Memories on Memorial Day

I don't actually know very many people in the armed forces. I haven't had the horrifying numbness that must come with saying goodbye to a loved one as they pack their things for a 15 month deployment. I don't know what it is like to get a letter in the mail or my e-mail inbox that makes my heart skip a beat - proof that he or she is still alive. I have only the distant pity when I see reports on the nightly news about fire fights, bombs, attacks. My life has been largely untouched by war.

A few years ago, Mr. Bossman decided he (translation: we) needed to do something to show his (translation: our) appreciation for our servicemen and women. So he set up something called Operation Pella. We collected donations from local business people. For anyone who had served or was serving in Afghanistan or Iraq, we offered them a 'night on the town'. Upon checking into their comped room, they would find a beautiful bouquet of flowers, a bottle of fine wine, gift certificates to stores all over town, a gas card they could use to fill their tank before they went home, gift cards to use at grocery stores, and more. They need only tell us their name and pick a day.

I coordinated almost all aspects of this project. I took the calls from the servicemen and women - sometimes their spouses or parents. I arranged the hotel rooms, the dinners, the flowers. I put together the packages we left in their room. I delivered the packages and set them up at each hotel just before they would check in. All this behind the scenes. I never once shook their hand or even saw their face. And I would have it no other way. It was never about them thanking me - I was just the middle person. It was about us thanking them. It became my way of doing something for them - the people that had gone to war for me.

And then it affected my life.

I talked to one of the young men one afternoon at my desk. He called to confirm the details. He and his wife had several small children. He was home on leave and would be going back in a matter of days. Just before I hung up he said "Jean, I can't thank you guys enough for doing this for us." Strange tears filled my eyes and I said, "Oh Adam. This is the least we can do. You have done so much for us. So much we will never know." And then he said the words that changed me. Very quietly, almost embarrased, he said, "I'm just doing my job."

God bless the country where men and women say those words. God bless the country where people volunteer to fight for our freedom. God bless the hundreds and thousands of people we never get to thank, and the hundreds and thousands we should.