You don’t know just how far you will go, or what you will do, to protect your own.
Whether you are a service member, defending this country, or the one who is standing next to you.
Whether you are a parent, watching over your children as they grow.
Whether you are a mother, standing over your wounded warrior, your child, to insure they recieve the best care available.
You just don’t know…
It had been seven years after my son was injured in war, after I had crawled into his hospital bed trying to hold him. The jerking and flailing that would take over his whole body every time his eyes would close, was something I couldn’t stand by and watch. I had to do something. I had to hold him, I needed to hold him.
Seven years later, we shared a room while attending an event. I woke in the night and looked over at him sleeping in the other bed. He was still fighting that same war in his dreams, he was still jerking in the night. The dreams were not as bad as they were in those early years. But it was evident, they still haunted him.
I wonder, will he ever be completely free…
I sat on the back patio, thinking, crying, hoping, and conversing with the night wind. Only a few months earlier, my three children’s voices had filled the night air, with the joking around and laughter only the young seem to express so unflinchingly. I wondered if Aaron, my youngest son, was in Germany yet, after being injured in Iraq. Was he aware of what was going on around him, or was he being kept unconscious? Did he know how much I loved him and how it was tearing me up inside, not being with him?
As the early morning sun slowly began to touch the clear, peaceful sky, all I could think of was that Aaron’s eyes mimicked that same cool blue color. I sat there with the phone held tightly in my hand, waiting anxiously for the next call, to let me know where my son was, what his medical condition was, and when he would be transported back to the States, and to me…
May 11, 2005 – near Al Qaim, Iraq
When the roadside bomb exploded, tossing the 26 ton vehicle 10 feet in to the air, my son, marine combat correspondent Cpl. Aaron Mankin’s first reaction was to gasp, inhaling smoke, heat and debris. In addition to the damage to his lungs, Aaron suffered second and third degree burns on his hands, arms and face. He had his goggles on, which saved his eyes and forehead.
Six weeks later – Brooke Army Medical Center, Fort Sam Houston, San Antonio, TX
Aaron’s voice was barely a harsh whisper after the intense heat of the explosion had seared his vocal cords. The one word he would whisper to me over and over was “kiss.” I would never hesitate, knowing I almost lost the chance to ever kiss him again.
Once he was moved out of the Intensive Care Burn Unit and onto the main burn ward, visitors were free to come into the rooms after obtaining permission from the patients.
One visitor Aaron agreed to see was an army general with his son, who was also in uniform, and two of the general’s staff members. They entered the room when I had stepped out, and I was unaware of their presence until I walked back in. Aaron’s back was to me when I returned, and I stood just inside the door, listening and not wanting to interrupt.
When he became aware of my presence, Aaron raised his arm, motioning for me to come to his side. He looked up as I came close and whispered, “Kiss.” I leaned down and did as he asked before being introduced to the others in the room.
The general and his group quickly said their good-byes, and as he walked up to me, I noticed tears in his eyes. He hugged me with the desperation of a father, not a general, who had just seen the reality of what his own son might face one day…
Are you ready for what you may one day face?
The youngest of my four children, Aaron Mankin, is a grown man, single father of two small children, nationally known public speaker, and a medically retired marine who will always have to deal with the effects of war. He has come to accept the scars he wears as badges of honor. But the hidden scars are the nightmares he will deal with, in one form or another, for the rest of his life, and he does this with humor, humility and honor…
The difficulty of being a single father has been, at times, overwhelming. But Aaron has risen to the needs of his children, and put his needs somewhere in the background. His two children are loved and cared for so deeply; they always come first.
The parent he has become is beyond measure, and I’m so very proud of him.
You may not end up
Where you expected,
Dreamed, or planned
You would be,
But by the grace of God,
You will always end up
Exactly where you are
Meant to be…
Diana Mankin Phelps
In writing this book, A Mother’s Side of War, my hope was, and is, to raise awareness of the personal aspects of what our countries wounded endure throughout their recovery. And to show the reader, how when one serves, so does their family.
When an injured warrior returns home, they are not the only one who has been wounded, outwardly or within.
The blast that ripped through my sons AAV, setting him on fire and changing the course of his life, tore through mine, and all those who love him, as well.
We have all been wounded…We have all been changed…
I love the way veterans, who have never met, can know each other in a matter of moments. Their experiences are unique, yet at the same time they are common to every single one of them. They understand something about the value of life that only those who are willing to pay the ultimate price can feel, deep within a place most of us don’t even know exists…
When my son, Marine Cpl. Aaron P. Mankin, was wounded while serving in Iraq, the marine families around me were the ones I depended on the most. I had so much to learn in a matter of days, and continue to learn as the years pass. All along our journey of recovery, there have been others to guide, advise, and support. For those who are behind me in their timeline of recovery with their service member, I feel I have a duty—we all have a duty—to reach out and try to make their journey a little easier.
We watch our service member from the day they sign their lives over to protect. Every move they make while serving this country is followed by all who know and love them. For every single warrior who returns home wounded, seen or unseen, there is a multitude of family, friends and communities who are forever changed.
Writing to Heal 