Conffederate
Confederate

December 12, 2010

Last Thing

© Brigid Durham

That last thing I saw was the a sliver of winter sky through a haze of gunpowder.

The last thing I heard was the report of fire, one last wild spurring of colors made sound, then silence.

The last thing I felt was an intake of breath, air drawing deep into me. I don't remember the exhale. I thought nothing could reach me. I never knew what hit me.


I'll be all right in a minute, I said, but nothing came out.

I'm looking down on my still form, thinking I must have a concussion, for the vision could not be real. I close my eyes and recite the steps to field strip my AR in the field. "bolt fully forward", "remove the bolt carrier and the charging handle", open my eyes.

But the vision didn't change.

They sent me home in a box, draped with a flag, in a suit I had never worn. It was hot, the corn in fervent zeal, bowing before the behemoth combines that would pull it into an oblivious end. There was a line of cars as long as main street, headlights on yet diminished by the suns uncaring heat. They rolled slowly along until the cemetery was reached, the sound of taps drifting up to the heavens where they were only an echo.

But sometimes an echo is heard.


My name was spoken reverently while others with picket signs shouted their insane ramblings to unreceptive ears on earth and above.

The cemetery is vacant, the community at home. My wife sits with a letter, the paper , worn from touch, her last contact, the writing ashen and fine and almost intelligible. She reads it with restless tension and with every last memory, taking what comfort she can out of the words, so that she will know that my love was true, my sacrifice worthy. She reads and reads, my words to her gathering around her. The more she reads, the less she sees, as the writing becomes fainter, words wet with tears, until the paper itself crumbles away, and nothing is left to her but dust and the future she carries within her.

The cemetery is old now, my grave now surrounded by others, so many years, so many funerals. My eyes live on in a child I never met. My name lives on, on a piece of granite in a place forever solemn, in a picture, in a flag.



I am everywhere, in memorial. In a tombstone, in the sound of fire, in the flag I hope you salute more than once a year. We are all a memory that begins and ends with what is left, stakes in the hard ground on which to peg our history.

When the last thing you see is that small sliver of freedom still there in the sky, remember me. I am a soldier, I am everywhere, in the trees, in the wind, under your feet in a land that's still free.

I am a soldier, unknown but remembered always.

Posted by Brigid at December 12, 2010 12:25 PM
Comments

Somebody needs to remember these guys and appreciate what they've done.

Posted by: Tim at December 12, 2010 01:29 PM

Let me just say that (and please note, I am speaking only for myself, not as a representative of the US Army or anyone else) as a current US Soldier, I feel VERY remembered and appreciated almost everywhere I go. When I am in my uniform, everywhere I go people come up and shake my hand, they say thank you, they often buy my meal, refusing to take no for an answer.

I see in them a real sense of thankfulness, of appreciation, of pride, of respect. It not only makes me feel proud to be an American Soldier, but it motivates me to excel, to DESERVE those accolades. I believe it does the same for my Soldiers as well.

Much of this is thanks - like so many things in today's Army- to the lessons learned and paid for in blood by Viet Nam veterans. I have never had anyone spit on me, nor speak rudely to me. On the contrary, civilian Aircrew call out my unit and the airplane erupts in applause.

I've seen the same levels of rememberence and respect at 9/11 ceremonies, Memorial Day, and Veterans Day. And believe me, when I'm gearing up to deploy, that gives me a lot of comfort.

Again - it motivates me to DESERVE it.

Respectfully,

Orion
SGT, USAR
Army Aviation - Above the Best!

Posted by: Orion at December 12, 2010 02:02 PM

Your prose is priceless Brigid. I hope I'm found worthy of that flag draped coffin when my time comes.

Posted by: Six at December 12, 2010 07:45 PM

Jesus. Damn.

*goosebumps*

Posted by: ArmedGeek at December 16, 2010 06:49 AM