Everyday I scroll down those pages, the light from the computer screen reflecting onto my face. And everyday I feel the tears welling up in my eyes, blurring out the small black letters that tell me about the lives that are forgotten now. It takes me somewhere else.
I see two images. Both have the trails of sadness etched into them. Two precious, youthful lives had been dropped through the cracks of a warring society. Departing on parallel sides of the field, they are joined with the seamless cloth of brotherhood that binds them together in the deep chasm that they both find themselves in. Above, their nations mourn their losses. But not for long, as their egos drive them to fulfill their gruesome desires, at any cost.
One day, I came upon a letter that moved my very soul. It was written by the hand of a grieving mother who had lost her son to the tyranny of the flying bullet that had found its mark in his young flesh. She wrote to another woman, a mother in the same position as her, yet far, far away. In a different country, of a different race and creed. Yet in this tragic letter of reassurance to her grieving sister, she writes, ” I do not know whether to weep in grief, or surge with pride that our sons gave up their lives in service…”
And as I minimize the page that holds the dreams, lives and entire stories of forgotten people in a desolate number, I can’t help but think that it’s the tears and sadness of those mothers that unites them. Their sons are what unite them. Their sacrifice of those lives is what unites them.
If only people would just remember. Just remember what the cost of all of this takes…the cost of death.
Or maybe it’s the cost of life…
But as long as people will continue to sit in front of a screen with glazed, hollow eyes that see nothing but the graphs that are shown, and hear nothing but the numbers that are quoted, there will be no one left to remember.
For every soldier gives up their today, for our tomorrow; if only we’d remember. So please, remember.