Dusting off the Box

There's a dusty old box in the back of my memory. Sometimes it unpacks itself when I don't expect it; memories triggered by songs, scents, or news. Sometimes I let myself unpack it, but only little bits and pieces, and then it's repacked and the dog-eared lids are folded, one over the other and the box is pushed back into the shadows.

Letting myself unpack most of it today, feeling it all, celebrating the preservation of one life and mourning the loss of other lives.

And all the memories in that box pour out. The airport security guard yelling at me for messing up his line as I force myself not to turn back for one more good bye hug. Every single "All Clear" email informing me of yet another Marine killed in Weapons Company. The first phone call, "I've been injured. I'm going to Baghdad to recover." The second phone call, "I couldn't tell you everthing last night. Baro and Hubbard are dead. Joe was hurt bad. Tage is with me. I've had 1 surgery, maybe 2, I don't know. I'm going to Germany now."

Has it really been 6 years? And yet, it's only been 6 years?

When the words are too few and too much all at the same time, there are the pictures...

When Adam emailed me this photo, I didn't even think it was him, til I recognized his adam's apple. He had never looked this sniper-ish in my presence.

In Ramadi, Iraq. A self portrait that he emailed me. I cried when I saw the pictures of me on the wall.

Another self portrait.

And here they are. Golf Section. From left to right KIA, WIA, WIA, KIA. The two on each end were best friends in highschool, enlisted in the Corps together, somehow made it into 2/5 Weapons Co together, became snipers together, were hand selected by Adam for his sniper team, and died together.

We lived an entire lifetime in the week marking the IED blast to the funeral on Veteran's Day. No thrilling homecoming. No "Ooh Ra!," about face, and a million hugs and kisses. Just hanging on to the cold arm of a Marine limping on a cane, and the wails of fiance never to see her Marine again echoing across the acres of the cemetary. Just the tears I had never seen before streaming down his face as I pop open the bottle and hand him 2 more percocet.

And it's the moments when nothing makes sense, when everything hurts, and when "normal" life seems so distant that faith is seasoned, that the God you've learned about becomes the God you know, and every moment together becomes something to cherish.

Blowing the dust off the box tonight before repacking it again.