Gods of War

“I refuse to let Iraq take any more of my husband,” the woman with the false lashes told the crying one. I stopped paying attention to her impassioned speech so I could write the line down.

That's what we're doing. Each of us, not just in this room or at this retreat, but each caregiver of a disabled veteran anywhere. As we line up their vitamins, medications, appointments, calendars; as we call the VA, our congresspeople, social security, the TSA; as we provide a buffer between civilians both well-intentioned and ignorant; we are refusing to let war further erode the men we once knew. We insist on better medications, more medications, less medications, medicinal marijuana. We want competent neurologists, psychiatrists, and therapists. We demand prosthetics that look better, fit better, feel better, work better..

At one time our veterans were glorious marble statues. Everyone admired their beautiful lines. Over time their glorious facades started to show wear and tear. Some of them lost an arm, a leg, a nose. You can see some of them crumbling. We are their preservers. We know the pieces they've lost are gone but we protect them from further damage.

We can stop their pasts from taking any more of their futures. At least this is the prayer we offer the gods of war.

We know it is not right that these noble men and women are no longer on display but hidden and ignored, gathering dust. We know it is not fair we will never see the ones we sent to war again. Instead we will build lives with replacements who are both more and less than the ones we loved.

And we grieve. And we cry.

We cry not only for what parts of themselves they have lost in war but the parts that have taken over the empty spaces in their hearts, minds, phantom limbs. We cry because they have killed and both the innocent and the guilty ghosts haunt them. We cry because they have seen children not only dead and dying but killing. They have threatened to kill babies. They have killed babies and then come home to their own babies. We grieve when they cannot.

We also understand when they cannot. We understand that in war there is no such thing as justice or even fairness. We understand that even the soldier who could not wait to fight for his country came home wondering why we were fighting and exactly where God was in all of this.

No two soldiers are alike, of course, nor is soldier the right word for every marine, corpsman, or airman who has been to war. War is now much broader than it used to be. There are no safe zones in our modern wars. War now encompasses not only the infantrymen but the woman in Tucson, Arizona dropping radio controlled bombs into Iraq and the Air Force dental assistant identifying bodies by what is left of their teeth. Some of these people get through by reminding themselves continuously that they are the good guys. Some do. More often I meet people who have no idea whether good even exists, much less matters.

We, the people who love them, believe in good. We believe they are good regardless. We believe in their inherent goodness and it is our job to protect it and shine it and keep it safe and show it off. Look, we say, look at all they gave up because they believed in us. Now we will do the same for them.