Fireworks

The display was over. We sat outside on our lawn chairs, looking up at the sky. The smoke was slowly fading away into the air. I leaned over and whispered to Chief Thank you for enduring real bombs so that we can enjoy watching these pretty ones.

Fireworks do something to me. They move me. I mean they really move me. They propel my mind into scenes and displays that I have not yet been forced to personally endure. They play scenes of bombs exploding everywhere. The loss of life. The loss of American lives. The pounding thumps in my chest and flashes my spirit into what Chief has lived too many times to count. My mind wonders how it was during the American Revolution and the Civil War when so many people heard the pounding of the explosions not meant to delight, but to destroy, all around them. The fear, the angst, the devastation.

Fireworks make me remember. They make me think of the RPG that only killed one, because it didn't explode inside of the tank. They make me think of the sound of the IED that went off and forever changed the picture of the world for two dear friends of mine. They make me think of the ongoing, never ending, psychological effects of war for our soldiers, and the people who adore them. They make me think of a group of people who were willing to sacrifice it all, give everything they had, for an ideal, a beautiful picture of what the world could be. They make me think of how in our own way, Chief, my children, and myself have taken up that call and laid the greatest delight of our lives on the line. We've said Here you go America. Take him. The cause of freedom is worth it to us.

I spent the entire time praying. Praying for America. Praying for my Gold star friends. Praying for our soldiers in the midst of death and destruction right now. Praying for our military leaders. Praying for our nation. Praying for Chief. Praying for our FRG leaders. Praying for our military spouses. Praying. The bombs kept going off and we all smiled and cheered and thought about how beautiful they were... And I leaned over to my husband and whispered that small thank you that couldn't even begin to scratch the surface of the depth of my gratitude.

To all of my readers who have endured the toils of war I make this humble, and sincere statement: Thank you for enduring real bombs, real bullets, real hell, so that we can enjoy the pretty ones of last night. May your gift to America never be forgotten. May your names always be remembered.