Monday, May 31, 2010

This Is For Zack

What kind of greetings do you say on Memorial Day? "Have a good one!"? "Happy, happy!"?
I still think about my nephew, who died in Afghanistan, all the time. I loved him. It's hard to be happy.
We will always remember, but remembering doesn't make things well.

19 comments:

Kailyn said...

Fortunately all those I know who have had to go to Afghanistan have made it home safely -- so far. My cousin's husband is now on his fourth (or is it fifth?) tour there. Here's to hoping that he gets to see his kids grow up.

Greg said...

Well said.

Cali said...

I am very grateful for his service, and very sorry for his ultimate sacrifice and your terrible loss.

Chilebrown said...

Peace

Zoomie said...

Our family has been luckier - we've only lost one, in WWII. I'm still sorry for your loss.

cookiecrumb said...

Kailyn: I'm comforted by your success. Oh, jeez, we just shouldn't be there. But...

Greg: Nice of you, truly.

Cali: Beyond the call of duty! I'm moved by your sweet thoughts. Many thanks.

Chilebrown: Funny, you do come to peace after a while. But you're always still a little sad.

Zoomie: Kind words, lady. Mahalo.

Zia said...

I'm so sorry for your loss! Hugs to you and your family.

SallyBR said...

I remember when Zack died, and how devastated you were.

We definitely should not be there.

I am sending you a hug...

cookiecrumb said...

Zia: Thanks.

cookiecrumb said...

Sally: It was hard, for a variety of reasons -- not the least of which was the loss of our kin. But my family took the opportunity to get a little weird on me, and it hurt deeply.
Thanks for remembering.

kudzu said...

Your words and the illustration could not have been more touching.

Thank you for posting something this thoughtful, and thought-provoking.

J-in-Wales said...

No, it doesn't make things well. But the remembering still has to be done.
J xx

Shine said...

Cookiecrumb, I had missed your earlier posts about Zack so I went back and read them. What a compelling face he had. He sounds like just a lovely lad. I can see why you feel such a void at his loss. My heart feels heavy for you and for Zack's family and friends - that you all have to carry this sadness. Thank you for keeping his memory alive and telling us about him.

SallyBR said...

When my Dad passed away, one of my sisters went through a phase of saying very hurtful things to our Mom and a few other members of the family.

Sometimes grieving takes horrible shapes.

I hope whoever hurt you got over it.

another hug going your way.....

cookiecrumb said...

Kudzu: Wow, that's really nice. :)

J-in-Wales: The remembering is almost physical, almost like a job. It's a good thing to do. xo

Shine: I'm flattered that you tracked him down. Handsome, lovely boy. 31 when he got shot.

Sally: That's painful! Yes, the human mind makes up its own rules, sometimes. Feel better.

Lannae said...

Thanks for remembering such a cherished man in your life. I am sorry he died in Afghanistan. Much of my best thoughts to you and all of Zack's family and friends.

namastenancy said...

I remember your post about your nephew and how it touched me so very deeply. I wept for your loss and for the loss of all those young men and women in this senseless war. We are alive in you, say the dead. Remember us by living and by being true to what we were.

I wrote an earlier post but I don't know if the Internet swallowed it or if my partial quote from "Flanders Fields" was inappropriate. IF so, I apologize - it was completely unintentional.
namaste!

Kelly said...

ahh fuck! my dad met his end in Vietnam. Loss of youth just really really sucks. K xx

cookiecrumb said...

Lannae: Much appreciated. He was not the kind of guy to die in Afghanistan, but... then, again, who is? Hate war.

Nancy: No, you are too sensitive. I loved the Flanders Fields poem (hence my photo of poppies). I just seem to mismanage comment moderation from time to time. I've probably got lots of orphan comments out there I pressed the wrong button on.
xoxo

Kelly: My stomach lurched when I read that, because your dad and I could have been born around the same time. (Then again, my next-door neighbor, a general, died as a grown man in Vietnam when I was 17.)
I'm very sorry for you. It's just not fair.