Captain Ty Phipps of the 1st Marine Logistics Group Forward, presently based in Al Taqaddum, Iraq, can't say much.

That's because all communication from military personnel on active duty, especially in a war zone, must first be OK'd by command, which can be a long, tedious process.

But that's all right. The Mother's Day greeting he sent his mom, Kendra Parry of Charleston, used just a few words, but managed to say it all.

A Mother's Day message

“Happy Mother's Day,” read the message, which had been tagged crudely across the tail section of a burned-out shell of a bomber left littering the blowing sands of the Iraqi desert.

It was about 11 a.m., Sunday, while Kendra was at a Mother's Day breakfast hosted by the Oregon Coast Culinary Institute at Southwestern Oregon Community College, when her cell phone rang.

“We were with a group of friends and couldn't hear, so we went outside,” she said of the call she received from Ty.

“He can't answer a lot of questions - he just laughs - because he's this big, tough, Marine captain.

“But when he called me he wanted to make sure that I had gotten the Mother's Day card he sent me. ‘When you get home, take a look at your e-mail,' he said.”

The previous day Kendra had already received a lengthy phone call from her other son, Ty's older brother Corey Phipps. Then, when she and her husband, Cam Parry, returned home late that evening she found a vase of roses, sent by Ty, waiting outside her front door.

“I had to bawl for about a half an hour over that,” said Kendra. “I'm very lucky. I have two responsible men for sons. I'm very proud.”

As soon as the breakfast was over, the Parrys rushed home to open Ty's e-mail, finding his custom-made Mother's Day greeting from Iraq. It was a message of love, spanning the globe, from a son that always wanted to be a warrior.

Her little warrior

“This is all he's ever wanted to do since he was 4 years old,” said Kendra. “He was a little warrior and he was always all boy.

“When he was young if I wouldn't give him a toy gun, he'd make one. When he was 4 years old he saw the movie “Patton” - he was fascinated. By the time he was seven I'd read him the book twice.

“He wore his camos to kindergarten the first day - the second day another little boy wore his camos, too - years later they went to Annapolis (The U.S. Naval Academy) together.

“Some people are just born to be certain things in life.”

Kendra raised her boys in Forestville, Calif., and it was only after twice just falling short of receiving an appointment to the Naval Academy that Ty, frustrated but determined, joined the U.S. Marine Corps.

“He came home with a Marine sticker for my car,” said Kendra. “He said, ‘I'm going to get an appointment from the Secretary of the Navy,' and two years later, he did.”

A Mother's Day road trip

Ty graduated from the Naval Academy four years later, but not before he and four of his fellow midshipmen jammed themselves into one car for a drop-of-the-hat drive across America - from Annapolis, Md., to the West Coast - to deliver a pair of Mother's Day greetings.

“They had four days of leave,” said Kendra, recalling the 1996 incident. “One of the others had a mother in Lake Tahoe - anyway, he showed up on my doorstep and it was a very short visit - but he likes to surprise me on Mother's Day.”

This Mother's Day, after she read Ty's message, Kendra sat down and e-mailed a reply to her son on the other side of the world.

“... there are no words to describe how much it means to me that you are thinking of me in the midst of all that is going on in your life,” she wrote. “You have always managed to make me feel so special. I didn't think you could top the Mother's Day trip across the country, but flowers from Iraq?

“I love you too and would give anything to have you home with me. Keep cool and keep your head down. Love, Mom.”

Hoping for leave, sometime ...

Ty left for Iraq in January, and is scheduled to return following a deployment of “at least a year,” sometime early next year, according to his mother.

He has told her that he lives in a “can city,” referring to prefab housing units.

“He's an officer, so he gets to live in a can,” observed Kendra, dryly.

He hopes to be able to come home for leave after six or seven months, but is determined that others get the opportunity first.

“It's hard for him because the guys that are actually out there in the trenches - he wants them to have leave before he gets it,” said Kendra.

When he returns he has told his mother that he's had enough of the dry desert, and is ready for a little South Coast relaxation.

“He talked about golfing and fishing,” said Kendra of her last phone conversation with Ty. “He said that he would like to sit in our lounge chair in our back yard, looking at the South Slough, and have a beer.

“I said that we could arrange for that.

“And then he said he'd just like to sit in that lounge chair for a week.

“So I said that in that case we could arrange for a cooler of beer.

“I guess when it's always over 100 degrees, the thought of our cool water and a cold beer sounds pretty good.”

A support system

Kendra and Ty's girlfriend, Amy Pratt, worry about him and do their best to offer support to one another. But Kendra still worries about others with loved ones who are deployed who might not have any support available.

“Do I worry?” asked Kendra. “I'm a nut. Each morning I wonder, do I turn on the news, or not? I drive myself crazy.”

Kendra and Pratt talk about what they call “leaky faucet syndrome.”

“I will cry,” said Kendra. “And I don't think that either of us knew it was going to be this hard. You're like a leaky faucet, and you never know what day it will hit you.

“We don't want a war. We want it over. We want all of the kids to come home.

“But in the meantime I worry about those here in Coos County who do not have a support system,” she continued. “As crazy as I go, I know that it would be nice.”

Those interested in forming a support group can call Kendra at 888-5591.