Truthfully there are a long list of names this Memorial Day that I can recite. We miss them always. And 10 years and some odd months later, we still say our Jaime’s name every day.
My friend Texas North said of her people,
“It is a daily process not to mourn, but I am ever thankful for these men (and women) and the intensity with which they served, the courage with which they led, and the heart with which they loved. We miss you fiercely, friends.
“I hate war as only a soldier who has lived it can, only as one who has seen its brutality, its futility, its stupidity.”
— Dwight D. Eisenhower
I spent 14 years donning the uniform of an American soldier.
I have spent 11 years sending my husband off to war in the uniform of an American soldier.
I hate watching him pack his bags.
And when he stands framed in the wavy leaded glass of our front door, an olive drab duffel bag in each strong, tanned hand—well, my heart cracks a little under the weight of it. This is the image I carry with me, his broad back filling our doorway. Walking away.
And all the time wondering if he will walk through it again.
We have buried our friends. Some scattered across foreign sands, some casualties of war coming long after the battle is over.
My husband serves still, and I believe honorably so. But, oh, we are weary of waging war. And so I will spend all the years I have ahead waging peace so that no others will die….
With love, and a heavy, grateful heart on this Memorial Day.