For all you Americans out there a holiday is coming up. What is it? Memorial Day. Yup, that's right! That day to remember the fallen heroes. The men and woman who died for our freedom. So, let me ask a question: Do you remember? Will you stop and think about this. I do. I will. Let me tell you something not many people know about me. What is it? I hate war.
Back when I lived in Germany, I lived on an Army base. All of my friends had a parent in the Army. In 2001 our lives changed. September 11 came and went. Tons of people died. Suddenly our world was plunged in war. My dad didn't get shipped to war right away, so my world wasn't to different. My little brother was born. My dad deployed to Kosovo. Chris and I were pulled out of public school to be home-schooled. I made friends with our new next door neighbour , Jasmine Flores.
My dad came back and got orders to deploy again. This time to Iraq. Suddenly everything that was said about Iraq, you know, all the men who died in the middle east came rushing to me. My parents didn't sit me down right away to talk about it. I worried. One day we did sit down. Mom and Dad explained to Chris and I that Iraq was very dangerous, and that men and women did die there. Mom told us something that has forever stuck out in my mind. She said "I'm not going to promise that your dad's going to come home. I don't know if he will, so I can't promise that. But he'll love you forever, and he'll die so you can be free." Some how that comforted me.
Dad left. Another neighbour moved in down stairs. New neighbour and kids were abused by New Neighbour's husband(sent home from Iraq early because of an injury). I remember him. It was like something in him was missing. Humanity had left him. He talked about war. About cleaning up after an attack. He showed photos of body parts ripped apart by force. Children too. He laughed about it, and said they were getting what they deserved. I wasn't allowed near him after that. But the damage was done, and I remember. "He was never like this before." His wife told Mom. He didn't get in any trouble. It was excused as Post Traumatic Stress. To this day it sickens me.
That deployment a child died in Dad's arms, and I heard him crying to my mom on the phone. The child was killed by a bomb planted by Iraqi men. The little girl's father was across the field, to afraid of being killed (by terrorists, my Americans) to come tell his baby goodbye. Dad came home. We got orders to move to Washington. Jasmine taught me how to do a cartwheel, and I taught her how to use a pogo stick.
We moved. Dad left again. This time I understood more. I knew he had one of the most dangerous jobs in Iraq. Looking for road side bombs. My best friend was spending the night one time, when my mom came in. She was crying. I started panicking, Mom never cried in front of us. My thoughts went to Dad in Iraq. Had something happened to him? I asked mom what was wrong. She asked me if I remember Mr. Omar, Jasmine's dad. I nodded, confused. Why did they have anything to do with this? Mom told me that Mr.Omar (Jasmine's dad) had died. To my everlasting shame I was relived. Nothing had happened to my dad. My dad was safe! Well, as safe as anyone looking and setting off bombs ever is. My dad came home, and left for Iraq again. I became an active member of theO.
Dad came home again, on July forth. I cried when I saw him. Dad couldn't watch the fireworks. They were to loud. To sudden. Dad couldn't drive us home that night. The shadows made him panic because he automatically thought they could be bombs. Christmas came, and we went shopping at the mall. There were to many people for my dad. Crowds make him nervous now. He can't scan people for weapons when there are to many people. He can't check for bombs.
While my dad's gone, I force myself to laugh instead of cry. When Dad calls home I can't express the joy at hearing his voice. When I see him, standing in battle rattle, after waiting a year or 15 months to see him again the relief that floods me. But after the relief there's the fear too. I know the honey moon won't last. We'll have to get to know each other again, and we'll all argue all the time.
This past new years Daddy and I figured something out. In the past 10 years my Dad has spend 5 years, and 3 months away from us. I didn't count in the month to the field here, the two weeks in Yakima there. No. I counted in schools(learning to blow crap up) and deployments(Blowing crap up). Something in my dad has also died. Some little bit of his sanity. Every Time he goes it gets worse. He has orders again. This time to Afghanistan. They were for this summer, but they got delayed until fall. They got delayed again and now he's supposed to go next summer. Or fall. I don't remember which.
I want you to remember. Not only the men and woman who died. But the children who's parent(s) died. The parents who's baby died. The brother and sister who's sibling died. The friend, the extended family, the neighbour. Remember the little bit of everyone who's seen war that dies. Remember the men and woman who didn't die, but spent every waking moment scared for their lives. Remember their loved ones, who spend their waking moments worried. Remember them all.
RIP all who gave their lives, their time, their humanity, their everything so I can be up at 2am writing this.
