Last night AS and I went out to do some shopping. It was a spur of the moment “let’s get a sitter and go out” thing. We haven’t been out alone in a few weeks so we were both looking forward to the time alone.

So the sitter arrives and we leave. It’s a nice drive to where we are headed. We each talk about our day, the upcoming weekend, and the kids.

At the store AS does his thing. He’s getting ready for this job he’s been praying for so we’re out getting some new clothes (he hasn’t got it yet but is very close.) Anyways, he gets measured and picks out some pants and shirts. Then decides he would like a new pair of shoes and maybe a belt. Then he goes for the gusto and gets some ties and a blazer too. He’s looking sharp!

We were in the store for about an hour and a half. We head out to the car. We are the only car in the parking lot since all the stores, except one, were now closed. As we come out I notice a pudding cup on the ground on the driver’s side of the car on the ground. I think nothing of it- just of how some people are to lazy to put things in the trash. As walks to the back of the car and lets out a sound of astonishment. When I get there I can’t believe it, That pudding cup on the other side of the car is all over the side, back end, and read window of his car.

We were both very shocked. Was it a random act from some toad of a teenager or was this the deliberate defacing from an anti-war person? AS have a purple heart license plate with a very noticeable war related vanity name.

We went into the one store still open and asked for a roll of paper towels. I explained why and she handed us a roll. AS went to work cleaning it off the window and rear as best he could. We were going to find a car wash on the way home.

On that drive we were kind of quiet. Each of us wondering why someone would do that, was it on purpose, was it just some teen being stupid? If it were because of his plate and status it’s a heart sinking feeling. I mean, this man went away to help a people who do not know how to help themselves. He helped try to better a country and it’s people and he would do the same here in his own country if he had to. Heck, he did. He was in New Orleans for Katrina.

We talked about this. Was it an act of prejudice or just some random occurrence? How could someone be some judgmental if it were on purpose? What would AS have done if he had seen this happen? He would have just about jumped the person who did it.

All I know is that it saddens me to think that this could have been some anti-war person. That it was my husband who was there and was changed from his experiences. The look in his eyes on the way home broke my heart. He was very hurt by this act and the possible implications of them. You know, if you’re a long time reader, about the anti-war protesters he passed on the road. You know he does not hold a grudge. But this was something aimed directly at him, defacing his personal property.

How people can be so rude and disrespectful is shocking to me. Especially towards people who have given so much for others.

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My very dear Sarah:

The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days — perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.

Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure — and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine O God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing — perfectly willing — to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.

But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows — when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children — is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?

I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death — and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.

I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of the principles I have often advocated before the people and “the name of honor that I love more than I fear death” have called upon me, and I have obeyed.

Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.

The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together, and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me — perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar — that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.

Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.

But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night — amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours — always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.

Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.

As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father’s love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue-eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters. Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God’s blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.

Sullivan

This letter was written by a Union Soldier on the eve of the first battle of Manassas, the first battle of Bull Run, as it was known to the  Confederaterates, in the American Civil War. I find his words sterring and similar to those of any Soldier or any age. No matter the fight, Thermopylae, Agincourt, the Somme, Normandy, or Iraq, all Soldiers are the same men. The names change but the intent stays the same. He fights for his men, he fights for his country, he fights for freedom, he fights for his loved ones.

Major Sullivan Ballou was killed a week later at the First Battle of Manassas.

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General

God I miss it…

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General

I probably should have something important to say today, it is Easter after all, but I don’t. Easter has never really been an important holiday for me. As a kid I colored Easter Eggs and all that. Thinking back I can remember looking for brightly colored eggs with my cousins at Grandma’s house, lots of candy in baskets with that fake grass in them. One year I received a Turok Son of Stone comic in it. I was more interested in the drawings of Dinosaurs than anything else. Years later I colored eggs with ‘the girlfriend I can’t get over’, Chris - the one true love of my life - at her dinning room table. I drew a B-29 on my egg. Chris, always the better  artist then I could ever dream of being drew RD-D2 on her egg. The next day we went to her grandparents and I watched while her little cousins found the eggs. My Dad tried to save the shells that Chris and I designed. I can’t think of her, that day, or any day with her, that I don’t feel regret. I should have married her…

Back in 2005 I was in Baghdad. C for Charlie Company was providing security for the Al Sader Hotel. We had been pulled off of patrol to cover the mission at the hotel and seat of the government. My platoon had the night shift. We would all assume our posts, drink Red Bulls, listen to AFN, and the firefights on nearby Haifa Street. Those nights I smoked a lot of Camels and tried to figure out my odds of living through the year. It was boring duty. The company had moved north, out of FOB Falcon to FOB Union III. We took up residence in what was going to be the new Ba’ath Party headquarters, one room to a squad or two, all dusty and cold. The bathrooms smelling of piss. Outside the windows were piles of trash, MREs, cardboard, and anything else you can imagine- or don’t want to- remisant of Upton Sinclair’s ‘The Jungle’.

This Sunday morning we were off duty and made our way to the chowhall, the morning light bright in our eyes, they way it always is after a full night on duty. Inside were decorations, bunnies and colored eggs. The ’spoons’ had gone all out today, laying on a full feast, ham, turkey, cake. It was Easter Sunday in Iraq. I remember being stunned. I didn’t even realize it was Easter. The big screen TV, no doubt brought over by the Air Force, showed Easter concerts. At one point the TV was switched over to a music video channel that showed a woman, a very attractive woman, singing a song fully nude. The station was quickly switched to religious programing by the black girl on head count much to boos and hisses of us Grunts. A week or so later we were back on the streets, patrolling again. That entire week we were greeted by the Christians of our sector with wished of,”Happy Easter!”, in halting English, most often accompanied with glasses of cold water. I never refused those glasses. I was happy to receive them from the people. That was the same week that I heard an old man talk about,”the day of liberation, the day the Americans arrived”. He had tears in his eyes.

All my memories of Easter with my family, cousins, girlfriends, the days in the future, I will always remember my Easter in Iraq as something special, something beyond all other Easter. Perhaps that will change when I have children but somehow I don’t think so. That was once in a lifetime and I am glad it happened.

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I don’t often ask for much but this is important. I have recently made some moves to find a new position. My resume sits with one manager in particular that if I do get the position it will change alot of things for my family and I. I am not trying to get too excited because being let down will be tough. I am trying to get out of the rut in many regards and this new job would definitely help.

So I ask for a few prayers. Maybe it will help a little.

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