in uniform

08Nov09

I see them everywhere now, in their dress uniforms or in camoflauge. I see them in civilian clothing, feeding from the little cues that show they’re just a bit different. The haircut, the posture, the stance.

It doesn’t matter what branch: Marines, Army, Navy, or Air Force. I see them out and about, with family or alone, and I want to run up and hug them. Hold their hand, tell them thank you.

Leaving the airport last month, I saw the giant yellow ribbon posted at the exit with the words “Welcome Home” written prominently. The airport I flew out of is one that’s welcomed hundreds of soldiers back to the area. Last winter it’s where we welcomed Laura home, holding signs; remembering it brought tears to my eyes.

It’s gotten worse since Laura’s been gone. I see servicemen and women everywhere, but I’ve become more bold. I approach them now, thank them, tell them I appreciate that they’re looking out for me. I never make it personal, I don’t tell them how I hope that strangers are telling my sister the same. I shake their hands.

Mostly they seem surprised, as though their life – their sacrifice - is a given. And I know that, for each of them, it generally is. It’s a calling, I think, a higher purpose. Having watched my little sister grow up through her experience, I can’t think it’s anything but a calling. It is long hours and hard work and lonely months away, all for a purpose that is as noble and good as it is indistinct. Their cause cannot be seen or touched, only felt. It’s a calling.

So I shake their hands. I pray. I smile and thank them and hope that maybe, somewhere, my words return to them when the moments get hard. I hope that where she is, Laura has a store of these same words to buoy her when it’s hard. So thanks, Laura, for keeping us all safe. Thanks for your committment and your strength and for being my sister. Love you.

Filed under: family, military   |  1 Comment
Tags: military family, U.S. military