It is my first day of 4th year externs. I chose to go to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center, WRNMMC for short, because you know the military loves their acronyms. I woke up at 4:45 to make sure I was able to commute from Annapolis to Bethesda, find parking, and report to the optometry clinic by 0700 (on a side note: that's military time y'all, which I have had to suddenly adapt to...sounds easy enough until you get past 12 pm).
The drive there was absolutely miserable, crazy yanks darting in and out of lanes obscured by blinding rain without so much as a turn signal. I found my parking garage and attempted to pull my frazzled look together (let me tell you, jumping from a floating boat to a slippery dock in the pouring rain sure gave me a run for my money). I grabbed my umbrella and started the walk from the garage to the clinic using a tiny map on my iPhone. It seemed like the rain poured harder the second I walked out from the cover of the garage, "so much for first impressions," I thought to myself.
I reached the intersection where I needed to turn, all the while praying that no large car or bus come by and drench me Bridgette Jones' Diary style. As I reached the corner, I saw the profile of a tall, young man dressed in gym shorts and a t-shirt. He had an athletic build and could have been a stunt double for Matt Damon, or some other famously handsome movie star. He was juggling a crutch and an umbrella, trying to decide which was more important, staying dry or arriving at his destination. And then he turned to face me as he put his umbrella away, and y'all it was heartbreaking.
The side of his face was sunken, his scarred skin stretched across misshapen bones. His thick brown hair was not long enough to disguise the wounds that had once pitted his head. He was disfigured to put it mildly. He grimaced in pain as he forced his weight onto a prosthetic leg. How did that man, that young good-looking, strong guy end up like that? And that is the first time it hit me, the price of freedom.
Let me tell ya, I am no stranger to military. I grew up in Fayetteville, NC, home to Ft. Bragg and the 82nd Airborne. It was commonplace to see active duty military walking around in uniform, or to wander on base to watch paratroopers graduate by taking their first jump out of airplanes, or to have a chat with a retiree who had been stationed at Ft. Bragg and somehow managed to make it their home for the rest of their life. Truthfully, more than once I have avoided particular restaurants/bars in town specifically because I didn't feel like being hit on by one of the GIs. I come from a family that has had generations serve in the Army, Navy, Coast Guard, and Air Force. I consider myself a proud American, you know...I know all the words to the Star Spangled Banner, America the Beautiful and the Pledge of Allegiance...good enough right?
After encountering that young man on the corner that first day of work, I have decided my "above average proud American gig" is not enough. I have thought briefly about joining the military, but I am sad to say I viewed it mostly as a travel opportunity, never with any sincerity or thought that I could potentially sacrifice my life for something greater than myself. But these men and women thought about that exactly, and have gone out on a limb to provide for their families, and all American families. They made that tough decision, often at the expense of time with their loved ones, they are the true patriots. And they amaze me.
On any given day at Walter Reed you can find hundreds of men and women just like that boy on the corner, roaming the halls in electric wheel chairs, crutches, prosthetic limbs, or most interesting a table that reminds me of some hover craft from the Jetsons. These people are mentally, spiritually, physically and socially traumatized. Their broken bodies tell the story of their tours of duty, everyone knows who they are without them even talking. They work hard to gain back some semblance of their former lives while their family members try to be supportive and comforting. That guy could be anybody, your brother, a friend, a cousin, and uncle/aunt...and what kills me the most is it could be this guy, MY brother:
Today at church, the pastor played this video and I could not help but burst into tears at the reality of it all.(Warning: watch it if you feel like you need a good cry.)
I wish all of America could see one of these people, talk to them, hear their stories. Their strength, courage, leadership, sense of camaraderie and determination are all characteristics anyone could hope to emulate. I have decided that on my short stint at Walter Reed, I want to know it all about these heroes, I want to listen to whatever they want to tell me, retired or active duty, it doesn't matter, these people have been instrumental in allowing me and all Americans to enjoy every freedom we have ever enjoyed. They deserve our respect, and I feel so absolutely privileged that I have the opportunity to listen to them, and hopefully make their life a little better, whether by the smile on my face, through optometric care, or by a simple, "Thank you for your service."
So this is my challenge to you; if you see someone dressed in uniform, say Thank You...regardless of your political beliefs, these men and women are doing the best job they know how everyday for you.
If you are interested in checking out more ways to help check out this link:
The Wounded Warrior Project
And now a special thanks and much love to my family who have served on this Memorial Day Eve: Grampy Bill Nelson (Army), Pop Breuninger (Coast Guard), Uncle John Elmore (Air Force), Uncle Otis Elmore (Army), Uncle Dwight Elmore (Navy), Paul Ebner (Navy), William Elmore (Army), and Josh Elmore (Navy).
