A few thoughts about GI Joe and Lillie

A series of events took place over the last few days that began on Twitter of all things. First off, I must admit to being a Twitter addict. My little @joebonsall Twitter page is always aglow with 140 words or less pieces of diatribe. As is the @oakridgeboys. Tweet headquarters, to which I also contribute tidbits on a daily basis.

I follow a group on Twitter called @goodsoldiers These fine, patriotic folks tweet the names of the those young servicemen and women whose lives have been lost, sadly on a weekly and sometimes daily basis, in hot spots around the world. The name, age, and location of the sacrifice are always given in the Tweet, along with a link where you can click and learn about the Fallen Warrior.

One day recently I received an email from my good friend Darrell Bowling with a YouTube link to a Radney Foster / Darius Rucker song from a few years ago. It’s called Angel Flight, and the lyrics are written from the standpoint of a pilot of a C-130 transport, whose job it is to transport The Fallen home to the USA, to such places as Dover AFB and others that will care for and ship the body home to his or her family. One lyric to the song reads as follows: “It doesn’t matter where we set down… On the Angel Flight it’s sacred ground.”

So very moving.

I would add here that former Marine Bowling, who sent me the link, lost his only son in Iraq. I wear the name of Jon Bowling on a black bracelet on my right arm… everyday!

During a day off the road this week, I decided to take a ride out to the country where I own property on the Tennessee / Kentucky line. My plan was to kick back a bit, do some work, clear my mind, play some banjo, and maybe do a little writing, which I am doing right now.

On the way I got behind a long line of cars moving slowly on a two-lane stretch. At first I lamented the fact that it would take forever to get around the traffic. Then, in the far distance, I could barely make out blue blinking lights, indicating an accident or something.

I resigned myself to a much slower trip to my farm than usual. Then it hit me. The cars coming the other way had all pulled over. It hit me hard when I saw an old gentleman who had gotten out of his car and was standing in the middle of the road in a full salute.

By now, hundreds of cars had pulled over, and the funeral procession weaved its way down the road. After several more miles, the Sheriff stopped and the funeral procession turned left into the parking lot of a small, red brick church, where a lonely cemetery stood off to the left.

As I passed the church I could barely make out the red, white, and blue in the back of the hearse. I understood then why the old man had been standing in the middle of the road saluting, and I broke into tears.

I was reminded of my mother’s remains arriving in Arlington, VA, and my sister saying, “Here she comes, Joey.” A big blue hearse pulled up and there was my Lillie resting beneath the Stars and Stripes.

I drove on… weeping all the way to my farm.

It is very sobering, as it has been through the decades, to see our young men and women come home in a flag draped coffin, and we must love them all every single day, for they are the best of us.

The Fallen! They have given ALL for you and me, and MUST be remembered.

If you are on Twitter… please follow @goodsoldiers for the constant reminder of the prices paid and sacrifices made—for our freedom!