Life Is A Gift

Dick Maloy left this world last week.  I truly doubt if anyone on the east coast had ever heard of him.  I only met him twenty years ago, but while I didn’t know his name until then, I knew of him.  He was one of the three survivors of my husband’s Marine Platoon.  The three who came home did not keep in contact although I believe they remained firmly in each other’s hearts and memories.

Twenty odd years ago, our youngest son was transferred to a military base in Oklahoma.  My husband volunteered to drive across the country with him to the new assignment.  And then he said, “And I will call Dick Maloy.” Until then I had never heard the name.

I didn’t make the trip with my husband and son, but I know that as soon as Dick received the call, my son and his family had a surrogate family for their entire stay in Oklahoma.  We were able to visit often during those years, and I soon discovered, It is a wonderfully amazing State.  Each time we did, the two friends spent time together, but I doubt if there were war stories or recollections shared.  However, a bond that was ignited when they were both 17, had never lost its flame.

Shortly before my husband’s death, Dick and Terry (the other member of the trio) invited us to attend a Marine Reunion with them in San Diego. Since one of our other children was then living there, it sounded like a good idea.  I had never been to a military reunion before, and as life developed, it would be the only one I would ever attend.

I will ever and always remember the incredible reception the three men, who each personified “Always A Marine,” received.  Young families came over in the airport to say “Thank you for your service.”  Gestures of gratitude came from people far too young to have even fleeting memories of the horrors of the South Pacific during WWII or the later traumas of Korea and Vietnam.,  Yet the recognition for a generation who had relinquished their youthful innocence for what they hoped would make the world a better place was beyond description.

While the three men, no longer the young warriors of yesteryear, accepted the acknowledgment and appreciated it, I know their hearts and thoughts returned to those who never came back.This has been a week when the word ”fairness” has been overexposed in TV reporting and on the internet.

Life is a gift, packaged differently for each one o us.  And like each gift we receive, it is our decision how to use it.  Life was hardly “fair” for the generations of young men whose graves are in Arlington or on the Normandy Beach.  Nor is it today for the young warriors who fought, died and were wounded in the Middle East. I haven’t heard of any demonstrations because of their sacrifices.  I haven’t heard any TV commentators extol sympathy for the thousands of young servicemen and women who are giving precious years of their youth now to their country.  Perhaps media recognition and sympathy should be given to them.  After all, the greatest gift is time since it can never be reclaimed.