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The Goddess Speaks Debra Evans |
Troops heading for
Iraq deserve respectLike most people, I can't help but read and hear about Iraq. Even so, living on an island in the middle of the sea somehow separates us from the war in Iraq, inoculates us from the harsh realities of the world outside. It seems as though what we hear and read doesn't seem to directly affect us.
I've never been too interested in politics, much less war. I remember Vietnam, the Gulf War and our involvement with the Taliban in Afghanistan only through headlines spread across the daily newspapers. But this time it's different.
Perhaps because I'm older now or maybe because my sons are now young adults, but this time I've found myself drawn into the war in Iraq. I turn on the TV first thing in the morning, and in between making toast and packing sandwiches, I listen intently to the latest overnight developments in the war. And every time I hear of one of our own dying, whether it be by having their helicopter shot out from under them or by a suicide bomber, another fracture forms on this cracked heart of mine.
As a wife and a mother, I cannot begin to imagine the anxiety, stress and fear that the families of our soldiers go through daily. How nearly every waking moment must be peppered with thoughts of their loved ones. How they'd feel a certain kind of relief for just a few moments' reprieve when they see something funny and it makes them laugh. How do they do it? Where do they find the strength that keeps them going?
NOW WE HAVE news of a massive deployment from this state. Eight thousand men and women will, in just three to five months, find themselves in that desert we just catch glimpses of on the news. My heart sinks.
I TAKE SOLACE in my daily walks. One place I find refuge and a quiet place to walk is, believe it or not, Punchbowl, otherwise known as the National Memorial Cemetery of the Pacific. The tree-lined drives, the fragrant smell of freshly mowed grass, the quiet -- it's a haven from the rush of city traffic. I have come to know some of the workers there. Polite, friendly smiles and courteous nods greet me whenever I'm there.
Imagine my surprise to learn that all of the workers there are veterans of the Vietnam and Gulf wars. And then imagine how sick my heart felt when I learned that some of them are on the list for deployment to Iraq. These men, who I don't really know except for their smiles and friendly waves, will be sent to war in the next few months. Suddenly, this war has become somewhat personal. It now has a face. Smiling faces who never fail to greet me whether they are on one of those massive lawn mowers or weed-whacking a hundred yards away.
They tell me they are ready to go, it's what they've been training for, how so many of their buddies are already in the thick of battle, how they can't wait to get their chance to serve. The only time fear is mentioned is when they talk about the family and kids they'll leave behind; it's the only time I see any hint of worry or sadness line their strong, suntanned faces.
I look at them unable to say a word. I gulp down the lump rising up in my throat and will the tears welling up in my eyes not to fall. In the face of such bravery, I cannot allow such weakness to show. In this awkward moment, I can only want to be just as brave as them.
So I wonder how many others we come across in our daily lives -- the lady at the supermarket checkout line, the neighbor down the street, the man who jogs daily around the neighborhood -- how many of them are among the 8,000 soon to be sent to war? Take a good look around, you may know them, too. These soldiers are no longer just faces that pop up in the news. These are your neighbors, acquaintances and smiling faces that cross your path.
Such sacrifice and courage and selflessness are not to be taken lightly. They deserve not only our respect and honor, but more important, our prayers on Thanksgiving Day and beyond, for a safe return. Iraq is no longer in another universe. It is now too close to home.
Debra Evans is a self-employed crafter in Honolulu.
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