Nothing else seems important to me at all. Gas prices? There's a war going on buddy. Food prices? America's young treasure is in harm's way tonight, I've lost my appetite anyway. Presidential election? Fuck it; none of them plan on bringing the troops home on MY timetable (ALL HOME IMMEDIATELY) so why get excited?
I've had two nephews go and return. Each time I see them they want to hide from me because I make such a big deal about how happy I am that they're home safe and sound. A couple of beers magnifies that emotion tenfold.
Now, two of my best lifelong friends' sons are going. I went to their going away parties two weeks apart. Nothing seems right at all. How can I laugh at a sitcom with this shit going on? How can I enjoy a basketball playoff game? How can I look around my beautiful mountain community and not feel a sense of loss over the 4000+ families whose lives have been changed forever and not for the better? Go out for a beer? Fish for that trophy Rainbow I know is out there, just waiting for my lure to troll by? How could I be so callous?
My community lost one of our finest,
1st Lt. Jared Landaker last year. He was flying wounded Marines in an CH-46 and was shot down. Recently, a highway in our community was named after him. I see his parents and family members around town sometimes. I've given up telling them how sorry I am for their loss. I'm sure they're reminded of it every single day when well-meaning people from our community voice their own feelings at the loss we've all shared.
We've saddled ourselves with three presidential candidates, none of whom promises to begin the shameful exodus on Inauguration Day. How does that make you feel? It makes me feel anxious, nervous, and sad.
I just want this unjust war to be over. I want to see monies that would have been sent to support it be used to build hospitals, bridges, schools, affordable housing, green power sources, and public transportation. I want this war to be over.
As a kid, I remember Friday news broadcasts that showed silhouettes of soldiers. Ours, and theirs. Next to the silhouette was a number; Ours killed this week, and theirs killed this week. I remember wondering if one of the numbers was one of my two uncles, and we just hadn't received the bad news yet. I remember the way my family rejoiced when, one at a time, they came home safe and sound. I've been lucky. Thousands of others haven't. There's a certain amount of guilt I feel about that, even though I served in the military myself.
If there is a God, and I believe in my heart that there is, I pray to Him tonight and every night that tomorrow I should wake up and find out that the war ended overnight and our young treasure is coming home. And I'm not so naive as to believe that everyone comes back unharmed. My firm belief is that you cannot put ORDINARY people in EXTREME situations and expect them to go back to being ORDINARY when the whistle blows. I'm convinced that the government won't be there after they're discharged, so WE must be there. Everyday citizens. From Joe Six-pack to Peter Professor, we have to be there to help them forget the horrors they've seen and been ordered to participate in.
I want it to be over. It affects my life each and every day. Most times, I can't even have a discussion about it without getting misty. Having that "hitch" in my breath. Getting upset at people I love if they don't feel the same way.
I want it to be over. OVER. Are you with me?