Yet Another Thought I Stick In My Mouth
I figured while we’re on the subject, why not?
You know that feeling that when things haven’t gone entirely your way for awhile and you think it’s just a phase that you’ll soon grow out of, like crying during masturbation, but things keeps happening and finally, it becomes as much a part of you as a bottle of Jergens and a box of Kleenex? Well, we’re going on 28 years of that feeling.
While in my head, it seems as though I can get three good, whole grain posts out of the last 48 hours, I shall do my best to condense. Kinda like the crying thing. Also, because my Internet time here is being charged to Smile’s card. And I haven’t told her yet.
Wednesday. As usual, I’m humping it to the airport because Stick likes to leave his house, no more than 60 minutes prior to his flight. My flight is delayed and I arrive at my gate to find a huge gathering of people congregating about the windows extending down to the next gate as well. As I satisfy my own curiosity, I observe a line of 4 patrol cars, pretty flashing lights and all, a number of blacked-out SUVs, all surrounded by about a dozen officers and state patrol, further flanked by about another dozen military personnel. All blocking the entrance to where our plane is supposed to park. My immediate thought is, “Figures. Should make for another useless blog post.” So I snap a picture, laugh it off, and go back to my seat to wait and selfishly wonder why, of the 120 gates located in this one concourse, they had to block off mine.
Turns out, the United Airlines plane pulling into the gate next to ours, was bringing home one of our soldiers. Who could help but watch with speechless humility as they proceed through the tradition of welcoming home one of their own? One by one, they approached the gunship gray casket, the top dressed with the American flag, saluting, each taking a hold of a handle, and side-stepping, step by step, to the waiting Hearse.
My first emotion was that of guilt for taking a picture before I knew what was going on. Then, as the train of cars left the tarmac, the crowd of people dispersed to their respective gates, the number of people holding tissues, drying eyes, blowing noses, both young and elderly alike holding hands, and choking back tears, seemed to high to count. And as anyone who just witnessed such a sight would do, I began to think. Within that casket lays someone’s child. Someone’s baby. And then I thought, there’s another family now without their parent. And now another parent without a spouse. Or without a sibling, colleague or friend. And then I got kind of angry. To think that this type of ceremony has happened close to 2,000 times in the last few years. And sometimes the casket is empty. Most of the time, it isn’t. And whom do I have to thank for this? Who dare be the one to allow such an observance to happen so many times, to be witnessed by so many individuals who may or may not reflect on it for a few hours, or a few days, only to go back home to be with their loved ones, in the comfort of their everyday lives and routines?
So who do I have to thank for this? This rollercoaster of emotions that not only makes me thankful for how lucky I am, but also, how unbelievably fu*king guilty I feel that regardless, I’m going to get on my flight, in my suite, enjoy a nice, peaceful flight while my iPod puts me to sleep, only to undoubtfully return to the comforts of my home in a week. And then I realize that at that moment, the one person that deserves my thanks the most, is now lying in a gunship gray casket, the top dressed with the American flag, slowly, step by step, being carried to the waiting Hearse.
And at that moment, I’m glad I took the picture.
You know that feeling that when things haven’t gone entirely your way for awhile and you think it’s just a phase that you’ll soon grow out of, like crying during masturbation, but things keeps happening and finally, it becomes as much a part of you as a bottle of Jergens and a box of Kleenex? Well, we’re going on 28 years of that feeling.
While in my head, it seems as though I can get three good, whole grain posts out of the last 48 hours, I shall do my best to condense. Kinda like the crying thing. Also, because my Internet time here is being charged to Smile’s card. And I haven’t told her yet.
Wednesday. As usual, I’m humping it to the airport because Stick likes to leave his house, no more than 60 minutes prior to his flight. My flight is delayed and I arrive at my gate to find a huge gathering of people congregating about the windows extending down to the next gate as well. As I satisfy my own curiosity, I observe a line of 4 patrol cars, pretty flashing lights and all, a number of blacked-out SUVs, all surrounded by about a dozen officers and state patrol, further flanked by about another dozen military personnel. All blocking the entrance to where our plane is supposed to park. My immediate thought is, “Figures. Should make for another useless blog post.” So I snap a picture, laugh it off, and go back to my seat to wait and selfishly wonder why, of the 120 gates located in this one concourse, they had to block off mine.
Turns out, the United Airlines plane pulling into the gate next to ours, was bringing home one of our soldiers. Who could help but watch with speechless humility as they proceed through the tradition of welcoming home one of their own? One by one, they approached the gunship gray casket, the top dressed with the American flag, saluting, each taking a hold of a handle, and side-stepping, step by step, to the waiting Hearse.
My first emotion was that of guilt for taking a picture before I knew what was going on. Then, as the train of cars left the tarmac, the crowd of people dispersed to their respective gates, the number of people holding tissues, drying eyes, blowing noses, both young and elderly alike holding hands, and choking back tears, seemed to high to count. And as anyone who just witnessed such a sight would do, I began to think. Within that casket lays someone’s child. Someone’s baby. And then I thought, there’s another family now without their parent. And now another parent without a spouse. Or without a sibling, colleague or friend. And then I got kind of angry. To think that this type of ceremony has happened close to 2,000 times in the last few years. And sometimes the casket is empty. Most of the time, it isn’t. And whom do I have to thank for this? Who dare be the one to allow such an observance to happen so many times, to be witnessed by so many individuals who may or may not reflect on it for a few hours, or a few days, only to go back home to be with their loved ones, in the comfort of their everyday lives and routines?
So who do I have to thank for this? This rollercoaster of emotions that not only makes me thankful for how lucky I am, but also, how unbelievably fu*king guilty I feel that regardless, I’m going to get on my flight, in my suite, enjoy a nice, peaceful flight while my iPod puts me to sleep, only to undoubtfully return to the comforts of my home in a week. And then I realize that at that moment, the one person that deserves my thanks the most, is now lying in a gunship gray casket, the top dressed with the American flag, slowly, step by step, being carried to the waiting Hearse.
And at that moment, I’m glad I took the picture.
