Everyday Warrior

She was a warrior.

An everyday soldier. A lover of God and country. Preserver of the heritage passed down to her by the bloodied hands of dying heroes. A descendant of veterans of earlier wars, she felt a strong responsibility to do whatever she could to honor their sacrifice and preserve their gift.

“Speak up,” the choir sang. “Stand up,” the righteous declared. “Show up,” her own heart commanded. So she spoke and wrote and stood and showed up on the front lines of the worst threat to freedom she’d ever encountered.

There had been many in her lifetime.

She witnessed the birth of the drug culture. Lived through the divisive Vietnam War, its violence televised in black and white every night of her childhood. She watched as students promoted free love, civil rights marches led to the death of Martin Luther King Jr., campus violence took the lives of students, and two Kennedy brothers were assassinated, their murders televised repeatedly for weeks afterwards.

1973 saw the legalization of abortion. The Vietnam War ended officially the following year but not before more than 58,000 American soldiers came home in body bags. In late 1979, in a move that shocked Americans and held their attention for over a year, their embassy in Iran was seized and its delegates held hostage for 444 days—a timeline counted down every night at the close of the evening news.

In 2001, terrorists attacked America on her home soil, taking the lives of nearly 3,000 people. It forever changed the way people the world over experience travel and eroded individual freedoms in the name of “safety.” Subsequent wars in the Middle East cost more American lives as politicians did what politicians do and sent soldiers overseas to ensure their own re-elections.

She’d lived through a lot. Observed history as it was made in real time. Watched the first landing on the moon. And the last. Witnessed the end of some wars and the beginning of others. Raising a family in the middle of unending chaos, shielding tender hearts while they grew into adults capable of protecting their own lives and interests, she was an everyday warrior. In that arena, her sacrifices were valuable.

She and her husband supported education, but when it crossed the line of trust, they picked up the torch and taught their children themselves. Remaining involved with their church, their neighbors, and their community, they were watchmen. Speaking up even when their opinions were unpopular, they remained true to themselves and their consciences.

All in unseen preparation for the ugliest conflict ever to come their way. This one, the most confusing of all, proved the most costly. They did what they always did, the two of them. Educated themselves on the issues. Listened with a discerning ear for truth as well as lies. Wrote letters. Made phone calls. Followed their convictions. Prepared for the worst while hoping for the best. It was a life and death battle. All the freedom preserved for them, inherited by them, entrusted to them, was on the line.

She heard the call to arms. They both did. Side by side, they stood their ground in defense, watching an advancing enemy rush the perimeters of poorly guarded boundaries. Suddenly, they felt alone in the foray, armed with the equivalent of water pistols while evil disguised as good led with lies and attacked its own citizens.

And when the dust settled, when the all clear was announced, she remained, alone. Wounded beyond belief, she survived while her husband became a casualty of a mishandled pandemic. This time the fight cost her everything. Her health, her home, her security, her future, and especially her heart as she watched her beloved succumb to his injuries.

They lost the fight of a lifetime.

Like fallen soldiers, they were both taken out. Traumatized, she glances occasionally from the sidelines trying to determine if the cause is still worth the fight. Did she stand on the wrong side of the conflict, or is any side of a conflict the wrong side? Is there anything to be gained from analyzing what happened or should she chalk it up to experience, living out her days in endless recovery?

A wounded warrior, sidelined by the betrayal of truth. And the evil tide flows unhindered over the unseen carnage like nothing happened, convinced that the ends justify their means, exactly as evil always believes.

She stood for her convictions, losing everything when she lost him. The price she paid in a doomed battle was too high. Tallying up all she invested against what it cost to hold her ground and live her truth, she stared, disillusioned, at the bottom line of ancestral responsibility and came to this one, final conclusion.

It wasn’t worth it.

With thanks to Mark Bonica for his service, talent, and generosity in allowing me to borrow the photograph seen above. The original can be viewed by following this link:

retirement | I signed out on retirement leave from the Army … | Flickr