You are not Bullet-proof I hate those days when I have to deal with a dead body before my first cup of coffee. It always seems to happen that way; I get up from a sound sleep and make the mistake of answering the phone before I have a few moments to compose myself. I hear a barrage of questions that make no sense at all and I hear the word fatality mixed into the diatribe. Let’s back up a minute! I am in a foreign country with a large crew of workers engaged in a very dangerous profession. Each day is a challenge and we are all aware of the risks associated with our jobs. We meet these challenges with training and experience and a bit of prayer, but mostly we meet these challenges with excitement, dedication, and professionalism. At the end of a day, there is satisfaction and sometimes, a bit of elation. The day to day stress is often relieved with a little too much drink. My boys play as hard as they work. They drive too fast and are quick to react on occasion when they should respond. Every single one of them can handle this. They are ten feet tall, bullet-proof, and will live forever. They know this and nothing will convince them otherwise. But sometimes, the bullet doesn’t bounce off of them and one of them dies. I see the grief bearing them down with a load nobody that will live forever should have to endure. I remind them that this isn’t about them; it is about the mother that no longer has a breathing son that grew inside her body. A man cannot know that kind of grief.