I woke up this morning fairly ready to embrace the day. I had ideas. I had pretties in the works that I wanted to show you. But then the million fireflies sparkling in my head set in as I moved from one idea to the next. Sometimes this is good. Sometimes it's an internal signal that I haven't taken care of things. When I started to feel tears, I knew it was time to figure things out.
I don't really know where my son is. I know he's in Afghanistan. I know he's a medic in Kunar province at FOB Monti in Afghansistan bordering Pakistan. You see, sense of place is important to me. It's important to me to know where people I love are. After hours of internet detective work I have placed him in a few 100 square kilometres of mountains. I feel better. But the tears are still there. They will come out later. Maybe a flood. Maybe just a trickle. I don't know. I know they come from fear. It's hard having a child in a combat zone. Even though he's 29 and this isn't the first time.
Here in the United States, it is Memorial Day weekend. It's a long weekend. I know that FOB Monti is named for a fallen soldier who lost his life in Afghanistan during his third attempt to bring in a fallen comrade when they came under fire during a patrol. This weekend, I think of that. I think of the 6 soldiers from my son's platoon in Iraq who lost their lives just a short while ago. I think of all of those soldiers who have given their lives in service to this country, our country. It doesn't really matter to me that the politics of war are on the other end of the spectrum from my views. And I say a little prayer that all of those soldiers who are out there in combat zones come home safely.