A Father's Promise, A Son's Sacrifice

If this doesn't get dust in your eye, you aren't human.

The letter sat on the dresser for four years.

Robert Gilbert never opened it. He only touched the envelope when he needed to dust around it. He wanted to give it back to his son unopened.

Every time his Marine son was deployed, his son would ask, "You still got my letter?"

His dad never wanted to read what was inside an envelope marked: "Dad, open this if I am wounded. Love, Robert."

The call to open it came March 8.

"Is Robert Gilbert there?" a voice from Marine headquarters in Quantico, Va., said.

"Junior or Senior?" Robert said.

"Senior."

The father felt his stomach drop even before he heard the words: "Your son has been injured in Afghanistan."

When he heard his son received "possibly a mortal wound," he sat on the bed, opened the yellow envelope and pulled out four handwritten pages of spiral notebook paper.

I'm sorry if you're reading this . . .

I believe in sacrificing for freedom and I love America.

The last time Robert saw his son was in September. After a week together riding motorcycles around Richfield, his son grabbed a couple beers and said, "We gotta talk."

Instead of a father-to-son talk, this was a son-to-father talk. The 27-year-old Marine looked his 56-year-old dad in the eye and said, "If I'm incapacitated, don't keep me on life support. If we can't smoke cigars, drink a beer and ride motorcycles, let me go."

His dad resisted. "I really would like to keep you alive," he said.

The Marine insisted.

Dad, you gave me the desire and strength to do what I wanted to do . . .

The father couldn't be by his son's side to protect him from danger, but he sat by his side for the long journey home. The bullet from the rooftop sniper caught his son in the back of the head. Robert explained the damage to me this way: What allows you to breathe and your heart to beat is working, but what makes you Robert is not.

I believe I lived more life in 20 some years than most lived in a lifetime . . .

Last Sunday, the father kept his promise. He held his son's head as doctors removed the ventilator. But his son's heart wouldn't give up. There was one last moment to share.

His birthday.

Marines filled pill container cups with Jack Daniels and sang Happy Birthday. Robert rubbed a drop of whiskey on his son's mouth, just like he had done 27 years ago when his boy was teething. Then each Marine kissed his son's forehead goodbye.

Robert told his son, "I love you. Thank you for being my son." He placed his right hand on his son's heart and felt the last beat March 16th, the day he first felt it beat.

His son got to turn 28.

"He passed from his father's hand to his Father's hand," Robert said. "I gave him back."

I pray for your health and happiness every night and I plan to continue. I love you. Your son, Robert.

After the funeral next Sunday, the father will put his son's letter back on the dresser. He plans to keep it there until the day he joins his son.

Full Story