Issue link: https://imageup.uberflip.com/i/1544732
32 | OHCC LIVING | MAY 2026 | Village Vets It was the phone call she'd spent years convincing herself she'd never have to receive. But the moment Lynne Fuller heard her daughter Erin's at voice say, "Mom, I'm coming to see you right now," she knew. "Nick's dead, isn't he?" Lynne asked — to silence. Lynne sat frozen in her kitchen. How could this be? Her only son was an Air Force pararescueman. He didn't take lives — he saved them. He dropped from the sky into chaos and brought people home. Lynne thought back to Nick's recent visit to comfort her through her cancer diagnosis. He'd suddenly said, "Mom, if anything happens to me, I want to be buried in Arlington Cemetery." She'd laughed. "Oh Nick, whatever you're thinking of doing, don't do it." But Nick had insisted, "Promise me, Mom." Now Erin and Lynne were being told to "Get on a plane we're sending you." Who's sending? What happened to my son? Still in the dark, she was led onto a tarmac at Dover Air Force Base. Strangers in plain clothes were carrying a ag-draped casket toward her. Only then did she learn the truth. Six years earlier, the CIA had recruited Nick. e same extraordinary skills that had earned him an Air Force Bronze Star had put him on the front lines of top-secret war missions. In Afghanistan, leading a 67- man ground force, his unit was ambushed. He could have made it out. Instead, he charged back into heavy re to save a CIA ocer. at man lived. Nick did not. Lynne became a "Gold Star Mother" — the honor bestowed when a child dies in military action. e agony could have consumed her. Some days, it nearly did. But she made a choice. With two granddaughters watching, two little girls now growing up without their father, she chose to stand. She turned her OHCC home into a living tribute. Medals and memories of Nick ll nearly every room. She supports the OHCC Village Veterans. She consoles families who bear the weight of indescribable loss. She wears her Gold Star Mother title not as a symbol of tragedy, but of responsibility — to remember, to represent, to live in a way worthy of profound sacrice. e grief could have ended her. Instead, she chose courage that denes her. Her son rests in Arlington, exactly where she promised he'd be. Her cancer lies in remission; through a strength she believes is still his. Written by Christi O'Connor, Village Vets