The Last Family Reunion

July 5, 2008, edited July 4, 2010

My mom, the boys, Arin, and I had spent the morning at the Georgia Aquarium. The dash board lights lit up on the way home at the corner of Windy Hill and 41. The car was coaxed into a gas station parking lot. Tired boys and Grandma piled out into the shade while Arin popped the hood. I stared at the engine hoping it would tell me where it hurt and how to fix it. Arin called his boss to get the afternoon off, our mechanic, then AAA. This added too much to an already burdensome weekend. I was hosting the first family reunion since my father died. He was the central key of everything I felt as family. Without him, I honestly didn’t know if we had anything to hold us together. I had prayed for weeks for Dad to let us know he was with us at the reunion- if it was any way possible, please show me you hear me. Now, here I was, broken down and 37 brothers, and sisters, and cousins, and friends arriving at my front door any minute. Calls and messages for help to those siblings went unanswered, even as they drove past us. I asked Dad how to fix this. There was nothing about this easy enough for me to take care of on my own. I remembered when I got my first car. Dad hurried around the garage and handed me a bundle of random, mismatched tools. He said to always keep it with me. Even if I didn’t know how to use them, someone would always stop to help me. There are no tools in this car. I paced around as the afternoon traffic began to back up ridiculously in all directions. An accident had lanes blocked in 3 of 4 directions, cars as far as I could see in every direction. Dad, help me figure out how to get us home when no one is answering.

After a few minutes, I watched a small car cut a perfect arc through the parking lot and come to an abrupt stop in the space next to us. With speed and efficiency, a young man in fatigues got out and looked under the hood. He found nothing helpful either. He looked at the group of us and without hesitation, offered us a ride. I knew it would be ok. Arin stayed with the car, waiting for the tow truck. The rest of us climbed into the small car. The accident cleared, and the traffic backup evaporated when we pulled out. I thanked him repeatedly. He said he had a wife and kids and he would hope someone would help them if they were stranded, so it only made sense he should do the same. He was a Marine. So was my Dad for a short time. The young man began to tell me about his day. Hours earlier, he had started running late. A lost set of keys, misplaced equipment, a broke down car of his own - one inconvenience after another kept putting him further and further behind schedule until the accident on 41 infuriated him into the U-turn- the perfect arc that landed him next to us. The only reason he was right there at that time was because of his awful day. Even he saw the coincidence. He had to take care of what he felt was the reason for it.

It was hard to speak, but when we got home and I invited him and his family for our Fourth of July cookout later. He graciously declined and disappeared. I forgot his name. The enormity of the moment was too strong. I thought about my weeks of prayers to my Dad and the one sided conversation I had with him half an hour ago. I thought about the stumbling coincidences of a young soldier's day that forced his course to us in a time of need.

From the Halls of Montezuma to the shores of Tripoli, a Marine ends up exactly where he needs to be.

Thanks for following orders.

Thanks for answering prayers.