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What you are about to read stemmed from a visit by a veteran to my office this past week. His sister-in-law had called asking if she could bring him in because "He has just been told by the VA that the cancer had spread to his liver and he only has 4 to 6 weeks to live." When the man came in last Monday, I thought he wanted to know about things like hospice, interment, and other similar aspects of veterans programs. I determined early on, that he was just there "to talk."
He asked things like "Why do I have to pay $600 dollars per month rent, when there are people who don't work and never try to work, and they only have to pay less than $100 per month. Tell me, is that fair?" The word "fair" kept coming up in his questions and comments. It finally dawned on me that he just wanted to vent his frustrations given his immediate fate, and that he was not really asking me about "fairness" as it applies to things like rent and social service programs, but rather he was really asking me to tell him how it was "fair" that his days were short, yet others were not.
When I figured this out, I knew where to go with the conversation. We talked for a while, eventually he left with my contact information and my insistence that he call me night or day on my cell phone for anything he wishes, from help with managing his medical situation or even if it is merely to have someone to talk to in the early morning hours when the rest of the world is asleep and he is walking the streets at 4 a.m., waiting for the pain to subside so perhaps he can get one or two hours sleep.
In the end, I felt quite bad that there was nothing concrete I could offer him as help. I finally concluded that the reason the man was in my office was because he felt his 75 years on earth amounted to little more than nothing; that he felt insignificant; and of course, the real and tangible fears that come with meeting the unknown that exists on the other side of life.
As such, I have written this letter and would like to request it be published in the papers before this man's death. I want him to know that his life indeed meant something and that his thumbprint will have forever shaped the future, even if it is in some invisible way. In other words, I want the man to know he means something in life, will mean something in death, and that although his impending death is both sad and tragic, we will remember him fondly, and that had he not lived, this world would not be quite as livable as it would be had he not been here to do his part.
Real Heroes Walk In The Shadows
Dear Sailor:
You came to my office with the heavy burden knowing that you have only been given weeks to live. You gave 23 years of continuous service in the United States Navy and contributed 75 valuable years to seeing our society become a better place. But now, the end of the road is near for you. We had never met before the other day, but there we sat, two strangers bound together by virtue of being veterans. It is my job to help veterans, but in this instance I felt powerless to help. You told me you have placed your trust in God and have come to terms with your fate.
You also told me of the pain caused by the liver cancer; the endless regiments of pain killers you must take; and the many nights when you roam the city streets at 3 a.m. alone because the drug side affects will not allow you a peaceful night's rest. We talked of life, death, spirituality, and the concepts of fairness, determining in fact, that life is the antithesis of fairness. You mused of days of song, drink, dance, and the two dollar paramutual bet. You shared with me some of your precious last moments on earth.
But, I also heard the echoes of some regret in your voice, perhaps for chances missed or misdeeds done, and yes, I could feel the occasional elements of fear and doubt, things that "we as men" cannot readily admit to one another for fear of it being mistaken as weakness or vulnerability. I guess towards the end, it all boils down to finding the trust in our creator, if we are so inclined that is, and to hope that our memory will be treated with kindness by those left with its' charge and if we leave behind a meaningful legacy, may it be a good one.
I would like you to take into this late night a few assurances. Most importantly, know that the American people, at least in most cases, are grateful for your service to our country. You are 75; I am 51. You were serving in the world's most powerful and respected armed forces in the world when my biggest concern was making the Little League team. While I got the luxury of laying my head on a cool pillow in the peaceful suburbs, you remained part of a team that said I would most likely awake in the same free country of choice in which I closed my eyes the night before. I would get to try out for that little league team without fear of bombs dropping from the sky, planes crashing into buildings, or suicide bombers running up and detonating themselves taking me and others with him. You watched our backs from some third world country or seaside berth.
Our freedom and safety is because of men and women like you who stood at gates, fought the wars, lived under the sea, flew miles in the sky above, or endured endless boring hours at an undisclosed missile silo in nowhere-town USA, while the rest of the free world enjoyed all the benefits of your sacrifice. So my friend, you can take with you on your journey home my gratitude and the gratitude of almost every clear thinking and appreciative American for what you have done with your days. You lived a life well and gave us a noble example of honor, duty, and sacrifice. I offer you our most profound and sincere thanks. Our city needs to know that heroes walk among us in every day garb never letting on that they did much more than wake for breakfast each day; that is why I am making this letter public, yet anonymous for your privacy.
Second and last, you should know that both your memory and your passing will be treated with dignity and respect; and per your wishes. Each year hereafter, we will honor your memory and service, along with that of millions of others who have gone from this earth, but left it a far better place than they found it, because they were there to help others and protect our freedoms by serving these United States in uniform. The red, white and blue of Old Glory will adorn the resting place for you and other veterans on Memorial Day. Let that flag say to you that you were appreciated, respected, loved, and recognized as a person who believed that there are certain things worth risking loss of life or limb to protect and preserve a higher ideal - but most importantly, let it say you are not forgotten and shall not be so long as this country continues to honor the sacrifice and service of our veterans.
Your life, by its' sheer existence and with you being of such strong moral character, will have impacted many others in such a positive way, making the subsequent and consequential happenings of the world reflect part of who you are today. In other words, energy never stops, nor shall you even when your body does. Your good deeds and kind hand will live on through others in some blend so long as mankind exists. You have, in your own way, found the secret to immortality simply by being who you are. Because you had this positive impact on people the message carried forward and spread. It will continue to grow through others and once again, shared onward. Goodness is exponential which is why evil will never prevail over good - you have given our world good, evil never stood a chance in your company.
But now you are about leave us. As the consummate military man that you are, you came to my office to share your story with me - but I could not be of much help. For that, I am truly sorry. For your visit however, I am forever enriched and eternally grateful. I can only offer you my most sincere thank you for giving us the gift of you. Sleep well Sailor, fair seas and following winds in your journey.
With Respect,
Walter F. Rice
Commissioner of Veterans Services
90 Chelsea St.
Everett, Massachusetts
© 2006 North
Country Gazette
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