S. Kenneth Baril

OUR SON IS COMING HOME TODAY

Today, our son is coming home from Iraq. We haven’t seen him in over a year. His Dad and I are on our way to the military base where his plane is landing. I looked at my husband and said, “I don’t know what I will say.”

He turned his head toward me for a second and replied, “Try thank you.” We arrived at the base approximately thirty minutes before his plane was to land. We were directed to a small building on the edge of the tarmac where the coffee and donuts were. My husband poured our coffee and then, together, walked over to the large window, holding each other’s hand, and aimlessly stared toward the heavens.

After a few moments we both saw a black speck in the sky and at the same time, noticed men on the ground beginning to pick up their gear while others were making ready some equipment to greet the plane. We walked out onto the tarmac, and after what seemed to be an eternity the plane finally came to a stop. Suddenly, the large door in the rear of the aircraft opened and men were moving around in the doorway. After a short time, six men, dressed in their finest military attire appeared by the doorway.

It was then, as the sun was breaking through the clouds, that Dad and I had a short glimpse of the flag draped casket that contained the remains of our son. Immediately our hearts sank to the pit of our stomachs. We watched as these six men gently carried and placed the casket into a waiting hearse. We then returned to our vehicle, each of us unable to speak. By this time the sun had hidden once again behind the clouds and the day had become even gloomier than it had already been.

The next morning we readied ourselves to leave for the services. The funeral home was not too far from where we lived and before I knew it, the attendants were greeting us. With solemn steps, holding each other’s hand, my husband and I walked up the steps that led to the lobby. We then walked toward the viewing room where our son was. We stopped at the doorway, turned and smiled at each other through our tears and then, almost hesitating, proceeded up to the casket. As we came closer, it appeared, for a just moment, I thought I saw him move.

He was lying there in his full military uniform, his medals shining on his chest. He looked so handsome. He is still my little boy, not quite twenty-one years old, I thought silently. This certainly must be a horrible dream, I thought as the finality of it now begins to set in. He is gone, only to remain the in hearts and memories of those who knew and loved him, and there were oh, so many. He is gone, long before he knew the joy of children and grandchildren. Our son lost two lives, the one he was living and the one he would have lived. We, whom he has left behind, should not feel sorrow for his passing, but rejoice in the memory of his life, a life lost too soon. He would have loved to have danced, gazed at the sun, the moon and the sky once more and feel the joy of living. What a handsome young man, I thought again to myself.

Just at that moment our neighbor, who has known our son since he was three years old, came up to the casket and stood beside me. “When we heard the news, we were dumbfounded,” she said. She leaned over, placed her hand on my sons hand, turned to me with eyes filled with tears and said, “He left a boy and returned a man; he returned a hero.”

Hero; I hadn’t heard that word for some time. The last time I heard that word was when a sports announcer labeled a basketball star with that name when his team won the national championship. What a comparison! Maybe the sports media should stop confusing the word celebrity with the word hero! The only heroes I know are the ones who are resting in peace in our National Cemeteries such as Arlington. Strange, how a word can trigger thoughts.

After a wonderful service, filled with eulogies from our sons’ friends, we were directed to the family funeral car for the ride to the cemetery. Upon our arrival, we were escorted to the graveside. Shortly thereafter, the same Honor Guard who accompanied our son’s body home, almost as in slow motion, carried him to his final resting place. They gently placed the casket on the rollers, stepped back and stood at attention.

After a heart wrenching ceremony, two soldiers, carefully and with a great deal of respect and precision, began folding the flag that had draped the casket. After neatly folding the flag, one of these soldiers gently handed the flag to another who, in military fashion, turned sharply and then, slowly and with the utmost precision walked over to where Dad and I were seated. He leaned over before us and said, “On behalf of the President of the United States and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a token of the honorable and faithful service of your loved one.” He then, respectfully and solemnly, presented the flag to me. He then stood up straight, stepped back, came to attention, saluted the flag and in that same crisp military manner, turned and joined his comrades.

They slowly and reverently marched to an area a short distance from where we were and stood at attention. At this time, a bugler, off in the distance, began playing the saddest military tune of all, TAPS. The warm breeze gently carried that mournful tune throughout the cemetery.

At this point, I remembered the telegram and the small packet of his personal belongings. This is all that is left of such a young life, I thought. It was over for him, over before it hardly began. Chins quivered and eyes filled with tears. The flags waved softly in the breeze and the rifles gave their final salute. In the past, when we attended funeral services for sons or daughters of our friends and relatives, I could only imagine what those parents must have felt. Now, I know. The feeling is indescribable. No parent, under any circumstance, should outlive his or her children.

As Dad took my hand, we began walking back to where the funeral home family car was waiting. As I looked back, I slowly raised my shaking hand and gently waved my last goodbye. I thought about all the military funerals I had watched on television and all at once this overwhelming feeling of warmth and inner-peace came over me. I stopped walking and as Dad turned to see why, I smiled at him. I was smiling because I had remembered the inspiring words that President Ronald Reagan spoke as he placed the Medal of Honor beside the casket of the Unknown Soldier from Vietnam, nine years after the last American soldier died in that conflict. “Let us debate if we must, the lessons learned at some other time,” the President said. “Today we simply say with pride: Thank you, dear son, and May God cradle you in His loving arms.”

I am proud to say our son died so that others may live. He did what he had taken an oath to do. He did it without thinking of the risk involved and, whatever was done he believed that it was correct and honorable. War drew him from his homeland in the sunlit springtime of his youth. Those, like our son, who did not come back alive, remain in perpetual springtime, forever young, and a part of them is with us forever.

I wonder what kind of life he might have had and how different our world would be if he had lived. What an enormous waste! But you know what the greatest waste of all is? Think of a wife, a son or daughter he may have had, a family that will never be.

THIS IS THE PRICE OF FREEDOM