I wish I had my camera today, and I wish I wasn't rushing to an appointment. I would have stopped and paid tribute to a young man who died in a foreign land. US Army Spc. Spencer Duncan was one of the many that died when the Chinook helicopter was downed recently in Afghanistan.
This is the closest I've been to witnessing a hero's homecoming.
As I was driving along 151st street in Olathe, I noticed hundreds of American flags were placed along each side of the road, and people were beginning to gather to pay tribute to this young man as he was transported from a local airport to a funeral home.
The emotion that welled up in me was sorrow. I wanted to feel proud that people came out to greet him, but the sorrow was too overwhelming. I think it's because his age hits too close to home. Our son is 20, that could be our son. The young man is someone's son.
I understand we have a mission over there. I get that. But for how much longer? This region of the world has never wavered or backed down. Look how long they held the Russians back, and the Russians finally admitted failure and left. It is hard to beat a regime that has their tendrils reaching worldwide. When will we realize that? How many sons, fathers, and brothers have to be lost? How many more hero's homecomings do we have to witness?
So, on my way home, I quickly snapped with my cellphone this flag that was still there. After the crowds left, it still stood. Passing in the other direction was a motorcyclist that was carrying an American flag. I imagine he was part of the procession to the funeral home, but was heading elsewhere. Somewhere in the sadness, I too felt proud. Fleeting as it was, it was nice to know that hundreds had gathered to pay tribute to a life that was lost too soon.
