It's Veteran's Day.
Everyone is posting tributes and
messages of support to our troops
past and present.
But not me.
Because I have some big work thing
going on and I am overwhelmed with
details, details, details and loading the van.
La la la. Heinous Bitch.
I adore my co-worker, Cynthia.
But I was even rude to her.
I left the office for a little while
so that I could find a quiet place to work
for a few hours.
After I calmed down a little,
I logged into Facebook and saw
Cynthia's profile picture.
He's Cynthia's brother.
Fifteen days away from coming
home from his second deployment,
Jeff died on a spring day
in Balad, Iraq.
A brother. A son. A husband.
A Philadelphia Flyers fan.
A soccer player.
After witnessing Iraqi children
resorting to playing soccer with soda cans,
Jeff organized soccer ball shipments from his hometown--
and played along with the Iraqi children
when new, inflated balls began to arrive.
He is missed dearly by everyone who knew him.
I'm happy Jeff lived.
I'm happy to know Cynthia.
I'm happy to have been jolted out
of my temper tantrum by
the reality that I have the freedom to
do all of the things that I do because of our
nation's servicemen and women.
Today, it's Jeff.