The Country That We Live In
I flew back from Dallas today with a dead pilot.
Most of us go through our lives with little awareness of the toll that America's wars are taking on our military or the sacrifices that they make on our behalf. Occasionally, that ignorance is rudely interrupted.
In the belly of my airplane was the casket of of a young pilot who was killed this week on a training mission preliminary to being posted to Iraq. My seatmate was his squardon officer. He was on his way to New Hampshire to explain to a mother and father why their only son's sacrifice was not in vain.
During our flight, the American pilots and our flights attendants took turns sitting with my friend, trying to help him with a job that he probably never thought that he'd signed on for when he enlisted nineteen years ago.
When we landed at Logan, we were kept in our seats while the Air Force Lieutenant debarked to do his duty. So we sat, watching out the window in fascination and agony while a casket was unloaded into a military hearse and my new friend tried to comfort a sobbing window.
American Airlines, to its great credit, addressed the situtation with great dignity. Like other airlines, American acknowledges service members on its flights, gives them extra assistance in boarding and upgrades them them when space is available in First Class. For members of my generaton, there could not be a greater contrast with the ambivalent reception that veterans of the Viet Nam conflict received on their return home.
Easter is a time of hope, joy and celebration for my people. I pray that comfort and peace may also come to my seatmate and the family of that unknown pilot that came home today to his place of final resting.
