May. 26, 2003 ~ Memorial Day
I thought things were pretty much under control, in terms of my emotions. I was wrong. Or maybe this is just a bad day, or I'm hormonally challenged. Could be yesterday's trouble with Misha (more on that another time). I had hoped to go to our small town's Memorial Day ceremony this morning, which was to start at 9:00 AM on the courthouse lawn. But silly me, I absent-mindedly turned on the TV, and listened to Good Morning America while taking care of morning chores. There was a time, not long ago, when I had to give up watching that show, because it always made me cry. Interviews with soldiers' wives and parents, interviews with the soldiers reading letters aloud, and the inevitable casualty reports... it was more than I could handle. But it's been okay, lately, now that the war in Iraq has died down.
This morning there was a bittersweet report of Marines returning home to North Carolina. Sweet, because loved ones would be reunited. Bitter, because just this weekend, one of the men aboard that ship fell overboard and was drowned at sea. Another one is missing. They're searching the ship, and I hope they find him, safe and sound. But at this point it doesn't look good. How sad, to go through so much, to be so close to home, and... Well, it got to me, thinking of the families of those missing men, who had been happy and excited just days ago, thinking that the worst was over, not knowing that the worst was yet to come.
And then there were interviews with the families of fallen soldiers. One whose son had died in the first Gulf War, one whose husband had died last year in Afghanistan, and one whose husband was killed just last month in Iraq. They all cried. I cried, too. Big tears. Husband walked into the room and asked what they were talking about on TV. "Soldiers," I finally whispered. It was difficult to speak.
At this point I knew that I couldn't go to that ceremony on the courthouse lawn, could not stand there in public and listen while they played Taps... not and keep it together. Maybe next year it will be easier, but not now. At the end of the GMA show, they listed the names of all the soldiers who had died in the recent war in Iraq, and there were pictures of some of the fallen heroes. One of those young men had the same last name as my cousin, who is currently in Iraq, who has faced bullets and snipers and has seen others fall. How fortunate we are that our boys are safe; how sad for that other family, the one with the same last name, whose child is gone. I see the pictures of those handsome young men, smiling or serious, with childen or wives, with sisters and families or brothers in arms, and am struck by the finality. No more smiles for them, no more arms to hold them, no more daddies to tuck little ones in at night.
Husband saw my tears as I stood and washed dishes, blurry-eyed, barely seeing what I was doing. He held me while the tears flowed, not even having to ask what was wrong, and told me... "He'll be home soon. He will. It's okay."
I don't need a ceremony, or to see an American flag, to remember the significance of this day. There's no way I could forget.
To those who have lost loved ones fighting in service to our country... thank you for the sacrifices you have made. And to those who have been lost,
I remember you. And thank you.
And cry.
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