I normally maintain social networking silence on the subject of military service. This is a mommy/adoption blog. I write as JillR, wife and mother. Private citizen. Today, it is not so easy to compartmentalize. And so I break my rule…just this one time.
Today, I attended a memorial service for four
people that gave their lives in service of our country. These three men and one woman were the
crewmembers on the rescue helicopter that crashed while on a training mission
in England on January 7th. This crew was
assigned to my base, and while I did not know any of these Airmen personally,
their lives and deaths have touched me in a way that I find surprising.
Life on a military base, especially a base
overseas like ours, is a lot like life in a small town. People live, work, shop and connect in a
relatively small amount of real estate.
There are few strangers and few secrets.
Military families have a common bond and when you add the “strangers in
a strange land” aspect, the result is a pretty tightly knit community. And when we lose one of our own, the loss is
felt.
My job in the Air Force is in no way sexy or
glamorous. But, when I raised my hand
and signed on the dotted line twenty-three years ago, I did so with the
knowledge that I was agreeing to put my life on the line for my country. I was young and maybe a little directionless
on that January day in 1991 when I repeated the words “I do solemnly swear” but
I knew what I was agreeing to.
What I do on a day-to-day basis is low risk. I am not an aviator. I don’t handle a weapon as part of my
everyday job. I don’t work with
explosives and don’t regularly come in contact with people who are hostile,
unstable or combative. When I kiss my
family and head to work each morning, I do so with the confidence that I will see
them again at dinner. I don’t wonder if
this is going to be the last morning I get to kiss my kids or hear them
laugh.
I believe when it’s your time, it’s your
time. My mom always says “you never know
when your room is going to be ready.”
Conscription is a thing of the distant past. Those of us who wear the uniform chose this
life, knowing and accepting the risks that go with it.
Our base had a memorial service for all four
service members. It wasn’t a funeral but
rather a way for the military community to pay their respects and to celebrate
their service. This was an event held in
an airplane hangar and open to the entire military community.
I hemmed and hawed about whether or not I’d
go. I kept making excuses to myself
about how busy I was and how my presence wouldn’t really make a
difference. After all, I didn’t know
them. I knew a couple of them by sight,
but they weren’t friends. They weren’t
even acquaintances. My presence or lack
thereof would not matter to the four members of the helicopter crew who gave
their lives.
But the real reason I was hesitant to go was
this: hesitation to deal with my own emotions. One of the fallen Airmen was a young mother
of two young boys, married to another military member. This Airman, this mom in uniform kissed her
kids goodbye on a Tuesday and went off to do what the Air Force had trained her
to do just like I did. But on that day, her
room was ready.
It hit a little too close to home and made the
“what if I” thoughts that lurk pretty far down in my consciousness rise up and
nag. I keep a pretty heavy guard on my
emotions – at least in a professional setting – and going to a venue where public
grieving was on the agenda made me uncomfortable.
I went to the memorial. It was well done, as those things go. Being at this memorial was like looking
through a window of what things would look like if it had been me or my husband. Parents, walking with their shoulders sagging, wearing masks of pain, facing the fact that they’d outlived their children. A husband wearing his service dress uniform
holding a child in his arms that was crying for his mommy, not quite understanding everyone's explanations as to why she wasn't coming home. A mother struggling to comfort her children while
burdened with her own grief.
There were a total of about two thousand people at
the memorial. I doubt all these people
knew the deceased personally. Most were
probably just like me…fellow Airmen who came to pay their respects. There was a big screen that showed pictures of
their lighter moments, some poignant testimony about the lives of
these Airmen…along with some really funny stories. These were four bright individuals who loved
life, loved their families and loved serving their country.
I am glad I went and glad I was part of the
community showing of support. If it had
been me, I would have wanted my parents, my husband and my children to draw
some comfort in seeing how my Air Force family rallied. As saddened as I was to see these grieving
families, I was enriched by getting to hear a little bit about their
lives. They leave behind a great many
people who will mourn and miss them, but there are also a great many people who
are tucked at home safe and sound because of their service. They did what they did every day “so that
others may live”.
Crewmembers of Jolly 22 – thank you for your
service and rest in peace.
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