Ethereal Trades

The ceremony at the Municipal Auditorium was packed with the entire Battalion, their families and friends, and local dignitaries. The Fire Department had a huge American Flag draped from an extended ladder off one of the larger trucks. Everyone in attendance was in patriotic colors, wearing flags with yellow ribbons and carrying signs wishing all well. Another large flag was draped on the stage, and when it came time for our boys to raise their hands and swear the oath of active duty they snapped to attention and clearly stated in a single voice that they would defend democracy to the best of their abilities. News trucks and cameras were everywhere recording every detail of the News, but this isn't News.

We continued the ceremony as everyone gathered at the Hirsch Memorial Coliseum, food being served, families meeting families and building future support groups to aid in coping with the distance, loneliness, and worry, neither of which we can control or predict. Even in all the activity and crowds there remained a knot in the throat of the entire affair. This still isn't news. And our grief is our own, not a sound byte or camera fodder.

If democracy is worth fighting for then those of us that stay behind are paying a price too. If love is worth fighting for we are torn between family and country. Our fear of the unknown, vying for our energy and vitality for life, becomes the rock we break ourselves against. Whatever the madness that conspires to rob us of our serenity and way of life, conspires to rob us also of those we've bore and loved. We pay a heavy price to bring sanity to the world, and we do it with pride while some of our men and women pay the greatest price of all, and lay down their lives in the constant battle that is life amongst turmoil.

Our last less public moments were better spent with Charlie Company on Sunday evening at a crawfish cookout where we could relax and talk with the men that would have my sons' back and he theirs. We talked to the Officers and NCO's that would be watching over our men, each personally assuring us of the care they would bestow on every single soldier in their command. I looked deeply into all the eyes that would meet mine. I looked to measure the character and resolve, looking for assurances that I'd only get from a merciful God, and in that He would hold them all to His plan.

Now it will be letters and calls, all too infrequent, and sleepless nights, but dreaming of their safe return. We pray for all those in the 1st / 156th Armor Battalion and their families as we do our own. I hope we can come to depend on each other the way our men and women will learn to do in the field, and that when any of us receives good or bad news, that we would be allowed to rejoice or grieve in private.