thedrifter
02-04-07, 03:31 AM
Quilts warm hearts of families of fallen
Dennis Rogers, Staff Writer
RICHLANDS - Airleigh Place south of this Onslow County town is Marine Corps country. Marine flags and American colors flutter side by side on many porches. Small statues of plaster Marines wearing doll-size uniforms are popular yard art in this subdivision 17 miles from Camp Lejeune's main gate.
Late one afternoon in August, a vehicle moved slowly down Airleigh Place as the driver searched for a certain house number.
The wives and children of Airleigh Place can be forgiven for praying the car would not stop at their house. It can mean only one thing when Marines in full dress uniform come to their neighborhood: Grief had come to their street.
The members of the Marine notification team were right to be careful, to be absolutely sure they had the right house. It would not do to knock on the wrong door, not in this neighborhood.
Michelle Solomon was not home when the Marines reached her house, way down in the cul-de-sac at the far end of Airleigh Place. She was on her way home from class where she was working on her master's degree in special education.
She had made an A in every class in graduate school. And every time she did, she and her husband, Staff Sgt. Gordon G. Solomon, 3rd Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, USMC, exchanged high-fives. They were both proud of Michelle's accomplishments.
The Marines strive to perform their solemn duty with dignity and tenderness. The plan was for two teams to coordinate telling Michelle and her in-laws in Fairborn, Ohio, that Solomon, 35, had been killed by an improvised bomb in Anbar province, Iraq.
But something went wrong. Michelle was still driving home when her in-laws called her cell phone and broke the terrible news.
A neighbor was waiting when Michelle pulled into the driveway in tears. Moments later, the Marines drove up to make it official.
"I waited 31 years to find the love of my life," Michelle said last Sunday. "And I only got four years with him."
It has been almost six months now. Sometimes her face lights up with a brave smile. Other times, her cheeks are streaked with unashamed tears. The pain is still fresh and still on the surface, where the scars of loss have not begun to heal. Tissues are never far out of reach in the lonesome house on Airleigh Place.
Carol Smith of Holly Ridge, on the other side of Camp Lejeune, had never met Michelle Solomon. But on this warm Sunday afternoon in late January, she is about to make a sweet and gentle gesture to let the Marine widow know that other people understand what she has lost and wish they could help.
Perhaps they can. Perhaps the homemade quilt Carol has made especially for Michelle will bring her some comfort.
Maybe. Or maybe not. In any case, Carol has to try.
"My son was a Marine for 23 years," she says. "He'd want me to do this."
Carol is state coordinator for a national effort called the Home of the Brave Quilts project. It is a group of professional and amateur quilters determined to perform a gracious act for people whose lives have been shattered. Volunteers have pledged to make a quilt for the family of every American service member who dies in Iraq and Afghanistan. Every one of them.
"I heard about the program and thought maybe I'd make one quilt for someone," Carol says. "I'm now up to 86, all in North Carolina."
Carol, a professional quilter, has enlisted some helpers.
"Quilters are wonderful people," she says. "If they know what it's about, they're glad to help."
Beverly Morrison of Richlands is one of them. Ask why she is doing this, and her answer comes straight from the heart: "My husband was a Marine for 32 years. My son has been a Marine for 11 years. I feel like the boys in Iraq and Afghanistan are my sons, too. This is the least I can do for them."
The quilt is wrapped and ready. It's time to go. Six Patriot Guard Riders, with proud flags flying from their motorcycles, lead the procession to Airleigh Court.
It's sort of awkward when we pull up to the Solomon home. What do you say that doesn't sound maudlin or stupid at a time like this? But Michelle greets us in the driveway and announces that she sure could use a hug about now, and the ice is broken. The conversation flows easily as Carol Smith gives her the quilt, patterned after quilts made to comfort wounded Civil War soldiers.
Michelle presses the quilt close, embracing it as if it somehow holds the scent and the memory of her husband in its folds. That is when Carol knows that this quilt, like so many others she has presented, has worked its magic.
"It helps me to have this," Michelle says, clutching the small quilt to her heart. "It helps me to talk about Gordon. I do most of my crying in private, so it helps me to talk to people about him. What I can't do is talk about him in the past tense."
Ed Riegel, a retired Marine, was Solomon's platoon sergeant more than a decade ago. He is with our group for two reasons: He and Solomon became friends, and his wife, Dorine, is one of the quilters.
Riegel remembers Solomon as a young corporal uncertain whether he was up to a life in the Corps.
"I last saw him a month before he was killed," Riegel says. "He was a prime example of what can happen when you don't give up on a young troop. If you treat them right, a Staff Sgt. Solomon is what they can turn into.
"He became an outstanding noncommissioned officer, someone you'd be proud to serve with and proud to be led by."
It is time to leave. Still holding her security blanket to her heart, Michelle insists on hugging and thanking each biker and each quilter before we leave.
"If you hear of another wife who loses her husband, tell her to call me," she tells us. "I'd be happy to talk to her. Maybe I can help."
Gordon Solomon was a grunt, an infantryman, one of those unsung Marines with dirty faces, dirty boots and clean weapons whose job brings them face to face with people who want to kill them. His unit's motto is, "Quell the storm, ride the thunder."
It is a job -- no, make that a calling -- that requires uncommon courage, deep dedication and steely strength.
So does being a Marine wife.
"The one thing that keeps me sane through all this is that I know that man knew how much I loved him," she says of her fallen Marine.
And that's what the Marine slogan "Semper Fi" really means.
Dennis Rogers can be reached at 829-4750 or drogers@newsobserver.com.
Ellie
Dennis Rogers, Staff Writer
RICHLANDS - Airleigh Place south of this Onslow County town is Marine Corps country. Marine flags and American colors flutter side by side on many porches. Small statues of plaster Marines wearing doll-size uniforms are popular yard art in this subdivision 17 miles from Camp Lejeune's main gate.
Late one afternoon in August, a vehicle moved slowly down Airleigh Place as the driver searched for a certain house number.
The wives and children of Airleigh Place can be forgiven for praying the car would not stop at their house. It can mean only one thing when Marines in full dress uniform come to their neighborhood: Grief had come to their street.
The members of the Marine notification team were right to be careful, to be absolutely sure they had the right house. It would not do to knock on the wrong door, not in this neighborhood.
Michelle Solomon was not home when the Marines reached her house, way down in the cul-de-sac at the far end of Airleigh Place. She was on her way home from class where she was working on her master's degree in special education.
She had made an A in every class in graduate school. And every time she did, she and her husband, Staff Sgt. Gordon G. Solomon, 3rd Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, USMC, exchanged high-fives. They were both proud of Michelle's accomplishments.
The Marines strive to perform their solemn duty with dignity and tenderness. The plan was for two teams to coordinate telling Michelle and her in-laws in Fairborn, Ohio, that Solomon, 35, had been killed by an improvised bomb in Anbar province, Iraq.
But something went wrong. Michelle was still driving home when her in-laws called her cell phone and broke the terrible news.
A neighbor was waiting when Michelle pulled into the driveway in tears. Moments later, the Marines drove up to make it official.
"I waited 31 years to find the love of my life," Michelle said last Sunday. "And I only got four years with him."
It has been almost six months now. Sometimes her face lights up with a brave smile. Other times, her cheeks are streaked with unashamed tears. The pain is still fresh and still on the surface, where the scars of loss have not begun to heal. Tissues are never far out of reach in the lonesome house on Airleigh Place.
Carol Smith of Holly Ridge, on the other side of Camp Lejeune, had never met Michelle Solomon. But on this warm Sunday afternoon in late January, she is about to make a sweet and gentle gesture to let the Marine widow know that other people understand what she has lost and wish they could help.
Perhaps they can. Perhaps the homemade quilt Carol has made especially for Michelle will bring her some comfort.
Maybe. Or maybe not. In any case, Carol has to try.
"My son was a Marine for 23 years," she says. "He'd want me to do this."
Carol is state coordinator for a national effort called the Home of the Brave Quilts project. It is a group of professional and amateur quilters determined to perform a gracious act for people whose lives have been shattered. Volunteers have pledged to make a quilt for the family of every American service member who dies in Iraq and Afghanistan. Every one of them.
"I heard about the program and thought maybe I'd make one quilt for someone," Carol says. "I'm now up to 86, all in North Carolina."
Carol, a professional quilter, has enlisted some helpers.
"Quilters are wonderful people," she says. "If they know what it's about, they're glad to help."
Beverly Morrison of Richlands is one of them. Ask why she is doing this, and her answer comes straight from the heart: "My husband was a Marine for 32 years. My son has been a Marine for 11 years. I feel like the boys in Iraq and Afghanistan are my sons, too. This is the least I can do for them."
The quilt is wrapped and ready. It's time to go. Six Patriot Guard Riders, with proud flags flying from their motorcycles, lead the procession to Airleigh Court.
It's sort of awkward when we pull up to the Solomon home. What do you say that doesn't sound maudlin or stupid at a time like this? But Michelle greets us in the driveway and announces that she sure could use a hug about now, and the ice is broken. The conversation flows easily as Carol Smith gives her the quilt, patterned after quilts made to comfort wounded Civil War soldiers.
Michelle presses the quilt close, embracing it as if it somehow holds the scent and the memory of her husband in its folds. That is when Carol knows that this quilt, like so many others she has presented, has worked its magic.
"It helps me to have this," Michelle says, clutching the small quilt to her heart. "It helps me to talk about Gordon. I do most of my crying in private, so it helps me to talk to people about him. What I can't do is talk about him in the past tense."
Ed Riegel, a retired Marine, was Solomon's platoon sergeant more than a decade ago. He is with our group for two reasons: He and Solomon became friends, and his wife, Dorine, is one of the quilters.
Riegel remembers Solomon as a young corporal uncertain whether he was up to a life in the Corps.
"I last saw him a month before he was killed," Riegel says. "He was a prime example of what can happen when you don't give up on a young troop. If you treat them right, a Staff Sgt. Solomon is what they can turn into.
"He became an outstanding noncommissioned officer, someone you'd be proud to serve with and proud to be led by."
It is time to leave. Still holding her security blanket to her heart, Michelle insists on hugging and thanking each biker and each quilter before we leave.
"If you hear of another wife who loses her husband, tell her to call me," she tells us. "I'd be happy to talk to her. Maybe I can help."
Gordon Solomon was a grunt, an infantryman, one of those unsung Marines with dirty faces, dirty boots and clean weapons whose job brings them face to face with people who want to kill them. His unit's motto is, "Quell the storm, ride the thunder."
It is a job -- no, make that a calling -- that requires uncommon courage, deep dedication and steely strength.
So does being a Marine wife.
"The one thing that keeps me sane through all this is that I know that man knew how much I loved him," she says of her fallen Marine.
And that's what the Marine slogan "Semper Fi" really means.
Dennis Rogers can be reached at 829-4750 or drogers@newsobserver.com.
Ellie