Since we had been elbow to elbow, and getting in and out of one another's way, I said to him, "Good color choices."
His response was, "I'm glad you said that. I was concerned about that because I want it to be right. You see, last year I was in Iraq, and I didn't get a chance to do this."
It was then I noticed his cap which noted he was an Iraq veteran. The necessity for the cane use became obvious. His demeanor, which was open and friendly, gave me the courage to say to him, "Thank you and God bless you."
"But," he said, "the ones who should be thanked are the ones who didn't make it back. I'd have given everything for the boys I lost. They were so young."
I told him then how the small town in which I lived had recently brought home from Iraq its first war casualty. I told him how people had made bouquets of ribbon to hang on trees and posts; of the cortege including the motorcycle escort; of the people who left their homes and businesses to line the streets waving flags; of the school children who left their classes to take part in recognition and homecoming of a dead soldier; and of the unabashed and unchecked tears that ran down the cheeks of those who were there to pay their respects.
By the end of my story, he was in tears, and so was I.
"Thank you," he said, "and God bless you and your town Thank you for caring."
What a sight we must have been, a fortyish black man and oldish white-haired white woman, in one another's arms sobbing for the loss of those we didn't even know.
It was them I had my epiphany - my defining moment. How could anyone thank this man I was embracing and Sgt. Whitehead for volunteering their lives to do the dirty work of war in this world for me and others who cannot? Impossible. However, on this Memorial Day, and every day, we can remember them, and ask God to bless them and all who have served with courage for us throughout our history.
Claire Gaus is a retired educator and a community volunteer. She lives in Commerce.
