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In Marine's Death, Clues to a Son's Life
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"He's Recon," Gilda said.
"Recon. They're crazy, ma'am."
She asked what he meant.
"They have no fear," he said.
Gilda and Fulvio also met Frank Delgado, the tall Recon Marine who two years later would go with Gilda to Alex's grave. Three metal rings surrounded Delgado's lower left leg, and rods descended into his bones. He told the Carbonaros that he had just seen Alex. He was okay, and Delgado told them how lucky he was: Alex soon would be fighting alongside his buddies, not laid up worrying about them.
Gilda began visiting the hospital weekly. She also learned of Marines in boot camp who didn't get mail. She wrote them, trying to lift their spirits.
She sent Alex cookies, cakes, books, articles. She tried to engage him in campaign discussions.
"Enough of the politics," Alex e-mailed her from Iraq.
A month later, a red bouquet arrived for Gilda. "Happy Birthday," the card read. "Just know that I am doing OK. I love you. Alex."
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May 28, 2005, was his wedding day.
At 11:30 a.m. he walked downstairs in his dress-blue uniform, a row of five medals, including a purple heart, hanging on his chest.
"Wait a minute," Gilda said. "The wedding is at 3, Alex."
