Arlington

The first few steps were certainly the hardest that I took. Coming out of the visitor center in the early morning, I felt the patriotic sun of the Potomac coercing the sweat to bead out of my skin and roll down my forehead. It was early enough that not a lot of people had come out yet to this vastly hallowed grounds of American Heroes that my feet fell on top of in Arlington Virginia. The National Cemetery was far bigger and expansive than I could have imagined it to be, and the tears looked to weep around the corners of my eyes.

I couldn't understand what it was I was feeling. I expected to be crippled, unable to continue, going down to a knee a weeping. I was glad to have my glasses on, not only so that I wouldn't have to squint in the bright early morning sun, but also to hide from my family the tears welling up in my eye lids. I walked and tried to appreciate the beauty of the cemetery, the perfectly manicured grass and blooming flowers. The tombstones were in near perfect rows as far as I could see, only broken up by the occasional tree or roadway. I walked, not feeling my legs past the pounding of my heart.

I started to understand what it is I exactly felt. I'm sure that since I've served this nation and have the possibility of being buried in such a remarkable dedication to those who were loyal enough to sacrifice everything for this country, and knowing some who are buried here, I took things a little more to heart. Walking and reading the names off of the white granite stones I couldn't but help to feel so extremely honored to be around the spirits of those who were willing to make such a sacrifice. I felt honored to be associated with these men and women who sacrificed their own lives allowing me to appreciate all that I had with my family in our Nations Capital.

I walked around, feeling the tears at the gates of eruption turn from one's of grief to one's of great veneration. At the JFK grave site, I looked over hi speech carved in granite over the graves below on the hill, and into the Captial at sights end, just waking up with the bustle of tourists and church goers on a wonderfully beautiful Easter morning. I couldn't help but feel abhorrent to the fact that so many were expressly enjoying the freedom and liberties that they so unknowingly take at such face value that they couldn't even begin to understand the amount of honor and respect that the men around me deserved. As beautiful a place as they had made to rest the fallen, it could not be enough to give the proper amount of homage to the saviors of freedom and fighters of oppression.

The kids walk past me on the road, playing grab ass and hollering about. It took some personal restraint to keep from making a scene, or worse hitting somebody, but I managed to deliver myself from doing so. I felt honored now, and disgusted in the fact that I had served this nation in combat in the sands of another country in order to help maintain the things we appreciate on a day to day basis protected; and yet I felt that no one of my generation, or close to it understands the price of that daily liberty. I start to feel embarrassed when I watch the news and see the way the youth of our nation are now allowed to act. We've made excuses for everything poor that we do now as a nation. These men resting eternally at my feet, they did not make excuses. They understood, much as I have, the willingness to put it all on the line to live a free life. That idea hasn't been as seriously threatened in long enough for us to really remember. We have forgotten about 9/11 in almost the same way that we've forgotten that we are at war.

I walk through the visitor center, a flew of emotions gripping at my soul, and beating my heart with their hammer throws. I'm glad to have come, unwilling as it had been. It inspires me to try and make a change in our country. I look up at the hill of change that we must make to preserve what for so many years we had valued, and what we fail to value anymore. The tightness in my throat, I can no longer tell where it comes from.


Give me liberty, or give me death.