Not a war story; just a mother's story

The Goddesses of Sen. Mike Crapo’s Staff

By Jill Kuraitis, 10-24-07

For a few short hours yesterday, I didn’t know if my son was dead or alive. It was a military incident, and a vague news report had enough hints in it that I could tell the tragedy had happened in place where my son easily could have been.

But I wasn’t thinking about hints or could-haves. I catastrophized myself into a barely-controlled state of wide-eyed terror. Breathing was something I had to remember to do.

After a useless computer search, I started calling the few military phone numbers I have. Nobody knew anything.

Then I thought of Sen. Mike Crapo. I don’t like his politics, and he wouldn’t like mine, but I like him – he’s my idea of a real gentleman. Back in the day when he was pro tem of the Idaho Senate, I was staff for the Senate Democrats, and often witnessed his kind nature.

Remembering that yesterday, I called a friend in Sen. Crapo’s office, who put me onto staffer Linda Norris. Linda switched into mother mode and knew I needed a mother’s response. “Here is what I will do,” she said, with firm conviction. She said that a call back was just minutes away from someone in Crapo’s North Idaho office; someone who really knew her military stuff.

The call came in less than five minutes. Linda put me on the line with their splendid constituent goddess Karen, who wasted no time and was absolutely comforting. She had me rattle off my son’s vitals and military ID stuff and promised to have an answer “very, very soon.”

Karen left me in no doubt that Someone Was Looking Into This. Someone with a sense of urgency. It was fantastic how those two blessed women knew that when a military mom calls in a panic, it is swift action which will help most.

Friend Kit came over, let me sob just a bit more, then kicked my ass into coping mode. She has that gift. Everybody needs a Kit – she’s that four-in-the-morning friend, the one who’ll drop everything and be there without question.  We busied ourselves cleaning up the kitchen, making coffee, and checking CNN every few nanoseconds. 

Amazingly, Karen called back in less than 40 minutes and wasted no time with trivia. I said hello and she said, “It’s not your son. He’s not listed.  I talked to someone who would absolutely know this.”

I froze a moment, determined not to collapse. I had no words with which to thank her, only just those, thank you, which I repeated until I was babbling.  Karen stayed on the line with me, waiting for me to feel it was time to hang up. Her competence and compassion and skill is something I’ll never forget.

In an election year, it’s often overlooked that winning political campaigns turn into government offices which serve the people. A lot of what a senators field staff does resembles my story, although most are not so easy. They may try to help a farmer whose crop has failed, or track down a scholarship for a deserving kid, or help a widow collect her social security or pension.  All Congressbeings have staff who do nothing but constituent service, and they don’t ask if you voted for their boss.

The particular hell of thinking you may have lost your child can’t compare with the hell of the parents who have lost children to this unspeakable war, and I do not mean to imply that. Nor do I mean to start a debate about who-stands-where on the war.

This is just a mother’s story.  I’d like to leave it there, with thanks to Karen, Linda, Lindsay and Senator Crapo.

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