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57 SERGEANT CHRISTOPHER WILLIAMS MY GREAT SADNESS I wake up to my usual routine of brushing my teeth and washing my face. I throw on my Marine uniform and head into work. Once at my desk, I check the time to make sure I call Trish, my wife, on her way to the office. I have two hours to spare before it’s time to make the much-awaited call, so I head to chow with a few of the guys. When I return, Sergeant Johnson is parked on the phone, so I walk over to the Imagery section. I call the 1-800 number, wait for the flat voice recording to begin , and, like I had done the other million times, I dial our home number in Virginia Beach, our home station. The phone rings and rings. Trish must be blasting music in the car on her way to work or has her phone on mute, as usual. I try a few more times. Another twenty minutes go by, and I call her desk only to hear her answering machine message. By this time my mind spins with “what if” worries. So I call Lisa, one of Trish’s friends at work. “No, I really haven’t heard from Trish all morning, which is really strange,” she says. A few weeks earlier, Trish had said she was having headaches and couldn’t keep anything down. I suggested she be checked out by the base doctor, but her stubbornness got the best of her. She put off making an appointment for a couple of weeks. Last night when we talked she had been on her way to the pharmacy to pick up the doctor’s prescription. “Get plenty of sleep,” I had said. “I’ll call you in the morning. I love you.” Since she hasn’t arrived at work, I call our house to see if she might pick up, but nothing. I dial my father. He had talked to Trish the evening before and knew the doctor had prescribed codeine to help her sleep. He figures that’s why she isn’t answering the phone. I feel sick. Something isn’t right. I call every number I can think of over and over. Still no answer. I walk over to my master sergeant’s desk and tell him what’s going on. I can’t think about working until I talk to my wife. I can feel a fog slipping up into my throat, and my sight blurs with tears. I 58 MY GREAT SADNESS phone my father again to ask if he can stop by the house to check on Trish. I tell him I’ll call him again in fifteen minutes. “Her car is still in the driveway, but I knocked on the door and no answer,” he reports. “Really, Chris, she’s probably taken the codeine and that’s why she’s still sleeping.” I want to believe him. Because my father does not have a key to the house, I call my mom’s cell. I wait on the phone 10,000 miles away while she makes her way to the house. Finally, my mother pulls up to the curb, only to realize she has forgotten the key. I want to punch a hole in the cement wall. I wait. I sit in a chair with my face buried in my hands, heart pounding. When I again dial my mother, she is walking up to the front door. “Hold on, I’m going in now,” she says. I clearly hear the chime of the house alarm. “Trish, Trish, are you up?” she calls. I can hear the stairs cracking as my mother takes each step. She opens the bedroom door. “Trish? Trish? It’s Arthier. Are you up?” Silence. “Is she there?” I say. “She’s here. Still in bed,” she says. “Trish, wake up. It’s Arthier, Trish,” she says. “Something’s wrong, something’s wrong,” she repeats. “I have to call your father.” With that she hangs up. I am crying. The hands wrapped around my throat close tighter and tighter. I don’t know what to do. I wait a few minutes then call my father. “What’s going on? What did Mom say?” “I don’t know. I’m on my way to the house now. Give me ten minutes,” he says. I ask over and over again, “What’s wrong with Trish? What’s going on?” He keeps telling...

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