There always seems to be projects we always procrastinate. I think many times we put things off in fear we will not complete the project or make it worse. I decided to replace the radiator and all the hoses in our old Mustang Saturday afternoon. As I disconnected all the hoses and removed the radiator, I realized I was removing an integral part of the of the Mustangs ability to function. I stood there and wiped the sweat from my forehead and wondered if my hands would be able to make her run again. It’s amazing that all the parts fit together and make time pass by. I sat down on the edge of the Mustang to drink some water and looked over at our flagpole. The flag was tired today and she just laid there. My mind wandered off to my dad and all the others that did their part to make sure we can fly her wherever we want. I thought about November 7, 2003, when my bride called to tell me her cousin Ben was shot down in Iraq. I remember that phone call and the tears I could not see but I could feel them. I remember that cold day we laid him to rest not far from the farm where he broke the earth, and the earth gave him a place to rest. A gold star now hangs in front of a window that was used to watch him get off the school bus.

I joined the Marine Corps at the age of 33. I was married, had a four-year degree, and a good job. Why? I just felt I was not doing enough to make the world better or maybe more tolerable. I needed to serve to make my life fit together. I honestly felt incomplete.

Most of us know someone who we lost in combat. We honor them today, but we should honor them every day. We also know plenty who served but they did not die in combat but a part of them did die. A part of them is lost in twisted metal, broken bones, blood that never seems to dry, a land that is not home, and a soul searching for hope. Our part is simple, to provide hope. It’s more than hanging an extra flag. It’s showing the families that lost someone in combat, or their someone that came home lost, that their sacrifice was well worth it. I can tell you firsthand that blood does dry, and metal does not seem so twisted. It’s showing them that even though a major part of their puzzle seems to be gone, or no longer fits, or no longer runs, there is hope. Hope costs nothing but a smile, a kind word, a gesture, or that hug that lasts a little longer. Hope heals.

To cousin Ben and all the others who served thank you from The Roadmap Company.