A walk around my neighborhood yesterday left me with much to ponder. On one of the streets near my home, I was thinking about the inconvenience of my lumbering right foot. There were lasting effects from my back surgery and osteomyelitis last year. Lingering nerve difficulties in my right foot and ankle have deadened certain ranges of motion there. A couple of directions of movement no longer happen. As a result, I have to lift my leg in an exaggerated fashion to prevent my toes from tripping me. It looks funny and my friends enjoy a good laugh. Woe is me. Right? On that street, I came upon a house that had a distinctive H3 Hummer in the driveway. It had bumper-to-bumper decal wrap with USMC advertisement all over it. Standing by it was a young Marine in full dress blues. Mind you, it was about 94-degrees here yesterday. My path took me in his direction. His uniform was immaculate. The creases on it could slice a sandwich. At about 6-1 or 6-2, he dwarfed my relatively diminutive size. Square jawed and formidable looking without the appearance of malice, he stood with ramrod straightness. He looked every bit the embodiment of a Marine. Good afternoon, sir! I cheerfully offered as I slowed to speak with him. Good afternoon to you too, sir, he replied. I was curious -- is there a USMC function nearby thats about to happen? No sir. Im here because of a 12 year-old young man inside this house. Hes one of our Honorary Marines. You see, hes suffering terminal cancer. Hes here under Hospice care, and hes not expected to make it through another one or two days. We in the Corps have sort of adopted him. He said that all his brief life, he wanted to be a Marine in service to his country. Im here to help him with a Valhalla send-off, so to speak. My blood froze in the hot sun. I never saw the boy -- it wasnt the time, place, or my right to do so. But, I imagined him with tubes in his arms, an air hose on his face, and a smile of bravery the likes of which I might never know. I fumbled for a few words for the Marine, but words escaped me. I felt as though a truck had run over me. I thanked the young Marine for what he was doing. As I clomped back to my home, I gasped for breath. Not because of the heat or pace of my walk, but for the reality of my chance encounter. I was overwhelmed with the shame of self-pity, the injustice of a dying young boy, and the honor and love of a Marine. May you have a day like mine.
Posted on: Sun, 08 Jun 2014 15:07:11 +0000
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