USNAviator
03-18-11, 07:10 PM
<form class="mt-enclosure mt-enclosure-photo" style="display: inline;">http://media.cleveland.com/brett_impact/photo/robert-gilbert-in-camojpg-ccf3f0e73eac76be_large.jpg
</form> 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 . . .
Robert Gilbert and his son Marine Gunnery Sgt. Robert L. Gilbert were more than dad and son. They were best friends. Robert, a police officer for Richfield, a village in Summit County, became a single dad the day his wife, Catherine, died of cancer in 1992. He stood at the cemetery with Robert, 9, and Ruth Ann, 11, wondering what to do next.
As soon as his son was old enough to drive, Robert Jr. headed to the Marine Corps recruiting office and came home with posters. Soon, he resembled that poster: 6-3, lean and powerful. He graduated from Revere High School, then from Parris Island. At 20, he became one of the youngest sergeants in the Marine Corps. He served five tours of duty: two in Iraq and three in Afghanistan.
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.
His dad made a promise he never imagined he'd have to keep.
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.
Before traveling to Germany to be with his wounded son, Robert began a journal on Facebook, to give friends news of his son: "Unless God grants me a miracle, I will find a badly broken child of mine that served America, his country that he loved, like none other."
When Robert arrived at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany, he found his son in the head trauma section. His eyes were black and blue. "But he was my Robert," he told me.
Seeing the strong Marine with a full beard and mustache unable to speak was heartbreaking.
Robert flew home to America with his son in a C-17. The cargo plane was big enough to hold two tanks. At the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Md., Brigadier General David Berger gave his son the Purple Heart as the family looked on in yellow hospital gowns, gray gloves and blue face guards.
The next day, they signed the papers to donate his organs.
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.
</form> 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 . . .
Robert Gilbert and his son Marine Gunnery Sgt. Robert L. Gilbert were more than dad and son. They were best friends. Robert, a police officer for Richfield, a village in Summit County, became a single dad the day his wife, Catherine, died of cancer in 1992. He stood at the cemetery with Robert, 9, and Ruth Ann, 11, wondering what to do next.
As soon as his son was old enough to drive, Robert Jr. headed to the Marine Corps recruiting office and came home with posters. Soon, he resembled that poster: 6-3, lean and powerful. He graduated from Revere High School, then from Parris Island. At 20, he became one of the youngest sergeants in the Marine Corps. He served five tours of duty: two in Iraq and three in Afghanistan.
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.
His dad made a promise he never imagined he'd have to keep.
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.
Before traveling to Germany to be with his wounded son, Robert began a journal on Facebook, to give friends news of his son: "Unless God grants me a miracle, I will find a badly broken child of mine that served America, his country that he loved, like none other."
When Robert arrived at Landstuhl Regional Medical Center in Germany, he found his son in the head trauma section. His eyes were black and blue. "But he was my Robert," he told me.
Seeing the strong Marine with a full beard and mustache unable to speak was heartbreaking.
Robert flew home to America with his son in a C-17. The cargo plane was big enough to hold two tanks. At the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Md., Brigadier General David Berger gave his son the Purple Heart as the family looked on in yellow hospital gowns, gray gloves and blue face guards.
The next day, they signed the papers to donate his organs.
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.