As the Polygon Turns (Episode 26): Send-off

The send-off ceremony was held at a typical New England fairground that looked, well, typical, except that it was January. Corn dog and cotton candy booths buttoned up tight, as if to guard against the cold like their summer patrons would be; and where summer would have seen straw and livestock, we saw snow banks and snow drifts. In poetry, it’s called the pathetic fallacy – that nature commiserates with man, shares our joys and our sorrows in the form of weather, sunshine and rain. In this case it’s bitter, bitter cold. And snowing.

So it’s January and citizen-soldiers are being sent off, deploying away from their loved ones, families perhaps less used to long absences than, say, the regular or even the Reserve Forces. But somehow that doesn’t matter. That doesn’t make it any better on any one who has to give someone up today.

Inside the exposition center: nearly a thousand people – soldiers and families – comingle on the vast cement floor. Many rows of chairs face each other, askew from the stage that’s dressed in its finest red, white and blue. Looking at the crowd from above, the soldiers in their combat camouflage stand out like chocolate chips would in cookie batter. They are dispersed amongst their families just as our National Guardsmen spend most of their days, citizens first and most often, soldiers second but always truly.

These are no “weekend warriors.” These are patriots all, dedicated men and women who keep down “real” jobs and, since early on in these wars, have augmented our Active Duty and Reserve Forces in Afghanistan and Iraq so America’s military can continue the luxury of an all-volunteer force; so America doesn’t need a draft. Something to think about…

As the time for the ceremony draws near, families hold hands tighter, hug more often, and find it harder to hold back tears. Two minutes before 0930, the camouflage coalesces in the center, between the askew chairs, facing the leaders – statesmen, generals and an admiral. The soldier-citizens are upright, their families downcast, our leaders optimistic.

They deliver speeches about duty, sacrifice, and support. How the soldiers know the mission and never really worry about the mission. The leaders know that the stoic soldiers worry only about their families. Every thing they do, they do for the ones they love.

When the ceremony is over, the soldiers file out, to do their duty… for their families, for their country, and for whatever else I imagine they may believe in. The space they vacate leaves the askew families facing only each other.

They must be sad, I think. Obviously they are sad. It starts snowing harder.

I wish I could let them know that their heroes are doing what they love for the ones they love. I wonder if it would make a difference. It might. The snow may let up soon. When the soldiers return it will be another winter of another year. It will be snowing then, again.