Wherever we go, my husband seems to attract them. They come up to him when we are standing in lines, eating at restaurants, parking our car, or walking in to the movie theater. They want to talk. Some of them have a bit of a belly, some are thin, some walk slowly with a stoop, some swagger with a hand in their pocket, but across the board, they almost all have white hair. They are veterans. They see my husband’s “Retired Army” cap with pins designating which “action” he has seen and they want to swap war stories. They want to share, commiserate, laugh, and maybe even shed a tear or two. They find in my husband, not only a listening ear, but an understanding heart.
Jane Hirschfield says in For What Binds Us,
“…see how the flesh grows back
across a wound, with a great vehemence,
more strong
than the simple, untested surface before.
There’s a name for it on horses,
when it comes back darker and raised: proud flesh,
as all flesh
is proud of its wounds, wears them
as honors given out after battle,
small triumphs pinned to the chest—“
Many times standing next to the man will be a quiet old lady who nods her head in agreement and smiles pleasantly as she listens to her husband. She has stood beside him many times before. She is proud of what he has done. My husband and I are always so amazed at the sacrifices of these people. Recently, I started taking interest in the other side of the story and asking the wife questions while the men talk on. What were her war stories? “He was gone two years. I had to raise the kids by myself.” “We moved nineteen times in twenty-eight years.” “I didn’t know any different, I was an Army Brat myself.” “We lost our son…our grandson…” the stories are similar.
They want to tell me about their children and their grandchildren. They want to tell me how they survived and even flourished despite the hardships. You see, they are veterans too. Motherhood veterans, wife veterans, laundry veterans, working-woman veterans, housewife veterans, nursing veterans, teaching veterans, prayer veterans, in short, woman veterans. We share a common bond of small triumphs in battle. Our proud flesh is seen in the wrinkles around our eyes and pulled taut across our strong backs. You would probably never know to look at us. We would never wear caps across our head displaying our battle insignias; they would be too countless to cover a cap. We certainly wouldn’t wear one that said, “Retired woman.” We never retire.
What we do wear is a confidence of heart. We should certainly recognize one another in our travels. There is a certain understanding that passes between us when we lock eyes.
What war stories would you like to share?
Segullah wants to salute all the military veterans, men and women, those alive and those who have passed on, who have sworn to defend the Constitution even to the giving of their lives. We thank and honor you.
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I don’t really want to share my own war stories, but they are so similar to so many women in the world. I think we all struggle together, don’t we? In so many different and similar ways.
But I do want to add my amen to your beautiful salute to the many, many, many men and women who defend our country. Thank you.
Amen. I loved this. War stories? How much time do you have?
Beautiful post, at many levels. Thank you.
And here’s an Ardis post specifically about Mormon female veterans. Thought it might be of interest to readers here on this day.
Very nice. And Amen to the tribute, and I’m also adding my thanks.
I love to think about my late grandmother working at the old Geneva Steel plant while my grandfather lived through the hell of the HMS Rohna disaster. She absolutely loved working the big crane that moved steel from one area to another inside the plant.
She almost always smiled when she told her stories. My grandfather rarely speaks of his.
Matt,
Thank you so much for sharing your story about your Grandma. I was thinking about moving big cranes today too…I need one for all the toys in my house.
Today I stopped at a cemetery where about 50 older people were sitting singing patriotic songs at a memorial. I marched up with my 5-year old an 3-year old. We got stared at for some reason. “Glory, glory, Hallelujah! His truth keeps marching on!” we sang. I couldn’t stop crying. Where are all the younger people? I’m so afraid for the loss of our freedoms.
Thank you for this, Melonie. My dad is a Vietnam vet and his father was in the Navy during WWII. It’s only been fairly recently that I’ve come to appreciate what that means. I think that may partly be because of what Matt mentioned–my dad rarely speaks of his experiences as well. I’m glad that your husband attracts people and stories from veterans. I wish we all could hear.
Melonie, this was absolutely lovely. Thank you.
My grandpa was a veteran, and both my husband’s grandfathers. And I love how you incorporate the women as well. A perfect post for this day.
Lovely post, Melonie. Thank you.
I’d like to introduce you to my Uncle Bob. Apparently he was a favorite uncle of mine when I was a small child, but sadly, I don’t remember him. Neither does my cousin–his daughter–who was a baby when he left. Or her little sister, who was born after he was shot down.
I’ll never forget the day we got the news he was MIA. I was almost six and it was the first time I ever saw my father cry.
His name is Captain Robert Alan Rex.
May he rest in peace.
Love this post. I am so grateful to the men and women, and their families, who protect our country. It takes more sacrifice than I can imagine. Because of people willing to give all they have to their country, we can now enjoy so many blessings of freedom.
Well-written.
I was having breakfast at the Village Inn a few years ago on Veteran’s Day when I saw a veteran eating (he had on his hat and jacket with all the pins.) I really wanted to pay for his breakfast as a “thank you” for his service (not that it even begins to repay it!) but I felt so shy and hesitant that I didn’t. I really regret that. I wish there were some way to show my appreciation.
A special thank you to the vets, like my uncle, who went through such hell they can’t share their stories.