The picture below is of the US, Spanish and Italian forces lining up on behalf of one or our fallen heroes. The flash on my camera is really weak but you can see it better if you click on the picture.
We came together at 0230 in the morning and saluted the US soldier as his casket, with the US flag draped over it, traveled between our two lines to a waiting ambulance which took him to the plane. There was a lot of time for reflection prior to and during the ceremony. I was grateful for the opportunity to show my respect for this fallen hero.
Regardless of our political opinions about the war... when we are in Afghanistan, we do our best to work as a team to get our job done and get everyone home safely. To date, every wounded U.S. soldier that has made it to our hospital alive, or with CPR ongoing (as in one case), the soldier has made it out of Afghanistan alive. Unfortunately, as in this soldier´s case, there are some non-survivable wounds that occur on the battlefield.
I couldn´t help but think of who may be grieving his loss... I found a poem by Kelly Strong which expressed well what I was feeling. It is entitled, "Freedom isn´t Free."
I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
and then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
He'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.
I heard the sound of TAPS one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That TAPS had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.
We came together at 0230 in the morning and saluted the US soldier as his casket, with the US flag draped over it, traveled between our two lines to a waiting ambulance which took him to the plane. There was a lot of time for reflection prior to and during the ceremony. I was grateful for the opportunity to show my respect for this fallen hero.
Regardless of our political opinions about the war... when we are in Afghanistan, we do our best to work as a team to get our job done and get everyone home safely. To date, every wounded U.S. soldier that has made it to our hospital alive, or with CPR ongoing (as in one case), the soldier has made it out of Afghanistan alive. Unfortunately, as in this soldier´s case, there are some non-survivable wounds that occur on the battlefield.
I couldn´t help but think of who may be grieving his loss... I found a poem by Kelly Strong which expressed well what I was feeling. It is entitled, "Freedom isn´t Free."
I watched the flag pass by one day.
It fluttered in the breeze.
A young Marine saluted it,
and then he stood at ease.
I looked at him in uniform
So young, so tall, so proud,
He'd stand out in any crowd.
I thought how many men like him
Had fallen through the years.
How many died on foreign soil?
How many mothers' tears?
How many pilots' planes shot down?
How many died at sea?
How many foxholes were soldiers' graves?
No, freedom isn't free.
I heard the sound of TAPS one night,
When everything was still
I listened to the bugler play
And felt a sudden chill.
I wondered just how many times
That TAPS had meant "Amen,"
When a flag had draped a coffin
Of a brother or a friend.
I thought of all the children,
Of the mothers and the wives,
Of fathers, sons and husbands
With interrupted lives.
I thought about a graveyard
At the bottom of the sea
Of unmarked graves in Arlington.
No, freedom isn't free.
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