"Mama," he said, "pray with me."

Zeada Gadsden closed her eyes and held her son's hand, the same way she had done every night she visited the wounded Marine at James A. Haley Veterans' Hospital in Tampa, Fla., and during the weeks he spent at Bethesda Medical Center in Maryland.

In the past two months, Jonathan had made considerable progress in recovering from the severe wound he suffered when his Humvee ran over a landmine in Iraq. He used a walker to get around, went to movies and football games and was eager to return home to Berkeley County.

But on this night, Oct. 18, something wasn't right. Jonathan again was unable to walk and his mother had to feed him. He also seemed confused, something Gadsden had noticed the day before when she took him out for chili dogs.

"I went back to the hotel and I began to worry," she said. "I couldn't sleep. I kept walking and praying."

She drove back to the hospital the next morning and waited in the parking lot until visiting hours began. Gadsden hurried up to his room but he wasn't there. Instead she was met by a doctor with devastating news about her son.

Jonathan's breathing had stopped. So had his heart.

'HE JUST LOVED EVERYONE'

Across the nation, today's observance of Veterans Day has a deeper meaning for families such as the Gadsdens that hasn't been felt since the Vietnam War.

Nearly 1,150 service members have died as a result of the war in Iraq, including 22 South Carolinians. Another 8,500 have been wounded.

Elsewhere in the war on terror, the toll is nearly 150 dead and more than 400 wounded. The fighting has been felt by the nation's citizen-soldiers, with more than 170,000 National Guard and Reserve personnel on active duty.

None of that was a factor back when Jonathan came home from Timberland High School one day in 2002 and announced his post-graduation decision: the senior planned to enlist in the Marines.

"I said if that's what he wanted to do, Iwould support him 100 percent," Gadsden said.

Serving his country seemed a natural fit for Jonathan, who was quiet, obedient and didn't argue. "If the dishes hadn't been done, and it was someone else's turn to do them, he would volunteer," Gadsden said.

His father died in a car accident when Jonathan was a year old, leaving Gadsden to raise seven children. Jonathan wanted to play football for Timberland, but knowing his mother needed help, he worked throughout high school.

Living under Gadsden's roof had prepared him for the discipline required in the Marines. The family attended church every Sunday and the children were required to read Scripture each night. They wore only clothing Gadsden approved. They attended regular family meetings where Gadsden handed out firm but fair discipline. "I wasn't going to have them hanging out and getting into trouble," she said.

Jonathan was close to his siblings, especially his brother Sedgrick, 19, with whom he shared a room while growing up. "He loved his little nieces and nephews," said his older sister, Wilona Matthews. "He just loved everyone."

'HE ENJOYED BEING A MARINE'

Jonathan left for Parris Island in July 2002 and later was stationed in North Carolina. He became a lance corporal and was a combat engineer. In early 2003, he told his mother he hoped to be stationed in Japan, but then came a new assignment: Kuwait.

"This is a praying family," Matthews said. "We put him in God's hands."

Jonathan kept in contact with his family via telephone, letters and e-mail. Letters from home helped pull him through while in Iraq, Matthews said.

"He was always talking about his mother and his family," said Lance Cpl. Brian Carroll, who worked closely with Jonathan during his last month in Iraq with the 1st Combat Engineer Battalion, 1st Marine Division and Expeditionary Force. "He's one of the few people I've ever met who never used a curse word."

When he returned, Jonathan spoke to students at Macedonia Middle School about his experience in Iraq, showing them his first brush with death: his helmet that was grazed by a bullet.

On Valentine's Day, he would answer his nation's call again. He phoned his mother from Camp Pendleton, Calif., to tell her he was returning to Iraq. "He enjoyed being a Marine," Gadsden said.

In a letter home in May, he told his mother that a few fellow Marines had been injured but that no one had been killed. Gadsden became concerned for the first time when he contacted her from Fallujah. He described how dangerous the situation had become. "Mama," he told her, "these folks just don't want us here."

He called home Aug. 19 in good spirits, she said. He was scheduled to come home in September.

Two days later, Gadsden returned from errands and saw an unfamiliar vehicle parked outside her house. One of Jonathan's brothers was inside the house, along with three Marines.

"Everything ran through my mind when I saw them here," Gadsden said. One of the Marines gave her the news: Jonathan's Humvee had run over a landmine in Anbar Province. The explosion flipped the Humvee and punched a hole in its belly, killing a couple of Marines. Jonathan was rescued but suffered severe head trauma, a fracture in his neck and several broken bones in his back.

Gadsden ran into her bedroom without saying a word. "I just started making the bed," she said. "I didn't know what to do. I didn't cry right away. I just got numb."

'A STAB TO THE HEART'

Jonathan was brought to National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda, Md., and embarked on a remarkable recovery. He soon was joking with family members and his spirits were high despite the removal of his spleen, titanium plates in his head and a right leg that wouldn't move.

Jonathan was awarded a Purple Heart on Sept. 14. Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld visited the family at the hospital. In his hospital bed, Jonathan celebrated his 21st birthday Sept. 16 with his family. His Marine buddies took him in a wheelchair to see his favorite football team, the Dallas Cowboys, play the Washington Redskins.

Although the rest of the family had to return to South Carolina, Gadsden remained behind with her son. Jonathan received a back brace and began using a walker when the feeling returned to his right leg. When he improved, Jonathan was transferred to the hospital in Tampa. Gadsden followed him there. Marines who served with Jonathan, including Carroll, visited their friend frequently in the hospital.

On Oct. 17, Gadsden took Jonathan out for chili dogs. He asked to see the hotel where she was staying and then they went to Wal-Mart to buy Jonathan a few things. The next day she fed her son and prayed with him for what would be the last time.

When Gadsden arrived at the hospital Oct. 19, Jonathan had been placed on life support but it was too late. Faced with a grim decision, Gadsden waited for Jonathan's siblings to arrive in Tampa, all except for Sedgrick, who remained at school in Orangeburg and refused to watch his brother die. On Oct. 22, with his brothers, sisters and fellow Marines watching, Gadsden allowed the doctors to unhook the life support. One more Marine joined his fallen comrades.

"I don't know how a stab to the heart or a bullet to the head feels," Gadsden said, "but I can imagine it now."

'COMES BACK TO JONATHAN'

There still are no answers to why Jonathan suddenly took a turn for the worse and died. "To see him just fine one day and then on life support the next, it was one of the hardest things I've ever experienced," Carroll said.

Gadsden has her son's Purple Heart and all his medals, letters and pictures stored at her Jamestown home. Her children either call or visit every day to check on her. She tries to keep herself occupied with chores, errands and other activities, never staying in one place for too long. When she does, it only brings back memories. She doesn't sleep well.