Before-bed read

With her soldier son fighting abroad, Dianna Beamis Good lived each day in fear…until she received unexpected news one fateful day

Ifrantically tore open the envelope. I hadn’t received a letter in more than a month. “Please, Lord, please let my son be okay.” I yanked out the letter and scanned the contents.

“David, David!” I shrieked. He ran into the kitchen, “What is it? What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“He’s coming home.”

Two weeks later, I sat in the cushioned seat at the airport security area. I hadn’t realized until then how much tension I kept inside me.

Three months earlier, I watched the news in our family room and got yet another update on Operation Iraqi Freedom. The news feed across the bottom turned horrifying: “Huey helicopter down—no survivors… Huey helicopter down— no survivors…”

I sat frozen, afraid to move.

That was the helicopter Joshua was assigned.

There was no more information than that. There was nothing I could do. So, I called my husband at work. I didn’t know if he could talk while working patrol, but I tried anyway.

When he answered, I blurted out, “David, the news said a Huey went down. What should I do? What if it’s Joshua’s? You know there are only eight or nine out there. I don’t think I can handle this.”

“It’s okay. Try to stay calm. I’m so sorry I can’t be there. All we can do is pray. Pray he’s okay. I’m being called to an accident. I have to go. I love you, and hang in there. I’ll try and call later. Bye.”

Pray. That’s all I could do? “Please let Joshua be safe.” I stopped. If Joshua was okay, what about the families of those lost? I added, “and lift up the families of the fallen crew.”

Only ten minutes had passed since the news flashed across the screen. An hour later, I talked with an officer. He informed me I had twentyfour hours to wait. I would hear by phone if he was injured, a knock on the door if it was my ultimate nightmare.

Somehow, I made it through the night and went to work the next day. I felt like a machine on autopilot. Students filed in, then out. One class down, four to go. I greeted my students and taught my lessons.

Finally, the school bell rang. It was 2:30 pm. Twenty-four hours had passed with no news. He was okay. I laid my head on my desk and cried— in sadness for the families who had lost their warriors and in gratitude for the knock that never came on my door.

Now I sat in the airport, about to see my boy. I watched as my family talked quietly while they held balloons, flowers, and a large banner with “Welcome home, Joshua” painted across it in red, white, and blue paint. I smiled.

My legs started to ache from sitting. I stood slowly and walked to the arrival-and-departure board.

“He’s landed. You guys, he’s finally here!”

We all ran back to the exit from the security area. My heart pounded. I wanted to yell to everyone that my son was home.

I strained to see the boy I loved and missed for so long. A sign warned everyone to stay behind the wide yellow line.

But when a tall, thin, young man with auburn hair and a big smile came into view, I sprinted down the walkway anyway and jumped into his arms.

Then I stood back and looked into his face just to make sure he was real. It was definitely Joshua, but he looked different. I saw a weariness in his face, and I could feel his bones in my embrace. His smile held a bit of sadness along with the joy.

He slowly picked up his bag as everyone in the waiting area stood and chanted, “USA!”

Arm in arm, we walked back to the others. I found my way to my husband, grabbed his arm, and whispered, “Our boy’s home.”

—Dianna Beamis Good

“‘Huey helicopter down—no survivors…’ I sat frozen. That was the helicopter Joshua was assigned”