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And we have given so much of our best recently,
for a goal whose end seems nearly as far away today as ever it
did.Memorial Day, now two years on -
has it really only been two years? Somehow it seems longer. Somehow I have a
hard time clearly remembering a time when we weren't at war. I have a hard time
remembering when young men and women didn't gain a moment's fame on page two of
the local paper under the heading "Daily developments ":
Marine death:Maj. Ricardo A. Crocker,
39, of Mission Viejo, was killed Thursday by a grenade attack in Haditha. He was
assigned to the Marine Forces Reserves 5th Civil Affairs Group, Camp Lejeune,
N.C.
Army deaths:Sgt. Mark A. Maida, 22, of
Madison, Wis., died Friday from injuries sustained in an explosion in Diyarah.
Chief Warrant Officer Joshua Michael Scott, 28, of Sun Prairie, Wis., died
Friday from injuries suffered in a helicopter crash Thursday in Buhriz. Army
Chief Warrant Officer Matt Lourey, 41, of Washington, D.C., was killed Thursday
in a helicopter crash near Baquba. Staff Sgt. Alfred Barton Siler, 33, of Duff,
Ky., was killed Wednesday in a vehicle accident in Tuz. Sgt. 1st Class Randy D.
Collins, 36, of Long Beach, died Tuesday of injuries from a May 4 mortar attack
in Mosul. Pfc. Bryan Edward Barron, 26, of Biloxi, Miss., Spc. Audrey Daron
Lunsford, 29, of Sardis, Miss., Sgt. Saburant Parker, 43, of Foxworth, Miss.,
and Spc. Danny Varnado, 23, Saucier, Miss., were killed Monday when an explosive
detonated in Haswa.
These are their names, the things they held
in familial pride and recognized as that thing that made them distinct and
different from all others. And there are more just like them on any given
Sunday. Names that stand for lives, and dreams and hopes now tragically cut
short. Over 1600 life stories that should have read out at a length measured in
the better part of a century, but cut short in mid sentence after only a couple
of decades. Lives no one but their parents, family and friends would ever have
been aware of - they wouldn't have ever made page 2 of the paper, probably, if
not for the way that they lost their
lives.
Because in dying they gained a
moment's fame - bare mention on page 2 of a newspaper in America's seventh
largest city. Their names are brought out here in front of us for a moment, and
mostly, God forgive us, we do not look at them. We do not sound the name aloud:
"Ricardo A. Crocker" and let the sound roll off our tongues and through our lips
as it once did for him. Did his friends call him "Rick"? - we don't know, we
never will.
Nor do we sound out the
names of the others on today's list. No - if we spare it a glance at all, we
mostly look to see how long today's list is. And then we grimace, and move on.
It is not much we give them, this small mention in the paper on page 2, this
ephemeral notice there was once a man named "Audrey Daron Lunsford," of Sardis,
Mississippi, but now there isn't any more. We don't look. Because we know that
tomorrow is a new day. And that there will be more
tomorrow.
This is such a little thing
we give them, this momentary notice in a world that had for the most part lived
in ignorance of their very existence. It is an infinitesimal recognition which
they've gained by giving all they had or ever would have, their last breath -
their last heartbeat - for the liberty and freedom of people they do not know,
and mostly do not love, in a far place whose nature and currents we do not
really understand. They did this in the hope that their service and even - say
it: if need be, their sacrifice - would help make their homeland a safer place,
a place where people were free to mow lawns and pay taxes and go to baseball
games and raise children and do all those things which all of us take for
granted because better people than we are ourselves have stood in line for us in
the space where the bullets snap and fly and everywhere the roadside bombs go
off.
And others stand there still,
step up to fill the gaps in the ranks even as these names cross briefly through
our consciousness and return again to
anonymity.
They stand there still in
the certain knowledge, gained now not through the musty reminiscences of scarred
and hoary elders, but in testimony woven into the daily fabric of their everyday
existence, that having cleared their throats and raised their voices and
answered the question, "Who will stand for us?" with a firm, "I will," that this
could happen.
They did this because
collectively we asked them to. All of us, even those who said, "Not in my
name."
Yes - in your name too. They
did it for you.
These are their lives
and this is our loss. Futures that will not now happen. Stories that remain
incomplete. Not for today the debate about why or whether. For today, we must
merely acknowledge their sacrifice, and the debt that we cannot repay. And give
thanks to those who agreed to stand for
us.
And maybe just this weekend, even
if just for today - let us say their names.
They shall grow not old, as we that are
left grow old:
Age
shall not weary them, nor the years condemn.
At
the going down of the sun and in the morning
We
will remember them
- Lawrence Binyon
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