The Wars Continue
Several years ago I noted on this blog that the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan had become personal for me. At the time I knew at least three people that were either in country or about to go in country. The three I knew are not in country, but at least one of them is about to ship out this summer. Now, with the wars removed from day to day reading and media buzz I stay in contact with it weekly through a website that continues to keep track of casualties and deaths of American military personnel. On Wednesday I witnessed something that I had not seen during these wars.
We were waiting for a plane at DFW. People in bright yellow vests began gathering at the gate. Then they invited a young Airman who was waiting for the plane with us to join them. I glanced out to the tarmac. A luggage transport had been converted into an American chariot for a fallen Marine. Lisa and I watched as a Marine in full dress blues joined the people in bright vests and this Airman. They went onto the tarmac and stood around the luggage belt as the remains of a Specialists were loaded onto the airplane. Salutes and hands over hearts. Those awake to the world beyond their person watched with us from the gate area. We all stood in silence. Just beyond our gate the bustle of travel went about the routine of getting from here to there. The Airman returned to the gate area and went to a place by himself to text someone. This guy looked to be no more than twenty-five. I had to go and shake his hand, “Thank you for your service. Welcome home.” Walking away I could feel my anger in my flush face and a bit of a tear sneaking into the corner of my left eye. Every member of Congress and our President should have to have a family member in harms way when our nation makes war.
Before we pushed back from the gate the first officer announced two special guests on board the flight. He gave the name of the Specialists who had been killed and the name of the Marine escorting him home. When we arrived in Tulsa the plane pulled to the gate and the Marine deplaned quickly. A police escort was on the tarmac waiting for the plane. No one moved from their seats. It was quiet except for the one guy listening to his mp3 player loud enough to be heard for rows around him. In the distance an honor guard began the orderly march to the plane. The pilot didn’t ask people to remain seated or even quiet. Everyone did and watched, as they could, out the windows of the plane as the remains of this fallen solder, this person were unloaded and marched to the waiting transport. This Specialists who had been killed in Afghanistan was almost home to his family. I thought about Boone, Orey, and Craig who remain unharmed, physically, from the war. Who knows what Craig and Orey see in their dreams. Who knows what Boone will see when he goes in country this summer.
Iraq, 4394. Afghanistan, 1052. The casualty numbers look different today.