7:01 a.m. - Sunday, Apr. 27, 2003
Feelings
Sometimes I wish I was there. Knowing my sector, knowing my job, and doing something important. Something that�s been so elusive for all these years. Something important.
Sometimes I hurt inside. It�s still painful to see how our young heroes are respected and honored, even by those who hate the policies and the politicians who put these treasured kids forward. I�m so ashamed to envy them.
Sometimes I tremble with pride, knowing that I�m the one who gave them your respect. It was me who suffered while you learned that there is never disgrace in serving your country.
And I still weep with gratitude to know that they know it, and they respect and honor me for it. One of them told me so once, and then turned quietly away while I cried. They know they are standing on my shoulders. I love them for that.
Oh and I�m grateful too because I think if I hear the word �quagmire� one more time I think I will explode. Because of them, the world knows there will never be another Vietnam. They have shown� you have shown�. That our leaders know how to plan and conduct a war, our soldiers know how to fight and prevail in war and our citizens know how to win the war that takes place in their own living rooms. It takes courage from everyone.
Sometimes I feel a kind of guilty vindication. I know that no American can ever again see the skyline of New York without being overcome by images and memories that are entirely unwelcome. It was a national trauma. It was horrible. But secretly I think �welcome to the club, America�. Now people measure time according to the disaster. It was at last, something important, and this time, it was something important to everyone of us, together. Welcome, welcome to the club with no music. I�ve been saving a seat for you.
I tried to keep this latest war at bay. I said I would sit it out. That doesn�t work. I�ve watched every moment of it, heard every embedded report and felt the fear and the power and the relief of a strong and brilliant campaign.
But now, I can�t go back to see my therapist, because she will want to talk about it, and I can�t. It got too big for me again, and I don�t know how I can go there and even begin to muck around in it.
So I write it here. Maybe that�ll help.
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