Marine Mom Wanted to Die After 19-Year-Old Son, the Baby of the Family, Was Killed in Bloody Battle. She Lived for Him

The phrase “ultimate sacrifice” is often used to describe battlefield loss, but it never sat right with Marine mom Sharon McLeese. When she heard it at her son Justin’s boot camp graduation in January 2004, she immediately rejected it.

“Look at me,” she told him. “There will be no ‘ultimate sacrifice’ here. Don’t even talk ‘ultimate sacrifice’ to me.”

Six months later, Justin was in Iraq. By the fall, he was fighting in Operation Phantom Fury — the second battle of Fallujah — one of the deadliest chapters of the Iraq War. Across this extended fight, 107 U.S. service members lost their lives, alongside thousands of civilians and insurgents.

Justin was among them.

“It wasn’t my choice,” Sharon says of Justin’s decision to join the Marines. “Never in a million years, not my boy. But when your kid joins, you’re along for the ride, no matter what comes.”

Justin, the youngest of four and the only boy, grew up on a bayou in Covington, Louisiana. He was a fearless, joyful kid, “like a little Huck Finn,” his mom recalls. He spent his childhood exploring cypress fields, racing around in boats, and sticking up for anyone who needed help. He was quick, athletic and compassionate — “an incredible kid from the minute he came into this world.”

But he was also part of the 9/11 generation. The terrorist attacks deeply shaped many young Americans, inspiring them to serve. By Justin’s senior year, a recruiter reached out — and he listened.

His mother, however, couldn’t bear the thought. “No Marine Corps for you,” she told him. “We are at war.”

Still, Justin came home one night, put his arm around her, and said quietly: “I’ve joined. I’m 18 and it’s an experience I want in my life.”
Then he added, “You worry too much.”

The decision reshaped the entire family’s life. In June 2004, at 19, Justin deployed to Anbar Province with the 3rd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment — the “Thundering Third” out of Camp Pendleton.

Sharon’s fears had already been heightened when four U.S. contractors were ambushed and killed on March 31, 2004, their bodies hung from a bridge in Fallujah — images that shocked the nation. Retired Col. Keil Gentry, a Fallujah veteran and director of the National Museum of the Marine Corps in Triangle, Va., recalls the moment: “Marine leaders advised restraint while the president and secretary of defense demanded swift retribution.”

The first battle of Fallujah began soon after.

Months later, Justin’s battalion prepared for the second assault — Operation Phantom Fury — beginning Nov. 7, 2004. The mission aimed to clear Fallujah of insurgents ahead of upcoming Iraqi elections. Even in a war zone, Justin’s spirit never dimmed.

In every photo, he’s at the center of the group. His sergeant nicknamed him “a happy warrior.”

Like many military families, Sharon became obsessed with finding information — watching news reports, scrolling through Marine parent message boards, reading anything his girlfriend sent from home. But on the evening of her daughter Gina’s birthday in mid-November, she forced herself to celebrate with her family in New Orleans.

Later that night, a knock came at the door.

Sharon looked out the window and saw the white Marine van every military parent fears. Three men stood outside: two Marines and a Navy chaplain.

“How bad is he hurt?” she called out — because she couldn’t imagine anything worse.

“We regret to inform you…”

Justin had been killed in action on Nov. 13, 2004.

Just like that, Sharon became a Gold Star mom.

Her youngest daughter, Jessica, overwhelmed with grief, threw porch chairs at the team, screaming at them to go away. Sharon thought losing Justin might kill her too. Just let me live long enough to take care of his funeral, she prayed.

But her daughters needed her. Her husband needed her. And she kept coming back to Justin — what would he want?

“Oh boy, Justin would’ve been furious if I took myself out,” she says. “So we hung in, and here I am, 20 years later.”

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Almost immediately, Sharon began creating a tomb in Justin’s honor in their hometown — what she jokingly calls her “crazy grieving mother tomb.” His images are etched into it, along with his story.

“He wasn’t just going to be a name and a date,” she says. “I wanted people to feel it and to know what was sacrificed.”

Justin received the Bronze Star with the “V” device for valor in ground combat — the fourth-highest decoration for heroism.

The community responded with overwhelming love: long funeral lines, “JM Forever” bumper stickers designed by his sister Gina, flags, tributes, and stories from strangers who still approach Sharon to share a moment when Justin helped them.

She finds strength in the Louisiana Marine Moms, Gold Star Mothers, the Marine Corps League, and the Marines who served with her son.

Now 21 years later, Sharon runs a thriving real estate business, cherishes her grandchildren, and laughs easily — sometimes through tears. The grief never left, but she learned to live alongside it.

“It was a struggle to get my joy back,” she says. “If I could’ve given him my years, I would’ve done it in a second. I even told God, ‘How about a two-for-one deal? Take my husband and me both, and let Justin be here.’ But it didn’t work.”

She attends every Memorial Day and veterans event she can. “If you’re not ready to stand up there, they won’t say their names,” she says. “And as long as I have breath in my body, I’ll be standing for my son.”

And she always speaks his full name:

Justin Daniel McLeese, USMC, 19, killed in enemy action in Fallujah, Iraq
Nov. 13, 2004