3

 It's March 1st.  Yesterday, the last day of February felt like spring.  The sun was actually out.  The snow started to melt.  We managed (I think) to get our mailbox at the end of the road shoveled out enough so that the mailman could deliver the mail.  (I've been going down to the post office once a week to pick up our mail.  I am not alone.  There are a lot of people -- perhaps hundreds -- in this village who have mailboxes that are inaccessible or have been destroyed as the result of the snowstorms this winter.)  I actually sat outside without a winter coat (although I was wearing a down vest) and soaked up those beautiful warm rays.  Spring is around the corner, could it actually be coming a little early?

I woke up this morning.  A new month, and snow was coming down.  It didn't last (thankfully), but it was a slap in the face.  A reminder that the cold and cruel is not yet over.

I want to write something about the hope that is to come.  Of life that will soon be renewed outside.  Of trees budding and greens popping up out of the dirt.  But I can't.

Three U.S. service members (we don't know if they were men or women or a combination) have been killed.  They are the first U.S. troops to die as a result of the war in Iran.

You can say to me, Bfth, people die every day.  They do.  You can say to me, Bfth, death of service people is inevitable when it comes to war.  I know that.  You say, Bfth, it was ONLY 3, remember how many died in ___?  (Fill in the blank, there are so many wars and conflicts to choose from.)  Yes, many have died.  This is the price we pay.  (We pay?  THEY pay.)  In war (or "conflict") the price is always high.

The three unknown to me, haunt me today.  Somewhere out there is a parent grieving; a child (I don't care how old they are, they are still a child) is gone.  There is a family shattered.  A loved one is gone.  A void that will never be filled.  A hurt that might fade with time, but will never go away.  

It doesn't affect me.  But it does.  It's not just a number...it's a cherished life.

And echoing endless in my ears/head are the lyrics of the great Bob Dylan: 

 "how many ears must one man have

Before he can hear people cry?

Yes, and how many deaths will it take 'til he knows

That too many people have died?

The answer, my friend, is blowin' in the wind

The answer is blowin' in the wind"

 How many will it be?  Today it is 3.  What will it be tomorrow?  And who will pay the price?  Certainly not the ones who make the decisions.  Not the ones who issue the orders.  Not the ones who sit behind the desk and tell us that there will be bloodshed and death.  It is a price that has to be paid, but not for them.

It is made by us.  We pray that it won't directly be us, but...

How many deaths will there be?  Today, the first of March, already too many people have died.


Updated:  3 has become 4...


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