Jan 12 2008
When I was home…
Where I grew up on the north side of Houston in the burbs there was a national cemetery just across the street outside my subdivision. The area was mostly quiet until the advent of the freeway, Beltway 8. The cemetery was flank on either side by a couple of cattle farms, and on the rarest of moments we’d hear the bell toll from the central building at the heart of the cemetery.
I remember being about, I don’t know, nine or ten years old and I thought to myself how quiet that cemetery was. It wasn’t like normal cemeteries where there were occasional caravan of cars and motorcycled cops for escorts. That rarely ever happened.
It wasn’t until years later in high school when I moved away that I realized that it was a national cemetery for military veterans and government officials. Indeed, the road is named “Veterans Memorial”.
Surrounding the perimeter of the cemetery was a black iron fence, and the nearest grave for the longest time was not visible from the road. Those cattle farms were long gone for years now, replaced by mini-malls and shopping centers, washeterias and apartment complexes. But the cemetery was still there, like a constant perennial land marker for that side of town.
When I visited this past December, I drove on that same road on my way to see my parents, and it was different. It took me a moment recognize what I was seeing because it was like watching images of the graves set in Normandy. There were over a hundred white markers, tombstones, of newly dug graves lined in neat columns and rows, and they ran all the way up to that black iron fence.
Military men and women back from the war.
Our casualties. Our soldiers.
I felt immeasurably sad and proud. We are so blessed to have such protectors and warriors. They were Texans and it figured that they were overrepresented in our military, but I couldn’t help but wonder if I knew someone now lying there…