When Sharon McLeese sat through her son’s Marine Corps graduation in early 2004, she kept hearing the phrase “ultimate sacrifice.” It was meant to honor those who died in service – but to her, it sounded like a prophecy she refused to accept.
“Don’t even talk about the ultimate sacrifice,” she told her son, Justin McLeese, then 19. “That’s not going to happen.”
Months later, Justin was deployed to Iraq. By November, he was deep in Operation Phantom Fury, the second Battle of Fallujah – one of the bloodiest confrontations for American troops since Vietnam. That battle claimed 107 American lives, thousands of civilian casualties, and among them, Justin’s.
“That wasn’t my choice,” Sharon recalls quietly. “Never in a million years would I have picked that path for him. But when your child becomes a Marine, you’re along for the ride – whatever comes.”
A Son Who Grew Up with Bayou Freedom and a Fierce Sense of Right
The McLeese family never saw military service coming. Justin, the youngest after three sisters, grew up surrounded by the easy rhythms of southern Louisiana, “a little Huck Finn,” his mom says, taking his small boat down the Covington bayou, barefoot and sunburned, always defending the underdog.
“He was the kind of kid who’d stand up for someone being picked on,” Sharon says. “He had such a bright future — smart, fast, athletic, and always smiling.”
When the attacks of September 11, 2001 shook the nation, Justin was just a teenager, but the event stayed with him. Like many in what’s been called the 9/11 Generation of Marines, he felt a deep pull to serve.
By his senior year, a recruiter had reached out. Sharon protested – “No Marine Corps for you. We’re at war.” – but Justin’s mind was made up. Sitting beside her on the couch one night, he put his arm around her and said, “Ma, I’ve joined. I’m 18. It’s something I need to do.”
Then he smiled: “You worry too much.”
A Family’s Fear Turns to Reality
Justin trained at Camp Pendleton with the 3rd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment – known as the “Thundering Third.” By June 2004, he was deployed to Iraq’s Anbar Province, preparing for combat in Fallujah.
The McLeese family’s anxiety grew after a horrifying global headline: four U.S. contractors were ambushed and killed in March 2004, their bodies hung from a bridge in Fallujah.
“The images were barbaric,” recalls Col. Keil Gentry, now director of the National Museum of the Marine Corps. “Marine leadership wanted restraint, but Washington demanded retribution.”
In November 2004, Justin’s battalion entered Fallujah under Operation Phantom Fury. The goal: clear the city of insurgents ahead of Iraq’s elections. Amid chaos, Justin stayed upbeat.
“His sergeant called him a ‘happy warrior,’” Sharon says, smiling faintly. “He was always in the middle of every photo – grinning, dirty, surrounded by his brothers.”
The Knock Every Parent Dreads
That November, on her daughter Gina’s birthday, Sharon reluctantly agreed to go out for dinner. For months, she had lived on edge, glued to television reports and Marine message boards. That night, she let herself laugh.
“Justin’s gonna love this sports bar,” she told her daughters. “We’ll bring him here when he gets home.”
Hours later, she woke to a knock at the door. Peering through the window, she saw what every Marine parent fears – a white government van, two uniformed men, and a Navy chaplain.
“How bad is he hurt?” she asked before stepping outside.
They didn’t have to answer. Justin had been killed in action on November 13, 2004. He was 19.
Her youngest daughter, Jessica, reacted first — throwing porch chairs at the officers in disbelief. Sharon could only stand still. “I remember thinking, just let me live long enough to plan his funeral. After that, I’m done.”
Living with Loss, and Building a Legacy
Sharon didn’t end her life. She couldn’t. “I kept thinking, Justin would’ve been furious,” she says. “So we hung on – and here I am, 20 years later.”
She poured her grief into building a memorial for her son in Covington, what she calls her “crazy grieving mother tomb.” The monument features etched images of Justin’s life, from his childhood on the bayou to his days in uniform.
“He wasn’t just going to be a name and a date,” Sharon says. “I wanted people to feel it, to understand what was sacrificed.”
Justin was posthumously awarded the Bronze Star Medal with Valor, one of the military’s highest honors for heroism in ground combat.
The community rallied around his memory: long funeral lines, bumper stickers reading “JM Forever,” and even now, strangers who approach Sharon to share stories of kindness, a small favor he did, a smile they remember.
She found strength in the Louisiana Marine Moms, the Gold Star Mothers, and her extended Marine Corps family, fellow parents and veterans who understood every layer of her grief.
“Those people saved me,” she says. “They get it. We stand together.”
Two Decades Later, Standing for His Name
Today, Sharon, now in her seventies, runs a successful real estate business and spends her time surrounded by her daughters and four grandchildren. Her laughter still comes easily, though tears often follow close behind.
“It took years to get my joy back,” she says. “I even tried to bargain with God, offered to trade my life, or both mine and my husband’s, for Justin’s. But that’s not how it works.”
Every Memorial Day, she still stands tall, no matter how hard it gets. “If you’re not ready to stand up there, they won’t say their names,” she explains. “And as long as I have breath, I’ll be there for my son.”
Then, she says his name aloud, steady and proud:
Justin Daniel McLeese, U.S. Marine Corps. 19 years old. Killed in action, Fallujah, Iraq – November 13, 2004.
