I have the sometimes dubious pleasure of living on a military installation that's often a stopping point for wounded personnel coming back from Iraq.
I saw one of those personnel at the BX this afternoon. It wasn't the donated plaid lounge pants, a 'Go Army' T shirt and a zipper-front hoodie that made him stand out as a returning warrior, it was the obvious burns to his chin, mouth and lower half of his face - and the hospital tags on his arms.
He was standing by the entrance to the store as we were leaving, and as I met his eye I said 'welcome home'. He responded with a thank you, and I walked away. I got about 10 paces before I turned and asked him if he was going to be in the hospital for the holidays. He said that he wouldn't be in a hospital exactly, that he was being shipped out to DC shortly to a rehab facility (which told me that burns weren't his only issue) but that home was Ohio and he'd love to be there. I told him that had he said yes, he'd be here in the hospital, I'd have either come and sat with him or asked if I could sign him out for a while and had him come home with us, which he said he'd have liked....and I thanked him for his service, Dave thanked him too, and we went home.
I was crying before we left the store, and I'm still crying now. Why?
Because I cannot help but think that when that young man looks at his face in the mirror ten years (or 20, or 30) from now, he will think about what an awful price he paid for a gallon of gas.
That's why I'm crying.
(btw, after I told my husband why I was crying he told me to be thankful because it could easily have been him standing there. Nice one, babe. Were you trying to get me to stop crying, or were you giving me somehting else to cry about?)