Seven years ago I met a boy. He was goofy and talked a lot. He was open and lovable. I myself, having just got away from a nasty relationship was more reserved, maybe even closed off. But I had to be as a single mother of two small childen. When I heard he was a marine I thought "oh great". Afterall, I told myself I would not date another marine. His long hair threw me off but there was something about this one that was different.
Less than three months later I was waving goodbye to him. My heart pulled and ached with every churn the buses wheels made over that gravel road that led out of sight. His face framed in the window as he waved. Flags looking on seemed to wave back. Mothers holding strong for their children wore sunglasses in the still of the night air. The dust settled on the road way and yet no one wanted to leave. I didn't know it at that moment but leaving meant carrying on.
I still remember looking at all the marines piling on the bus and taking their seats. Having been to Iraq twice before they knew this was going to be a long 7/8 months. The reality for me looking on was that some of these mothers, husbands, brothers were not coming home. Scanning all the families my heart gave way and soon my sunglasses met my eyes too.
Having only known this guy a short time before he left I was amazed at how much of his things I had. His car was parked outside my apartment and it's title sat in my dresser. His clothes hung in my closet. But what surprised me most was what he had of mine in such a short time, my heart.
A long seven months it was but the effects carry on even longer. The sacrifices they made as well as their families do not grow old even as time carries on. The rubber bracelets enscribed with "in memory of" collect on their wrists and more initials are engraved in their skin. Memories haunt their dreams. Guilt and grief settles in the cracks of their furrowed brows.
The days grow on but no dust shall settle on the memories.
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