a few seconds for me to process what I’d read.

Dear Mr. James,

Thank you for your application, we are happy to inform you…

Once I did, I looked at my mom with a wide smile and nodded silently.

She squealed, jumped to her feet, ran around the table, and threw her arms around me. “Oh honey, I’m so proud of you! You’re going to be a lawyer!”

“I guess it’s official now,” I said softly. “I’m going to law school.”

My mom squealed with delight again before releasing me. She smoothed down my hair with tears in her eyes.

She hadn’t cried at the cemetery that day, but seeing my acceptance letter to law school was enough to send her over the edge. As tears spilled down her cheeks, she closed her eyes for a minute. She placed her hand to her chest and breathed slowly.

I knew exactly what she was thinking.

“He would be so proud of you,” she said when she reopened her eyes.

But I didn’t want to talk about my father in that moment. I just wanted to be happy. “Thanks,” I said shortly, looking away from her and refocusing my attention on the letter again.