May 25 2008
Memorial Day and Remembering Our Own
This introduction and poem are published with the permission of a graduate of Pioneer High School. I hope you will remember all the service people on this Memorial Day.
I have always been against the war in Iraq, although last fall, it touched my life in a way I never expected. One of my close friend’s brother, Andy was in the Marines, and was sent over seas last fall. A few short months later, he died in combat. Dealing with that loss, as well as seeing how much it tore apart his family was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to experience. It made me hate that so many people are over there dying, and feel for their friends and family in a more personal way than I ever had before. As well as deepening my frustration with the war, it also made me appreciate our soldiers, and what they go through, more then anything. To be effected in such a personal way by the product of war, I’ve come to understand how absolutely amazing, and brave every one of the soldiers are to be over there fighting, and how much support and love they deserve regardless of whether or not I agree with the war itself. There will always be war in this world, but I’m starting to realize how important it is to just be conscious and respectful of the situation. It’s so easy for people to just put it out of their minds when their personal lives are not affected, but in order to understand the magnitude of the situation, you have to understand the power of every single soldier, and the story behind each. The attached poem I wrote in memory of Andy Kim. Last Updated ( Wednesday, 11 July 2007 )
| Andy |  |
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| Written by PHS Graduate | |
| Wednesday, 27 June 2007 | |
| Poem in memory of Andy Kim who died in Iraq last year. We love you Andy.I drive by a house, a white sign in the yard, plain black letters, changing everyday. 1,700 lives, 2,100 lives, 2,500 lives, 2,817 lives lost in Iraq. Everyday the number grows, I swallow a pang in the back of my throat as I realize, it’s almost the same number as students in my school, but somehow, it’s pushed from my mind as easily as the calculus homework I didn’t understand last night. Somehow, I don’t dwell on that number, somehow, by the next stop sign, it’s just another statistic that’s easy to ignore. It’s like pollution, something you know is dangerous to our world, but don’t really ever expect to affect you, or someone in your life, until it does. “I want you to play this for Isaac’s brother. He deserves that.” Our orchestra conductor instructed to the silence of a hundred string players. The quiet melodic notes wailed for the loss, trying to express an emotion even the music couldn’t understand. The bell rang, jarring people out of their emotional state and back to their own realities, back to their cell phones and ipods, bustling around, talking animatedly, not understanding that for those who were affected by the tragedy, the bell only signified that school goes on, school goes on, but not life. After fumbling to put my violin away, I meet Chris, Michael and Brianna at the front of the room. We stand together in silence, Chris’ eyes bloodshot, the same color as the bloodshed he’s crying for. We walked outside into the cold, the snow hitting our wet faces like the tears tore apart our souls, leaving only icicles we couldn’t wipe away. Michael falls distant as we walk, head down and shoulders caved, his feet lead him in the routine path to Dhall, not noticing he’s left our side, Chris calls his name, “Michael,” the ring of his voice swallowed by the silence is harsh in sound, but comforting, pillowed with emotion. Chris put his hand on Michael’s backpack, doesn’t break the connection as we walk. There’s nothing to say, no words can heal the hurt or take it away. Isaac isn’t at school, we feel so much pain, but to try to understand how much harder it is for him isn’t even imaginable. When we do talk at all, its only to express our love and sympathy for Isaac and his family, trying to figure out what to even say; or to describe our anger and hatred toward the war that’s ripping apart so many families, and that just stole someone so close to our lives. It’s not something you ever expect to experience, no one ever should have to. I drive home from school, zoned out in front of the wheel, radio turned off and alone in the silence. A white sign catches my eye and my stomach flips over when I read 2, 818 lives. That one number increase meant more to me than all those days I saw it increase by hundreds, that one number meant something real, it meant someone’s life I knew, that one number represented the emptiness and destruction the war caused a whole family and everyone who loves him, the number represents one more family changed forever, one more heartache impossible to move on from. And even though all the numbers must have stories like that behind them, this is the first one that’s touched my life, the first one to mean something more to me than an unfortunate statistic on the news, that one number meant so much more than any of the others ever had. So when I saw 2,818 I was still thinking about that one number long after the next stop sign. |
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