The Light

I spoke with Robert Stokely on the phone today. He's doing well. "Memorial Day is less a celebration and more a time of reflection for us." He told me. But after further conversation it was clear he was keeping very busy, too - and that's a good thing - with parades and fireworks and all the things that make small town America great.

The Mike Stokely Foundation is going strong. There will be another ride this Fall to raise money for scholarships, and after that another collection of school supplies for Yousifiyah.

"I want to go there some day. To walk the street where Mike was killed." I believe he'll get that opportunity, and I told him so. I was in that area last summer, and I watched things go from hot to warm - and I'm not talking about air temperature. Robert assured me that he'd heard from the folks there now that the trend was continuing.

And Mike held the line, and made it possible.

We spoke of Warrior's Walk, where a tree is planted for each fallen Soldier who served in Iraq with the 3ID. "Mike told me to avoid it when we were there". Robert said. "I don't want Abbey to see it, dad."

"She needs to see it," he told him, "she needs to know this is real. You're going to war. And one day she and I might be back here to plant a tree for you."

And a little over four months later they were. But watch the tribute video she made for him, and you'll see photos I suspect she took on that earlier day at Ft Stewart. They're from the angle a little sister would use to take a picture of her big brother before he went to war.

The Atlanta Journal Constitution:

Maj. Michael Hulsey pulled into the long driveway at the house in Sharpsburg, wearing his Class A uniform and accompanied by a chaplain. Hulsey had been trained for this duty, had volunteered for it, but this was the first time he had been called on to carry it out.

He got out of the van and began walking toward the house. A pit bull blocked the way, barking maniacally.

The night before, Robert Stokely had offered prayers for the safety of his son, Michael, and then stepped out onto the front porch. He gazed at the moon, as he often did, taking comfort in knowing that Michael, at war in Iraq, would see that same moon in just a few hours.

Stokely went back inside, drifted into his son's room and fell asleep there.

Hulsey took the call that same night: Spc. Michael Stokely had been killed in the town of Yusifiyah, southwest of Baghdad, by an IED.

It hurts me deeply to let myself think about that morning, much less talk about it. But I do so because I think we live in a world where war will never cease to be a part of our lives. Many are to face what our family faced that morning, and they too will begin a journey we have now been on for the last three years. Maybe, just maybe, our story is a flicker of light on that uncharted path others will one day tread. Maybe they will see our footsteps and, in them, hope to go on.

You know it's light that still shines, a story that's far from over.