If We Could All Be Brave

I suppose there are endless ways I could start this blog post, and even more things to write about. Since I only just returned from camp, I suppose I have many-a-story to tell. But I am going to talk about something that happened to me at the last possible moment before I was truly reunited with Virginia. Yes, this story takes place while I was sitting aboard my plane, after we had finished taxiing into the gate. See, riding underneath me, in the cargo area, was a casket of a fallen soldier. I was seated just above the opening to the cargo hold, directly over the hatch. I was to sit there until the rest of the passengers got off, since I was flying unaccompanied. I watched as they lined up the conveyor belt and as the colorguardsmen and the family walked out on the tarmac. The colorguardsmen stood at attention, their faces impassive. A few minutes later, the soldiers raised their rights hands in a silent salute as the casket was unloaded. The family cried. Most of the passengers who had not yet unboarded cried. Even I cried. For although I could not hear them, or see them clearly, and though I never knew the man who died. I felt as if Cyril was my brother, and my father, and my friend. As if he was a part of me. And, for the second time in my life, I felt like I had a responsibility to fight. Recently, I told Sarah somthing I don't believe I've ever mentioned to anyone before: I do not want to die a quiet death. I do not want to die in my sleep as an old woman. That would be my second choice. I would prefer to die fighting. Whether it be for my rights, for my country, for my family, or for my friends, I would like to die a noble death. A hero's death. Perhaps that is a forgotten desire. Perhaps it should be kept in the time of knights, princesses, and poor hygiene. Now, I am aware that I have said many-a-time that the military has destroyed my life. And for the most part, I do not have happy feelings for it. But while they were honoring that fallen soldier, I wanted to be a part of it. I considered it. That it something I have only done once before in my life, and it was not done so lightly. The first time was after Tom joined the Coast Guard. Funny that seeing a fallen soldier should make me want to be a soldier. I do not think I will be joining the military. I may never have any ties to the military outside my family and friends.

But before I stepped off that plane, I raised my right hand in a small salute to a man who died heroically.