“Do the next thing”

Lots of thoughts have gone through my mind lately.  Like Fran, I’ve felt the need to write a letter to senators, or anyone, for that matter, that might listen.  Yet, I’ve found myself falling short in that task. Many times, however, I have formed phrases in my mind:

While reading yet another letter to the editor from a citizen who says, “I support the troops, and the way to do that is to bring them home.”

My mental response is, “Oh I’m so tired of you.  Do you really even know what you are saying?  How many of those soldiers have you contacted?  Do you really think they believe that the best way of supporting them is to have them put down their weapon and come home?  How many troops have you spoken with?  How many have you written to ask them what they think?  I know the general answer to that.  There is no consensus.  No one is really asking the fighting men what they think.  No one really cares.

When I see a news report about 13, yes a whopping 13, Vietnam era citizens staging a sit-in at a representative’s office hoping to convince him to vote against funding the war.

My mental response is, “Oh, I’m so tired of it.  My goodness, what are you talking about?  Sure, take their money away.  You won’t take their cause from their hearts.  You’ll just make them into defeated heroes.  Men and women who felt strongly enough to go, but became disheartened by a population back home who thought more of themselves than our country as a whole.  You think your sit-in was a sacrifice.  I’m so tired of it.

When I see protesters holding their signs high, “Bring Them Home.”

My mental response is, “Wow, in my heart I say that every day, but my sentiment is oh so different.  Fran is there and I want him home.  However, at what cost?  He has a job to do.  When I form the thought, “bring them home,” it is multi-faceted:  fund the troops, let them be strong, and let them do their job the way they know how, the way they must.  Then, when the job is done, then “Bring them Home!!”  Not before then, please, not before then.

Years ago, I watched in tears moms and dads leaving their children to go fight the Gulf War.  The images were heart wrenching.  I cradled our second born son and prayed that Fran wouldn’t have to go.  He didn’t….  Yet, the job didn’t get done.  So now, with our four children and I waiting on free soil, I cradle them in a different way, praying that they won’t have to go.

I’m so tired of it all.