There are times that I
will be sitting within the comforts of my own home, and like a thief in the
night, a memory from my former life will envelope me and take me to an un-invited revisit of pre-Veteran life.
It had been said by natives along the Pacific Coast that the sea has “no memory”.
Not only do I have a vivid memory, but I have an emotional one to go with it,
mixed in with a little “Post-Trauma”, different and somewhat unique compared to
the demons other warriors from the military possess (Marines. Navy SEALs, Army
Rangers…)
As I lay here tonight, my mind retraces its steps to
an evening in San Diego a few years ago…
I was
sitting outside the barricade of the “Wet Side” of Naval Base, SD, waiting for
the community trolley to take me downtown to a local pub. I sat there alone,
waiting… The sea air was brisk, and the embers of freshly lit cigarettes dirtied
the seating area, probably of other Sailors off-duty and looking forward to a
long night of clinking glasses and no chance of censorship on any of their
lips.
A
gentleman approached the waiting station, interrupting my tinkering on my cell
phone and attracting all of my attention. Every moment he was there, I thought
I was seeing him at his ”lowest of lows”, and with each passing moment, I realized
that I was continuously wrong. This man had two tiny dogs on a leash, a long
and dirty trench-coat, a mini-shopping cart full of rags and clothing, and a Styrofoam
To-Go box. And before these little dogs could sniff out my feet from the bench,
the man picked up both of the dogs, placed them inside the cart, began placing
clothes on top of them to keep them from being seen (as one of the rules of the
transit was that no live pets were allowed onboard), and then placed the To-Go
box on top of the clothes, which was quite possibly his dinner and maybe a small
bite or two for the little ones….
As my
heart sank into my chest, a familiar and standard “way of life” filled the air.
The trumpet blazed. TAPS was being blasted for all ships in the Pacific Fleet
to hear. I stood, placed my fists by my sides and stood at attention… I soon
discovered that a fellow Ship-Mate had stood alongside me, raggedy clothes and
all, to pay his respects to his former life and those who had proudly taken his
place…
I will never forget that
day, nor will I forget this man. I pray the cold Pacific air is not chilling his
bones this evening. Others have had encounters of the sort, and instead of
rambling any further, I will merely quote a beautiful lyric from a young
artist, Trevor Morgan: “Jesus Rides the Subway.” Fellow Veteran, this grateful
man still remembers you and thanks you…
