Who remembers when not being allowed outside was a strong form of corporal punishment inflicted upon kids who misbehaved? If you do recollect, there’s a strong possibility you more than once sat in your room pouting while your buddies were out terrorizing the neighborhood, perched high on their banana seats. It was torture beyond belief but there was no Geneva Convention to lean on. Parents were omnipotent.
When faced with a terminal illness the mind begins to conjure up things that have yet to be accomplished in lieu of what has already been done. The absence of a previous bucket list is replaced by an arms-length listing of all the things the person will more than likely still not have the chance to do, short of winning the lotto, but would do if given the opportunity. A trip down historic Route 66. Hiking the Appalachian Trail. Four-wheeling through the deserts of Arizona. Watching a stupid groundhog look for its shadow. Taking a selfie in front of the world’s largest ball of twine. Drinking from a cool mountain stream in Colorado or enjoying a lobster feast on the coast of Maine.
In no particular mood to accomplish anything constructive, and in need of a good chuckle, I was in my leather recliner, laptop in lap, leisurely searching youtube for some funny dog videos. Being the proud dad of five fur babies, three of which are rescues, the oldest being almost 17, I enjoy the humorous antics only dogs are capable of providing.
I cried this morning. I am not ashamed. I cried for our nation. I cried for its citizens. I cried for those we honor today. Memorial Day. 2017.
Imagine facing an enemy with the full understanding this could be your last time out. As the bullet rips into your chest, imagine your final thoughts being of loved ones you will never see again as you hope they will forgive you for doing what you felt in your heart was right. The daughter you’ll never see get married. The spouse you’ll never tenderly hold again. The parents you know will be forever heartbroken and damaged.