There’s Dead. Then There’s Army Dead.
On Veteran’s Day my mind naturally turns to my cousin Kelley, one of the needless casualties of the Iraq war. He was only 24, not even a year into service, driving an ammunition truck into enemy fire. After being ambushed, the men in the convoy ran for safety. But he was hit in the thigh, and fell near his Humvee. One brave medic ran back to get him, and managed to rescue him. Sadly, the helicopter bringing medical aid was paralyzed by a sandstorm and hours later, he bled to death on Iraqi soil, whispering far away thoughts of home to his friends.
That was the day our guys descended on Baghdad and entered the castle of the enemy. April 6, 2003.
Since then, how many other beloved friends and family have come home in a box? Too many. They come home quietly, without fanfare, draped in the flag but denied public record by photograph. The attitude is: why needlessly remind the public of such sacrifice? It is upsetting. People might protest.
Duh.
Who actually believes in their heart that this war is working? That we can win, whatever that means. I doubt there are too many. Those who claim to support our president, and the war, do so because they have done so since Day 1. For these people, like their leader George W. Bush, it is almost impossible to admit you are wrong.
Supporting the troops is completely different. Anyone answering the call of duty, putting themselves in danger, protecting their country and fellow soldiers, leaving their families and their lives on hold, so far away deserves more support than they get from the government who sent them there. The fact that they are there is what most of us have an issue with. The way our wounded are treated, or in some cases, not treated, fall far short from what they have earned. The way military families are thanked, given a folded flag and expected to go grieve in silence is shameful. Even if I oppose the war, I support those who fight it. I am fully aware that if not for them, I would not have the right to speak my mind in this forum. I know he died a hero, and that is more than they will ever say about me.
The pain is in my memories of Kelly as a baby, a little boy, a teenager; how much he was loved by his family. He had two sisters, a mother, a father and tons of friends. He was a charmer, and really good-looking. He liked to party and ride his jet ski. But he didn’t have time to enjoy being grown.
He probably had few thoughts of war and explosions and blood and fear, even when he enlisted. Soon after, war was declared, and he was sent to Iraq. Eleven months later, he was dead. His mother’s grief at the funeral was an overpowering void, a palpable emptiness, crying over the body of her only son, who was gone forever.
I don’t pretend to have all the answers. I only know that when someone like Pvt. Kelley Prewitt dies, it brings war home… but it just doesn’t kill us all overnight. It does it one family at time.
