Another Independence Day

There are certain things common to all wars, for all of history. Besides death, injury, and the hardship of battle, there has always been, and always will be, the silent fear of the loved one left behind at home.

This Independence Day, I can sense this first hand. My youngest daughter's boyfriend is a Marine, engaged in battle for the first time. He and 4,000 comrades swarmed into Helmand Province in southern Afghanistan a few days ago to fight the Taliban. The Taliban control this area, as it provides a huge source of money for their operations. This is where the poppies grow. Poppies that excrete juice for making heroin.

My daughter knows all this; she knows why we as a country fight; why her boyfriend must fight. And she must live with the fear that her man might be killed or injured; that he might never come back the same guy she fell in love with.

For most of history, loved ones never knew on what day their soldier faced danger. There was no TV, no satellite telephone, no Internet to provide real time information. Now the mothers and fathers and wives and lovers of the warrior can see and know everything the media and the military will allow, almost as it happens.

It must be hard to be a soldier in a distant place to think "today is the fourth of July" and not remember other fourths of July when they and their friends went to the beach, ate hot dogs, and watched fireworks and parades. They may even contemplate our own war for freedom over 230 years ago. But the thoughts must quickly pass, as there are more immediate things to be concerned with, deep within war's arena.

Not so for the loved one left behind. They have the time to think, long and often, about such things, and to mourn that life is not as it was a few short months ago. They wonder if the next Independence Day will be a celebration, or a reminder of tragedy -- just as others have silently wondered from decade upon decade, war after war.