Tonight on the news was a story of a Wisconsin man whose wife was undergoing chemotherapy for ovarian cancer. He wasn't there to accompany and support her because he had lost his job and to continue insurance coverage, he joined the army... at age 39! I wonder how that story will play out. Once the public hears of something and there is publicity, often there is often an outcry and a favorable outcome. There are many such examples.
Finally, what we don't hear or see on the news is how many of our brave soldiers are being injured or killed in two wars somewhere else. It's not easy finding accurate numbers of those wounded or killed. During the Vietnam Conflict, there was a daily announcement of numbers with film at 11. There's been quite a blanket of silence these days, these months, these years about Iraq and Afghanistan. Every so often, there is an inspiring news story about a veteran who has overcome his (usually) adversity. He had been a strapping 6'4" 225 pounder who lost both legs and almost his life. The focus was on his turnaround. The story concludes: "'Whatever the Army decides I can do best, I will do it,' Karcher said. 'The moment they give me a job that I look at as charity, I'll walk away from it. As long as I'm still making a contribution, serving soldiers, I'll stick with it until I die.' For now, he looks forward to seeing the soldiers he commanded return from Iraq. Lt. Colonel Tim Karcher is determined to stand and greet them when they arrive." A truly touching story!
That last story is an example of making lemonade out of lemons. Tim Karcher is one of the inspiring success stories that make us all proud.
BUT, we need to hear more, much more about all the others. Maybe we should re-read and think about Wilfred Owen's poem "Dulce et Decorum Est...."
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of disappointed shells that dropped behind.
GAS! Gas! Quick, boys!-- An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And floundering like a man in fire or lime.--
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,--
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.*
*It is sweet and honorable to die for one's country.
There may be "good" wars. These are not.
