It is Sunday of Veteran’s Day weekend and I’m sad-despondent-a little angry-whatever the magic word is for the three day weekend coming to an end.
I understand that I should be grateful about having a job, being able to earn money, have insurance, all that stuff. That’s not what I’m talking about. Anyone working would probably be having the same thoughts to some degree. The weekend, a calm, soothing, rainy weekend in Phoenix (sunny warm day in London or Seattle) with some soft music playing and two dogs laying their heads on your feet, kind of gives you a good feeling that you don’t want to go away. But there was something else.
Last year, our son, brother to my daughters, newly married husband to our daughter-in-law was not here. He was about one third of his way through his second tour of the Sand Box. This time, he was an advisor in Iraq’s beautiful city of Basrah. There was a lump in our lives that was missing.
This Veteran’s Day, he was home.
And we all danced.
There is a guilt feeling to not be happy, to not express happiness when so many families have lost so much or have people away. I had to think about this letter before I posted it. The answer was clear.
That’s why they went, so we could-dance. Americans are happy, caring, loving, sacrificial people who will give up their lives so some people can experience what we have. That-is called love by the way. So, it would be wrong to do anything else, to honor those veterans, living or dead, with anything other than a good time feeling, a party, a celebration, a quiet morning with a good cup of coffee and two dogs asleep on your feet as long as in the back of our consciousness, we know who wrote the check. My son and those like him purchased this day for us. It’s not about politics or 20% off at Kohls, at least not with these people.
So from now until the day we leave this planet, when we find one of these guys, thank them for the day, whether it’s a good day or not, it’s our day to make what we want with it.
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