Ira Stulbaum
My effervescent blessings dance around me like fine particles, suspended in air and illuminated by sunlight. They flow in and out of me like vapors of God’s grace. So prodigious as to overwhelm the grains of sand that call the Sinai home. As deep and rich as the sensual topsoil of the Mississippi delta, their gracious contours can cause a Stradivarius to blush. They are mundane and magnificent.
My connection to and daily conversations with the Almighty top my list, the deep love I feel toward and the intense joy I derive from interacting with others of my species and a few who are not. The sun reaching out and caressing my face from a mere 93 million miles away. The cloudless sky screaming out in perfect blueness. The laugh of a child, particularly one I elicited. The gentle gaze and freely offered smile of the stranger. To feel in complete synchronicity with another so that unspoken understanding makes words superfluous. The first bite of a brownie. The courage to take a chance on love. The courage to act when love has booked one-way passage on the 5:13 out of Penn Station. The courage to take the next step, any step, when the path is shrouded in shadow and foreboding.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Saying goodbye to my son as he left for Iraq made me think of my mother, as my brother left for Vietnam, over 30 years ago. At the time I gave her no thought. I smiled at my brother, as he was getting ready to board the plane. Those were the days when we were allowed to watch our loved ones board planes. He looked so handsome in his Air Force uniform, which I can still visualize like a photograph in my memory. I felt so sad to see him go and I can still see the touch of sadness on his face as he turned to look at me, probably thinking, “where the heck am I going and what am I doing?” I don’t remember even noticing my mother. Was she there? I have no recollection. My brother was all but 17 or 18, which at the time seemed very grown up but now, as I look at the 18- and 19-year-old faces of the men in Iraq they look so young, so innocent and baby faced. Was that how my brother looked? Of course, but I did not notice, as I like them, was young and baby faced.
I hugged my son at the airport and felt a mix of emotions. I was proud that he had been able to learn Arabic {Gulf Arabic and Syrian Arabic) well enough to pass the exams necessary to be hired by Global Linguists Solutions’ Operation Iraqi Freedom. Proud, but sad, scared and maybe a bit happy that he had work in this dismal economy. Eric is just 24, old enough to understand the circumstances into which he was entering. My brother was hardly out of high school, only in the Air Force maybe six months, not much more when they decided Vietnam was his destination. An excellent athlete, he had received a college scholarship to run track, but my Dad, being an immigrant, did not know that my brother could get a deferment; and to avoid the draft he told my brother to join the Air Force hoping he would have a better choice than if he was drafted.
My son’s departure was voluntary. He had already lived in Syria for two years, read many books about the Middle East, knew the culture, the language and had a degree in International Politics from Penn State University. He wanted to go. That alleviated some of my anxiety; but what alleviated my mother’s anxiety when my brother left? Unfortunately, my parents are both gone; I will never know. But I do know that like myself today, she secretly scanned the news each day and waited each day for that letter as I wait for that phone call or an email. I did not even think to ask my mother how she felt when he said goodbye to her or how she felt everyday that he was in Vietnam. I suspect her heart was in her hand; she must have cried many nights. I vaguely recall her writing him reminding him to brush his teeth. I have said goodbye to many persons and places in my life. Nothing is like saying goodbye to your child heading off to a war zone.
Goodbye could be happy as people march off to bigger and better things. I have had some of those, but goodbye to my son leaving for Iraq left me with a feeling of uncertainty, which I tried to hide from him as he left.
My brother was never the same. I hardly recognized him at the airport when he returned from Vietnam. We waited days for a letter, now I receive an email or a cell phone call immediately. Did that make my goodbye easier than my mother’s goodbye? I will never know; my last goodbye to my mother was forever.
Jennifer Eyges
I hugged my son at the airport and felt a mix of emotions. I was proud that he had been able to learn Arabic {Gulf Arabic and Syrian Arabic) well enough to pass the exams necessary to be hired by Global Linguists Solutions’ Operation Iraqi Freedom. Proud, but sad, scared and maybe a bit happy that he had work in this dismal economy. Eric is just 24, old enough to understand the circumstances into which he was entering. My brother was hardly out of high school, only in the Air Force maybe six months, not much more when they decided Vietnam was his destination. An excellent athlete, he had received a college scholarship to run track, but my Dad, being an immigrant, did not know that my brother could get a deferment; and to avoid the draft he told my brother to join the Air Force hoping he would have a better choice than if he was drafted.
My son’s departure was voluntary. He had already lived in Syria for two years, read many books about the Middle East, knew the culture, the language and had a degree in International Politics from Penn State University. He wanted to go. That alleviated some of my anxiety; but what alleviated my mother’s anxiety when my brother left? Unfortunately, my parents are both gone; I will never know. But I do know that like myself today, she secretly scanned the news each day and waited each day for that letter as I wait for that phone call or an email. I did not even think to ask my mother how she felt when he said goodbye to her or how she felt everyday that he was in Vietnam. I suspect her heart was in her hand; she must have cried many nights. I vaguely recall her writing him reminding him to brush his teeth. I have said goodbye to many persons and places in my life. Nothing is like saying goodbye to your child heading off to a war zone.
Goodbye could be happy as people march off to bigger and better things. I have had some of those, but goodbye to my son leaving for Iraq left me with a feeling of uncertainty, which I tried to hide from him as he left.
My brother was never the same. I hardly recognized him at the airport when he returned from Vietnam. We waited days for a letter, now I receive an email or a cell phone call immediately. Did that make my goodbye easier than my mother’s goodbye? I will never know; my last goodbye to my mother was forever.
Jennifer Eyges
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