A memory this day...

"He is young…He's afraid

Let him rest…Heaven blessed.

Bring him home…Bring him home…Bring him home."

Jean Valjean – Les Miserables, the musical

There is a paradox in this time…on this day…in this country. We find ourselves at war…something that seems, for some, a distant inconvenience…for others, who have lost a son or daughter, a friend or neighbor…an indelible stain that will not wash away.

Yet, on this Memorial Day in the United States, we should remember the freedoms we have are due to the sacrifices, ultimate or not, made by Veterans who gave of themselves for this country. We should remember the privilege and freedom – of religion, the press, speech, assembly, and the right to vote – comes because of sacrifices by those who served.

I journaled this four years ago and thought it appropriate today…

An opportunity…
I met an American hero today.

This past week I was in Palm Springs, California for a meeting. My flight home to Detroit through Chicago was delayed by 3 hours because of weather. By the time I got in it was well past 10PM and the flight to Detroit had been cancelled. It was a nightmare in Chicago with hundreds of people trying to find places to stay because many flights, like mine had been cancelled. I managed to get a hotel about 17 miles from the airport in Addison, Ill, and the 'last car' available from a limo service that had been recommended - there were no more taxis. It was late; unexpectedly snowy; cold and by the time I got to the hotel and collapsed by 2AM, I was ready and grateful for the bed.

Later that day, the flight to Detroit was scheduled for 1:55PM. There was an earlier flight at 10:40AM that was oversold, but being somewhat of a road warrior; I thought I might try to stand-by. I got to the airport, through security and to the gate for the earlier flight, where I was issued a stand-by coupon. There was an airline lounge just down the corridor, so I went in to wait. I was tired and my schedule was in total disarray. While holding up fairly well – I was anxious to get home.

The unguarded moment…
He entered the lounge in his wheelchair, his person so clearly recognizable. I had seen him many times before in the media, speaking with eloquence and care for the lives of so many young men for whom he had become a symbol.

We had all wondered what might happen in that foreign land; we wondered whether we would come home, whether we might ever see our loved ones – who seemed so much more precious to us as the plane took us from our shores to that foreign land. We often talked in soft voices, naively saying if something happened to us, we hoped it would be death – for what we feared most was coming home disfigured; half a man with ugly scars on the outside as surely there would be those hidden within.

The price…
“You can’t do that, you don’t have the tools to be a productive member of society.” They would say to us… “You served your country, but it just didn’t work out.” And so it was for him. His wasn’t the ultimate sacrifice – it was worse; he survived.

The grenade had taken both of his legs and one of his arms…he should never have survived that event nor the harm and pain it caused both his body and his mind. Yet somehow he did; somehow he moved forward with his life; somehow he became the youngest head of the Veteran’s Administration; somehow he became a United States Senator for six years from the State of Georgia. He struggled much and fought many battles both inside and out – and yet there he was in front of me in this moment. For him, it had worked out, because he had been determined to make it work!

Max Cleland, slipped from his wheel chair into one of the lounge seats transferring without help and busied himself with whatever work he had in his briefcase. I couldn’t contain myself and was drawn to his side. “Mr. Cleland,” I said, “You don’t know me, but I have considered you, for many years, one of America's great heros. I have no way to imagine your life, but you never gave up and set such an example for so many of us.”

The reward…
He was more than gracious, thanking me for making the effort to come and chat with him. He told me of the very recent loss of his mother at the age of 93; he told me of an uncle for whom he cared in addition to taking care of his own needs, reminding me that life and its struggles, while present for all of us, are relative. I shared the recent loss of my mother and he did the most remarkable of things…he reached out, took my hand and held it in his. This man from whom so much had been taken, shared a moment of consolation with me…he consoled me! That brief encounter transcended time and circumstance; the human touch both rich and intimate…a shared understanding that transcended words.

Later I tried to relate this experience to my wife, but could not speak…

I met an American hero today and found in him greatness, gentleness and inspiration that moved me deeply. As I left, I stood to attention and saluted this man who had been such an example for so many young men who – in another time and another place – had feared the worst, some of whom survived…some did not. He smiled warmly with an intimate and knowing look; it was a small gesture of a common brotherhood we had shared in life’s journey. More importantly, the shared experience of war had, in the most paradoxical of ways, opened a door of quiet humanity…the complete opposite of that most base of human conflict.

The gratitude…
In the serendipitous moments of life - those moments that go so completely unplanned, and indeed could not be planned – certain things are magical, things that defy expectation, things that shout, “I just want you to know I’m thinking about you,” things that just seem right and good. This was one of those moments, and for that, on this Memorial Day, I am very grateful indeed.

- ted