This morning, pre-dawn, I was priviledged to attend the deployment of 80 of our finest for a year-long tour to Afghanistan. Including my son-in-law. Let me tell you what I saw.
There was the two-year old little girl, the spitting image of her mother, who was leaving. Dad was nearby, shell-shocked, as were his parents. But mom, clearly feeling the pain, was watching her daughter intently. Watching, watching, watching. No doubt wanting to embed the image in her mind. As a mom, I can't imagine the anguish.
The father of three, with one more on the way, holding his pregnant wife's hand, his head on the table with his youngest's blankey soaking up his tears.
The mom in the van in the parking lot with her two little boys. She was barking at them, mad at the world. Dad stopped by after getting some coffee, and began holding the two boys. The oldest's face was screwed up with tears. The youngest pouting and kicking a bottle cap around the parking lot. Kicking hard. Mom finally got out and the two of them embraced, her tears coming down hard...just the two of them locked in a moment.
My daughter, trying to be brave, but finding tears falling at odd moments. My son-in-law jiggling her 7-month pregnant belly, hoping for a goodbye kick from his son.
Ladies and gentlemen, it was a powerful morning. We owe it to these brave soldiers to only send them away for the most noble and true of causes, with clear goals and objectives, and with the finest technology and equipment that the United States can provide.
They have none of these.
We owe their families our respect and gratitude. We owe them decent living conditions and all the support they need. They don't have enough of these.
As for me, I said goodbye with a long hug, whispering, "stay safe." Wanted to say more, but words failed me.
Godspeed G.