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The Things That Carried Him

We often forget that war has a human cost. This essay traces the way home for an American serviceman killed in Iraq.It is a stark reminder that its a mad world out there.

There was Joey, carefully dressed in his Class-A uniform with white gloves and polished boots, his badges and cords in place, and his face serene. It was mostly unmarked, and the two men agreed that even though the Port Mortuary in Dover, Delaware — where every soldier killed in action is prepared for burial — had advised against a family viewing, Joey looked good enough for the Montgomerys to see him if they would like.

“I needed to do that to believe it was him,” Gail said. She, Missie, and Micah stood over Joey for a long time that Tuesday evening. They touched him and spoke to him gently. Gail and Missie hadn’t seen him in months, and war had changed him, or maybe it was their memories of him that had changed, and now their eyes took him in, every inch of him, as though he’d been long lost.

It was Micah who noticed that his ring was missing. Joey was a Mason, and the ring was a chunk of steel that he wore on the middle finger of his right hand, a gift from Gail that last Christmas to replace the one that had been cut off him before he deployed, his finger swollen with infection. Now Micah took off his own Mason’s ring, and he leaned down to slip it onto Joey’s right middle finger, over his white glove. That’s when Gail began to shake; the gloved finger folded in on itself, empty but for cotton and carefully rolled strips of gauze.

The Things That Carried Him

Dependence, and old age

A quick browse at the top ten fears runs something like this – public speaking, confined spaces, heights etc. In fact, the Boston Globe has a list that looks something like this:

Speaking in public
Snakes
Confined spaces
Heights
Spiders
Tunnels & bridges
Crowds
Public transportation (especially planes)
Storms
Water (as in swimming & drowning, not drinking)

The surprising thing is that old age and death are not part of the list. I’d thought that people would fear old age and death more.

Me, I don’t fear death. A fear of death is a sign of a life unfulfilled. If I fear death, it is because I feel as though I could have done so much more, and that my life journey is too short to have completed everything that I want to do.

No, I fear something worse. I fear old age. I fear dependence. I fear that there will come a time where I am incapable of wiping my own ass, changing my own clothes, moving under my own power. I hate having to be at the mercy of the milk of human kindness. A visit to the Cheshire Home reinforced that perspective.

To see the residents of the home being wheeled about, utterly dependent on the volunteers and staff of the home, is terrifying to behold, because it is a stark reminder of what shall befall me in the distant future.

The day I have to rely on someone for my life, is the day a part of me dies. It represents a loss of my independence and vitality. Morrie Schwartz had to learn to appreciate dependence. I have not reached that stage yet, so I cannot say. Maybe as the time comes I will learn to take it in my stride. But for now, old age will always be my topmost fear.

Brother Eagle

Of all places to have seen this, I saw  this in Air Force School, engraved on a plaque dedicated to a certain group.

Brother Eagle
Who’s sight is keen and talons sharp,
Help me spot the prey and hit the mark
Help me rise above my  human life
and trust the winds that give me flight.
And when its time for the young to leave
A gentle nudge is all they need
From up above the view is clear
I must have Faith and have no Fear.

-By Marianne Goldweber

All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.

-All That Is Gold Does Not Glitter (The Fellowship of the Ring), by J.R.R. Tolkein

i.m.perfection

Perfection is regressive

I wish you enough

I wish you enough sun to keep your attitude bright.
I wish you enough rain to appreciate the sun more.
I wish you enough happiness to keep your spirit alive.
I wish you enough pain so that the smallest joys in life appear much bigger.
I wish you enough gain to satisfy your wanting.
I wish you enough loss to appreciate all that you possess.
I wish enough “Hello’s” to get you through the final “Goodbye.”

-Enough, by Bob Perks

Dreams of a phoenix rising

Just as I thought I’d laid the ashes of my aspirations to rest by doing my final duty, it came back to haunt my dreams.

Fate awaits.

my father moved through dooms of love

my father moved through dooms of love
through sames of am through haves of give,
singing each morning out of each night
my father moved through depths of height

this motionless forgetful where
turned at his glance to shining here;
that if(so timid air is firm)
under his eyes would stir and squirm

newly as from unburied which
floats the first who,his april touch
drove sleeping selves to swarm their fates
woke dreamers to their ghostly roots

and should some why completely weep
my father’s fingers brought her sleep:
vainly no smallest voice might cry
for he could feel the mountains grow.

Lifting the valleys of the sea
my father moved through griefs of joy;
praising a forehead he called the moon
singing desire into begin

joy was his song and joy so pure
a heart of star by him could steer
and pure so now and now so yes
the wrists of twilight would rejoice

keen as midsummer’s keen beyond
conceiving mind of sun will stand,
so strictly(over utmost him
so hugely)stood my father’s dream

his flesh was flesh his blood was blood:
no hungry man but wished him food;
no cripple wouldn’t creep one mile
uphill to only see him smile.

Scorning the pomp of must and shall
my father moved through dooms of feel;
his anger was as right as rain
his pity was as green as grain

septembering arms of year extend
less humbly wealth to foe and friend
than he to foolish and to wise
offered immeasurable is

proudly and(by octobering flame
beckoned)as earth will downward climb,
so naked for immortal work
his shoulders marched against the dark

his sorrow was as true as bread:
no liar looked him in the head;
if every friend became his foe
he’d laugh and build a world with snow.

My father moved through theys of we,
singing each new leaf out of each tree
(and every child was sure that spring
danced when she heard my father sing)

then let men kill which cannot share,
let blood and flesh be mud and mire,
scheming imagine,passion willed,
freedom a drug that’s bought and sold

giving to steal and cruel kind,
a heart to fear,to doubt a mind,
to differ a disease of same,
conform the pinnacle of am

though dull were all we taste as bright,
bitter all utterly things sweet,
maggoty minus and dumb death
all we inherit,all bequeath

and nothing quite so least as truth
—i say though hate were why man breathe—
because my father lived his soul
love is the whole and more than all

-my father moved through dooms of love, by e.e. cummings

Tam Lin

“Had I known but yesterday what I know today,
I’d have taken out your two gray eyes
And put in eyes of clay;
And had I known but yesterday you’d be no more my own
I’d have taken out your heart of flesh
And put in one of stone”
– Tam Lin

Doing and not doing

I see it all perfectly; there are two possible situations — one can either do this or that. My honest opinion and my friendly advice is this: do it or do not do it — you will regret both.

-Balance Between Esthetic and Ethical, by Soren Kierkegaard