Mom working to keep a promise for Latvians who stood by her son

As she does nearly every day, Mary Henry got up on Christmas morning and sat by her computer, waiting.

He's been gone since summer, so the house is a lot quieter this holiday season. She didn't really send him a traditional Christmas gift because every week she sends something he really needs. The last time it was a box that contained a coffee pot, some sugar and Reese's peanut butter cups.

"This is how I get through it," she said. "It feels like I'm relieving some of the grief of him being gone. You know, it's day to day. It never really leaves you, so you fake it."

Henry and her husband, Mark, spent the holidays in Crystal. She stayed close to her computer, hoping that, for a little while at least, they can be together as a family.

Henry's son, Eric Harder, lives in a concrete bunker at the dusty bottom of jagged mountains, surrounded by Taliban. Combat Outpost Keating, named after a dead soldier, is one of Afghanistan's most hostile places.

On Oct. 3, a ferocious battle left eight members of Eric's platoon dead. The base, occupied by B Troop, 3rd Squadron, 61st Cavalry Regiment, was surrounded Oct. 3 by hundreds of Taliban fighters armed with AK-47s and rocket-propelled grenades. The fighting went on for hours, and Harder, who took shrapnel to his leg, was awarded the Purple Heart.

When the shooting started, the Afghan National Army fled, more evidence that success in Afghanistan is distant, at best. But the Latvian soldiers, including Eric's buddy, Janis Lakis, stayed and fought.

"It didn't matter what flag they were wearing on their shoulder," Eric, 29, wrote to me earlier in the week from Afghanistan. "It was about making sure everyone made it out of there."

Back home, Henry waits, and worries. By Christmas afternoon, Eric hadn't called. Probably out on patrol or military business. "They have to keep their heads in the game all the time," Mary said. "I'm sure if he is watching the weather from where he is, it's killing him. He is a snowmobile fanatic and typically spends Christmas up north [where they have relatives] on his sled."

"Not really sure [what I'm doing] for Christmas; missions come first," Eric said in my e-mail. "But if we don't have any, it will be a day just to relax."

And think of their buddies who won't be there. "It's never easy to lose anyone, but we just keep moving forward," he wrote. "What those men did that day will never be forgotten. They hold a special place in all our hearts."

When Eric left for boot camp, the Henrys got custody of his frisky Siberian husky, Grizzley, whose very presence is a constant reminder of Eric's absence. Henry can't help but think of the times when Eric came home for visits. She holds it together most of the time, but "the reunion between the two of them and their good-byes drives me to tears every single time," she said.

Over the past months, Henry has sent the unit hundreds of battery packages and cans of baby wipes, which help when there's no running water, dozens of DVDs and, always, food.

But now there's one more thing she's promised to help the 61st Calvary do: They are scheduled to end their deployment in June. It's traditional to hold a ceremonial ball at camp back in the United States. The soldiers want to bring the Latvian soldiers back for it to celebrate making it out alive. She knows she's competing with a lot of important needs right now, but Henry, backed by military officials, is trying to raise money for plane fare for a few of those who stood by the Americans.

"We work together every day," Eric wrote. "This would just be a chance for us to show our appreciation for what they sacrifice as well."