Homecoming Part 2
Well my son is home. What a great feeling. To see him march in on that field and to know that he will soon be home for good. He is getting out. He has had enough. So good to have him back after he was gone for so long. So happy and yet sad at the same time for those who came back to find that no one was there for them. Such is the life of single soldier whose family is too far away to be there when they come home. I am sure they wanted to be there but circumstances did not let them. We gave hugs and handshakes to my son's friends and told them welcome home and thank you. But as we left the base to head home it was sad to see soldiers waiting or walking on the side of the road with no one. Broke my heart. Just as it breaks my heart for those men and women who come home in a casket. Their life cut short so I can live mine. The greatest sacrifice of all was made by them and their families and it is something I remember everyday and every time I have the luxury of speaking with my son, that someone else's boy did not get to come home to his family. It is a doubled edged sword. Happy/Sad - Happy for myself and sad for others. To feel otherwise would be wrong in my heart.
posted by dixiedarling @ 8:32 AM
3 Comments:
That reminds me of the poem "Somebody's Darling," which I just found by Googling for it. It was written by Marie LaCoste and is her sole "claim to fame." The words, just as timely today, were written during the Civil War.
Somebody's Darling
Into the ward of the clean white-washed halls,
Where the dead slept and the dying lay;
Wounded by bayonets, sabres and balls,
Somebody's darling was borne one day.
Somebody's darling, so young and so brave,
Wearing still on his sweet yet pale face,
Soon to be hid in the dust of the grave,
The lingering light of his boyhood's grace.
Somebody's darling, somebody's pride,
Who'll tell his mother where her boy died?
Matted and damp are his tresses of gold,
Kissing the snow of that fair young brow;
Pale are the lips of most delicate mould,
Somebody's darling is dying now.
Back from his beautiful purple-veined brow,
Brush off the wandering waves of gold;
Cross his white hands on his broad bosom now,
Somebody's darling is still and cold.
Give him a kiss, but for somebody's sake,
Murmur a prayer for him, soft and low,
One little curl from his golden mates take,
Somebody's they were once, you know;
Somebody's warm hand has oft rested there,
Was it a Mother's so soft and white?
Or have the lips of a sister, so fair,
Ever been bathed in their waves of light?
Somebody's watching and waiting for him,
Yearning to hold him again to her breast;
Yet there he lies with his blue eyes so dim,
And purple, child-like lips half apart.
Tenderly bury the fair, unknown dead,
Pausing to drop on his grave a tear;
Carve on the wooden slab over his head,
"Somebody's darling is slumbering here."
Joni - great poem. Thanks.
Thanks for this post ... My daughter going to the navy this summer.
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