Paying Respects

Our morning started off differently today.

At 9:30am, the kids and I were standing along Main Street waiting for the funeral procession of a local Marine to pass. Sgt. William J. Callahan died in Iraq; he was 28 and the new father of a month-old son he never met.

My kids were wearing red, white and blue, and the girls were holding tiny American flags that the Veterans were handing out to everyone. My little man, D, held a cardboard silver star I had found in the basement; as the procession drove slowly past, he held it above his head. There were hundreds of others like us, standing alongside the road, wanting to show the family that we cared.

After the procession had passed, we walked up the street to the church to hear a bagpipe playing Amazing Grace while those attending the funeral entered the church. We stood there for a very long time, and I am so proud of my children for waiting patiently and respectfully even though I am sure they did not quite understand.

Every day I hear the news that another soldier (or two or three or more) has died in Iraq. There have been processions like the one we attended all over the country. I get a lump in my throat every time I think of that little baby, Daniel Allan, who will never meet his father.

I hate this war. And yet, I want something good to come out of it; some change that will leave the Iraqis in a better place and allow our troops to come home. If not, will they have died in vain? For the sake of all those children whose parents will never come home, I hope not.