Last night I was out with some of my church buddies when a woman came up to us and wished us a happy Veteran's Day. She assumed that the septuagenarian in our group had served (and she was right) and must have guessed by the haircut that I was in the military. She couldn't have been any more than five to seven years older than me. She was wearing one ID tag, more commonly known as a dog tag; a rounded rectangle imprinted with your name, social security number, blood type, and religious preference. It is standard issue for anyone in the military.
I asked her if she had someone in uniform and she said said, "Yes." I thanked her for her service just as I tell people who thank me to thank my wife instead because the families carry the greatest burden of all when soldiers go off to war. In reply she said, "I am a Gold Star Mother." And there it was on her lapel, the noticeable crest of the Gold Star Mothers. My stomach fell.Gold Star Mothers area a very unique and very exclusive group of remarkable women. The price of admission is more than any of them can bear because Gold Star Mothers have lost a child in war, and in some cases, more than one. When we talk about sacrifice and service to the nation, these women are our touchstone.
I was both honored and intimidated to be standing with this unassuming woman who told me in a calm and unfaltering voice that her son died last year in Afghanistan on his fifth tour; three in Iraq and two there. He was an EOD (Explosive Ordinance Disposal) technician and was killed by an IED near a school. She showed me his picture and went on about how many sons and daughters she has gained as a result of his death. She now visits wounded warriors and helps them transition from the horrors they have encountered. Her resiliency and dignity was remarkable but all I wanted to do was scream for her. Scream the agony that she has felt for almost a year.
I thanked her again - a futile and almost empty gesture on my part because there are no good words to address her loss. I drove home shaken by the encounter.
I am a Soldier as was my father and grandfathers before me. I have come to realize something as I watch programs from Iraq, or look at my pictures from two tours in Iraq; I love it. Not the country, the heat, the people - but being a Soldier and going into harm's way. If it were not for my family I would go back. Today. There is no easy way to describe this feeling and only those that have been there can understand it but I have never felt more alive, more in-the-moment than when I am out walking on some Iraqi street or sitting in the open bay door of a Blackhawk flying 800 feet above the ground moving at 110 mph exposed to all of the risk that those moments pose. I even get that feeling in an airborne operation in the seconds before I exit the door of the aircraft. At times I wish I were a younger man and could do it over again.
What the hell is that about?! I wish I knew. My taste for an adrenaline rush does not exist here in my comfortable life and I am quite content with being boring (no BASE jumping, bungee cord jumping, or alligator wrestling for me). And yet, as I said, if not for Lisa and the kids, I would trade in the comfort of cable and beer and a big warm bed to be out there in full "battle rattle," head on a swivel, ready to meet and engage the enemy.
Maybe it is not just the danger but the feeling of being a part of something bigger than your paycheck and more valuable than your worldly possessions. Maybe its putting twenty years of training and experience into real world application and applying it in a place where making a mistake has immediate and long term ramifications. Maybe it is the challenge of the art and science of war as a profession.
I. Just. Don't. Know.
To all my brothers and sisters out there past and present - be safe, God bless, and thank you all.
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