The Naval Recruit - Catholic

As a Catholic, some of my stories have some Characteristics of my faith in them.  This is one of them.  I wrote the story with out the ending that is detailed here, and I wrote this version. 

I got the idea for this story from a writing prompt.  It said to find a picture of a person in a magazine and write 300-500 words about the person.   I picked a National Geographic and saw a young man, barely 20, in the window of a train.  His face was so sad, this is the story I came up with, based on it.   

                                                     The Naval Recruit

I heard the whistle blow and watched as the train began to move.  This was Ron’s third year of college and these separations had become a customary component of our lives.  Still, no matter how often you say goodbye, watching your child slowly pull away does not come easily.

                A face catches my eye and then it is gone.  That face, which was so full of pain and sorrow, and yet so young, has left a enduring impression on me.   I close my eyes and there is that face.  Who is he, why is he so sad?  What is the cause of so much pain and sorrow in such a young man?  I long to know more, reluctantly I resign myself to never getting that opportunity.

It’s been a week and I still see those sorrowful eyes in my dreams.   I can barely taste my coffee, I didn’t sleep well last night, I kept waking with each dream.  Those sorrowful eyes, they would be on my own sons face and I would startle awake.   As if by rote action I flip through the pages in the paper, I hardly know what I am reading, my eyes focus in and out of the pages as the words blur together into blocks of print.  

Suddenly, I am struck, did I fall asleep? Was I having another dreaming?   No, I can’t be, I must be awake, nevertheless there is that face, that sweet yet sorrowful face.   My hands were trembling as I take a sip of coffee and endeavored to steady myself.   The paper did not give many details, his name was Brian; he was a naval recruit and had just finished boot camp.    He was also dead. 

                He took his own life.  After years of abuse from his father he ran away to the Navy.   If he could prove himself, if his father could see him as a man, maybe he would finally earn his respect.    On that early August morning one week ago, he had been heading back to base after a visit with his parents.   The visit did not go well, his father was angry he had left home so suddenly.   The neighbors reported long fights into the night, and a naval buddy said Brain felt his father would never accept him and that his mother never cared or tried to intervene.   

                Closing the paper, I crossed myself and said a prayer for this young man.  Barely the same age as my own child, I contemplated the anguish his mother must be experiencing.   Tears fell from my eyes as I prayed to our Blessed Mother to give this unknown woman strength as she suffered through her pain.   I went to adoration that afternoon, I felt called to pray for this boy.  In the presences of our Lord I prayed for his soul.  I still saw that face, that sweet yet painful and sorrowful face as I closed my eyes in prayer.