Our small town was all done up in red, white, and blue today to welcome home a hero.
I stood in front of my house to watch the procession pass by. The streets were lined with people, holding flags, wearing patriotic colors.
And when the hearse finally drove by, you could have heard a pin drop.
I stood along side family, crying, grateful to be holding my two year old niece, to hear her whisper "it's like a parade."
And it was. But it wasn't.
Everyone came out to honor a young man, just 20 years old, who was stationed in Afghanistan, who was an Army medic, who was rushing in to try and save two fellow servicemen, when some tool of war exploded, and all three were killed.
This morning a family went to an airport to receive the remains of their son, their brother, their loved one. Can you even imagine their pain and their pride?
This morning I stood in front of my house to honor a boy who was my student 10 years ago, who couldn't believe that I liked The Ramones too, who had a smile for everyone, who listened as I explained that there had been an attack in New York City.
This morning everyone stopped. Everyone wondered why.
No one had an answer.