When
I was a young child, old enough to know that there were soldiers and wars and
such, I thought they were very brave people. Even though I didn’t know why
people would want to fight a war. I was a very girly girl, and didn’t
understand what there could possibly be to fight that hard for.
As
I entered my teen years, going into the military became something you did if
you weren’t going to college. Since I knew I was going to college one day, I
didn’t pay the military much attention. I knew we were supposed to respect
them, etc, but I didn’t really think about them much one way or another. The
only close relative I had involved in the military was a cousin, who was older
than I, and that was about all I knew about him at the time.
I
got older, went to college, and saw the ROTC men and women. I had respect for
them, mostly based on their discipline. I was so very undisciplined at that
age, and theirs was most impressive.
At
that time, I can remember Desert Storm. It was the first time I remember being
scared that war might come into my life. Before it was only stories and
memories from older uncles. It wasn’t our life. We lived in peaceful times (or
so I thought…so young…so naïve). This was the first time I thought of my
brothers, and my other relatives and friends. Of course, I keep showing my lack
of knowledge of military here, because I was later told there was no longer a
draft. I stopped worrying. War went back to the background of my life, with a
little more respect for those who actually volunteered.
Growing
up in a peaceful generation made the idea of wars and military seem a mere
precaution. They were there, just in case. In case of what, I could hardly
imagine. Who would have the nerve to mess with the United States?
Three
months after the birth of our second child, our first son, my thoughts on all
of the above were changed forever. I watched 9/11 unfold live on television
after I received a phone call from my dad, telling me to put the news on. (I
had blissfully been watching Nickelodeon with my 4 year old daughter, like we
did every morning.) I tuned in shortly after the first tower was hit, and
watched as the second one was. I thought it was some sort of huge prank. I
thought I had just entered the Twilight Zone. I thought it all had to be some
sort of nightmare. We all know it wasn’t.
To
watch events unfold afterward were more than amazing to me. Faith in humanity
was strengthened to a degree that hasn’t lost its luster yet with me. Watching
the military response put these people at the top of that list of humanity. I
watched as the ones already listed fulfilled their duties with a bravery I
could never hope to possess. I watched as many others volunteered to defend our
great country. I watched the numbers of dead soldiers rise every single day.
Crazy, mad respect doesn’t even cover how I felt. I said a prayer every day for
the fallen soldiers. Men and women I never knew, fought for me, for my family,
for my children.
How
do you possibly express thanks enough to these people? How do you tell them
that because of them, because of their willingness and sacrifice, you go to bed
at night feeling safer? I haven’t quite figured that out, but I silently have
the utmost, crazy, mad respect for every single one of them. I add the soldiers
of the past to the list too. All the stories from great uncles and other
families, suddenly become important and found a bigger place in my heart.
So,
this great, long weekend, and unofficial start to summer marks a time when we
can all take a moment to remember. Social media is over-flowing with memes,
posts, expressions of thanks (this blog included). It is one of the ways that
most of us choose to thank every single soldier past and present for what they
do. It makes us feel good to be able to express our thanks world-wide.
The
question that lingers in the back of my head is; do they know? Do they truly
understand how truly thankful we are? Are the families of fallen soldiers
comforted in the knowledge that they have my crazy, mad respect? The fact that
they live with loss every day, makes my thanks seem terribly, terribly small.
Do
the soldiers that come home with injuries both physical and mental feel like
the glorious beings we see them as? Because they are the true heroes of this
world. People who put themselves right into the thick of it, where man is most
hostile, and fight to defend a country of people that they don’t even know
(well, aside from their families and friends). The ones who make it home, but
can’t cope with what they’ve gone through, and decide they can’t make it here,
and take their own lives. Didn’t they know that they are heroes of the utmost
kind?
All
of these people, men, women; soldiers. They are heroes. They are our Avengers.
They are our protectors. Crazy, mad respect is only the tip of my feelings for
each and every one of them. I am sorry that it took a major attack on our
country for me to come to this understanding. (It may have come eventually with
age and maturity, but coming to this understanding sooner was better.) This
little blog is only a tiny way I could possibly begin to express how I feel for
them. Thank you is hardly enough, but believe me when I say, it is with my
whole being that I say it to you today.
T H A N K
Y O U
