Homecoming

Tomorrow is a Sunday. Our son is set to arrive home from war tomorrow. Iraq is still a war zone, deadly, dangerous-dark. He went there-twice. Tomorrow, he gets off a plane and the first human he is going to be allowed to touch is his wife, Tara.

I will hurt anyone that gets in the way of that moment. Only those two know the true cost of their separation after only a month of marriage. They spent their first anniversary on almost the exact opposite sides of the world. If you went any farther, in any direction, you started to head back home.

The world is filled with drum beats and chest beating when it comes to justice around the world. Men-and now, unfortunately, women too, experience this. I say unfortunately only because the contamination of war now touches both sexes when it comes to the fight, at least for Americans. We need to beat our chest and sing the songs because on game day, we need to shelter our fear and put on our game face. It's the game face that sees us through the times when fear is right there, just below the surface. The idea of old men and women in nice suits sending the best and brightest in to the throats of the Dragon doesn't calm the nerves.

But many times, we need to step out and into the wake of war. That is just Man being, well, man. But no one knows the value of peace, like those that stand or have stood the watch while we sleep-no one.

Sgt. Williams voluntarily escorted his virgin team into the throat of the Dragon and brought them home again-to their children and families. He will say goodbye to them today or tomorrow and probably never see them again.

They're alive. That's his gift to them, and he being alive is their gift to him--and Tara--and us.

The drum beats on.

It always will. That is Man being man. Until God comes to us and qiets, with the palm of His hand resting on the drum head, we will forever send our children into harm's way. People around the world, who have never been free, thirst for what we have. My little boy was willing to risk it all to make sure his team got there and back to accomplish this goal.

Not bad.

When he is old and grey, his grandchildren on his lap and they talk to him about whatever young grand kids talk about, he will look into their eyes and smile, stroke their face with the back of his wrinkled hand. It is this moment, this time, he bought for them and millions of others. Only he and his love know this price. Funny thing, it is men and women like this who, in their ancient years, would, without hesitation, do it again.

Oh, what a place we live.