This Christmas, if you happen upon my blog, please take a moment to remember and honor the life of Mike Stokely, a fellow Georgian. His father wrote a touching letter that I will share a portion of here:
Life is hard when you lose a child; you have children and you think of them burying you and not the other way around. But war brings a new perspective to the parent child relationship, for the parent is put in a position that they are unable to fulfill a basic parental instinct – protect your child. Losing a child, especially in war and especially with media attention focused on your loss, is difficult. I find myself counting time in weeks – every Monday at 6:20 p.m., I silently remember, maybe with a tear, that X weeks ago Mike died at what was 2:20 a.m. his time on Tuesday; then as the evening goes on, I think, Mike was dead X hours at this time; I then awake on what is my Tuesday mornng, and at 7:00 a.m., I remember the call to my home and the voice saying “Mr. Stokely, this is Maj. Hulsey – please come to the door, you dog won’t let us up the driveway and we need to speak to you” and then remembering my fast gait to the driveway and asking, before they can say anything “is my boy dead” and the the words they spoke, with humble sadness in the eyes of Maj. Hulsey and the Chaplin that was with him “we regret to inform you….” But the pain,while there, is more manageable. I think it must be like the rigors and harshness of war – it is always the same, you just adjust.
No pity for me is needed, for as a friend said to me, I am lucky to have a son who has brought such honor to his father and the entire family. My son was a man who had a heart that cared deeply for others, and they likewise cared for him. In all of this, so many stories of his simple kindness have been shared with us and touched us. My favorite is the one where he and his buddies had been on continuous duty for several days (their normal day was 22 hours long). He and one of his fellow soldiers had to pull guard duty after being on missions for that continuous period without any sleep. He told his buddy to take a nap and he would stand watch and then they would swap out. For the next six hours, he let his buddy sleep while he stood the whole watch.
We miss him so much. We hurt inside. But we burst with pride in our son and brother. His memory will not fade nor will our love for him. When Mike was just becoming a teenager, I tried to imagine what he would be one day. I often told people I wasn’t sure where life would take him, but I knew he would do something different and be very well known in his chosen field. I never dreamed he would become an American Hero who would serve his country so well.”
I’ll be remembering Mike this Christmas as I think of my family and friends back home. I love you all.