During a break from a grad class years ago, I walked into the bathroom to find a classmate in a black suit crying over the sink. The black suit didn't necessarily mean anything, most of us came from work. It was the tears. I asked her what was wrong, could I help? She confided in me that her cousin had been killed in service and she had come from calling hours. Her cousin, it turned out, was a Marine. At this time my cousin was serving in Afghanistan, a Marine as well. Suddenly, that seemed very real. Her cousin's funeral, along with many others from his unit, would be picketed by anti-war protesters. I don't always agree with politics, or policies, or wars, but I always support our military men and women, who allow us to continue to benefit from the freedoms we take for granted, like freedom of speech. Somehow, I can't help but think there is a special place in hell for those who protest a funeral. Even though they have freedom of speech, there is such a thing as decency, respect, and empathy.
Years later, I was on a flight to Atlanta for work. When we landed, the pilot announced there would be a slight delay as the plane had carried home a fallen soldier, and he would depart the flight first. There was complete silence. I looked out my window and I watched the coffin being removed and I felt my heart grow heavy. Then I saw, who I can only assume was his wife and parents waiting. I saw the woman, who I assume was his mother, fall to the ground as the man next to her (his father?) held on to her. The tears streamed down my face just like they are as I type this. The Atlanta heat didn't seem too bad that day.
A few months later, I was traveling to DC and there was an Army man behind me (he was young and hot, I noticed, don't judge). When we landed, the pilot made an announcement and the young man seemed very embarrassed. He was on his way out for his first deployment. However, everyone around him had words of encouragement and thanks. People gave him magazines to read, offered him prayers, words of encouragement, thank yous. I saw two people give him money, which he tried to refuse and they insisted he use it for his lunch or a cup of coffee at the airport. I was proud of those around me, I had an increased hope for humanity. I hope he made it home safely.
I have worked part time at a well known mall store that specializes in personalization for a few years. I started when my husband went to nursing school as a way to add to our income after the loss of his. Years later, I am still there, I want to be. People always think of it as the wedding store, or the baptism store. What people don't realize is it's very much a death store. People suffer a loss, and they come in and tell you a story. Last year, a couple came in to get a flag box engraved. Their son, a Marine, had died in service. They didn't know he wanted the Marine sword until his girlfriend made mention of it post death. Apparently, these swords are special order and take months to make. The company who does them is owned by a former Marine. When the owner found out the circumstances of this order, his staff worked overtime for days so this fallen soldier could be buried with his Marine sword. As I was listening to this story, it occurred to me, that this show of gratitude, of thanks, was making this soldiers' parents smile as they prepared to bury their son... and people say mall jobs are not important...
I had a great holiday weekend, and I was happy for the warm weather and time with my family. I never lost sight of why we celebrate this holiday, what it means. I thought of my friends who have deployed husbands, of my family members, who gave their lives in past wars, who served and came home. I thought of that woman's cousin, of the soldier brought home to Atlanta, of the soldier deploying, of the couple who buried their son. My son asked me this morning what holiday today was. I told him, it's the holiday of heroes, the holiday to celebrate those who have maintained our freedoms, kept us safe. It's the holiday to be thankful.
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