The Gold Star Mothers

As I've mentioned before, I often compose entries in my head, memorize them, then type then out the first chance I get. Tonight on the long drive home, my husband looked to me and said, "I'd like you to compose something from today." My response to him was something about my brain being mush. When I realized that my only other option was listening to Kade's attempts at yodeling (and he did, all the way home. Did I mention this was a five hour drive?) I changed my tune. Somehow my brain coagulated to form a few thoughts that I'd like to share.

We sat in a hotel room, readying ourselves for the next day. My Chris put cards in order so that I could put them in individual plastic sleeves. As I started, I decided that I should read each name on each card. I did it more for myself than anything. I wanted to remember each name, to reflect on each name. I guess it was my own little way of honoring each of them. And so it began, one hundred and thirty-six names in all, from different places in Illinois, all of them fallen soldiers since the beginning of the war. Each of them would be worn by a PGR member, who would honor that soldier for the day. I read them, the names flowing off my tongue. It seemed so right to acknowledge them in that way. And I was fine until about the one hundred and thirtieth card, then my tongue seemed stuck. This one I remembered. This one brought it all home for me. My Chris, I think having caught on to what I was doing, finished reading the last of the names for me.

I think that each mission is like that for a rider out there. It is different for all of us, but we each have one or maybe even a few missions that we keep close to us. I don't know how to explain it, but it seems like each rider has that one mission that is special to them. Today, I passed out those badges. Some riders requested certain ones, and you could tell that it was because that mission was special to them. One rider came close to tears when he pulled out the very badge that he had ridden on. It was amazing how that worked out. In the end, I had six badges left over. We just didn't have enough riders there to represent each soldier, but I was determined that each soldier WOULD be represented. So a couple of Soldier's Angels, Rose and I all pinned the remaining badges on each other. I was so happy and grateful that they were willing to do so. (And might I add, while I have the chance, that I think all of the ladies of the Soldier's Angels are the sweetest and most generous ladies you will ever meet. I am so glad they were there today.)

We stood in lines on each side of the hall, flags saluting. The Gold Star Mothers walked with their families in between the two lines. When the ceremony began, we all formed rows of Honor Guard. Lt. Gov. Quinn spoke, then they began giving out Gold Star Banners for the families of the fallen. Each were honored. Tissues were definitely needed, but none more so than when they honored Justin King. Having gotten sick with cancer after having joined the military, PFC Justin King refused to be discharged. He passed away a soldier, just as he wanted, just as it should be. It was so awe-inspiring to see him honored in that way.

It is said that under tragic circumstances, people can bond together easily. I think that is true for Patriot Guard Riders. When we see each other, it is usually for a funeral. We continue to meet under a tragic backdrop, so it is only natural that we gravitate towards another. Faces become familiar, we form bonds. We not only form bonds with each other, but with the families, as well. After the ceremony, Chris brought me to Kyle Wehrly's mother. He removed Kyle's badge from my chest to give to her. I had never met her before, but it seemed as though we had known each other forever. Tears formed in her eyes and then mine. We hugged that way, both of us in tears. If I had given her a little bit of comfort, I am happy. As I looked around the room, I found we weren't alone. Families and PGR comforted, hugged, spoke to each other much in the same way. Later, I would hear of the mothers realizing that each soldier was represented by a PGR member, only to seek that member out. In reality, we are complete strangers, but the truth is that there is a bond there.

I think that if we can give comfort to the families of the fallen, then we have done good by them. But what they don't realize is what they have done for us. For each mission that goes by, we wear those badges close to our hearts. For each mission that goes by, we keep a little piece of them close to our hearts, as well.