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In the Line of Fire: How My Best Friend’s Death Taught Me to Live
Facing survivor’s guilt, finding redemption, and learning to embrace life after the ultimate sacrifice
Kyle was supposed to be the writer, not me.
My mom often referred to Kyle as her “third son” when introducing him to family friends because he would visit my parents even when I wasn’t home. The minute he walked in the door to my childhood home, he would drop his pants and moon my mother. My mom would burst into laughter while my dad just shook his head, partly because he could never predict when Kyle would show up and drop trou, revealing his bare ass with a small tattoo on it. The man had his own key to my parents’ home, after all.
The last time my parents saw Kyle was shortly before he deployed to Afghanistan. He had just completed a journalism stint in Panama covering the Miss Universe pageant and picked up a gift for my parents. Unwrapping the present, Kyle grinned ear-to-ear, awaiting my mom’s response until she frowned.
“What the hell is this, Kyle?”
“It’s a fresco painting of Panama! Put it somewhere where everyone can see!”
My mom chuckled, intending never to display the atrocity and quietly dump it in the trash; Kyle none the…
