Love of country--and a good dog

Twenty-five years ago tonight, my husband, our three kids, and I went to bed in tears. Our Chocolate Lab Otis—still centered in our hearts as the most beloved dog to ever pace the earth—died that day.

Reflecting on the memory of Otis, I can still feel all 141 pounds of him cozying up against me while I worked at my computer. I can still remember how he could read my heart. He’d cuddle when I was sad and playfully attack when he greeted me with a drooling mouth and wiggly tail each day after work. What a welcome home—one I counted on each day, never realizing what a gift it truly was.

My husband was probably hit hardest by Otis’s death. It was hunting season, and Otis died doing what he loved best. But, as stoic as Oren had always been, he ended that day sobbing, too. He was mourning the good times—those days in his old field pickup when Otis would sit straight up in the middle seat, huddled so tightly to him that he had to drive with his left hand.

“Oren, I saw you driving west with the Brunette beside you!”

Yes, I have brown hair, but it wasn’t me the neighbors referred to. “The Brunette” was beloved by more than just our immediate family. He was iconic—the kind of dog, with his huge frame and oversized head, that started conversations. He once scared a visitor who drove into our farmyard in a small car; she actually thought he was a bear!

That entire week seems surreal now, 25 years later. Our oldest son had come home on leave from the US Air Force. He had completed pilot training just five days prior and would soon go off to his first assignment as a military pilot. He loved Otis, too, and went to bed just as heartbroken as the rest of us. You can imagine our anguish when the next day dawned and planes crashed into the World Trade Center. Suddenly, losing a dog seemed quite tolerable. It was seeing your son off to fly a military plane in a spiraling world that quieted the cherished memories of Otis, replacing them with pure angst.

All of this surfaced again last week when our pilot son, now a colonel, “tapped out” his own son—our grandson—at his graduation from Air Force Basic Training. Holding back tears, my mind flashed back to the day Jerrad had to leave us for his first assignment as a pilot. I sat on the porch in the early morning darkness and watched his taillights until they were no longer visible. I knew in my heart that he would be deployed to the Middle East in a matter of weeks, if not days. Terrified, I wondered where terrorism would take this world—and my son.

A parent never lets go of the fear that a child will meet misfortune. I knew that long before those taillights disappeared into the early morning horizon so long ago. And now, I have taken on the same role as a grandparent. Is Nolan's commitment to serve his country worth it? Do we as a country deserve his dutiful pledge-and that of all service men and women?

I often wonder if most people even realize the scope of that commitment, especially now. Before 9/11, the term “terrorism” wasn’t even in our everyday vernacular. When Jerrad first started at age 17 with Air Force Basic Training in Colorado Springs, there were no major wars that we knew of. Terrorism was a back-burner issue happening on the far sides of the earth. Now, we are not even sure where the next crisis will erupt, who the enemy even is, or how the fight will be fought. If something as horrific as 9/11 has a silver lining, it is this: Beginning that very day, America came together. It didn’t matter whether you were black or white, red or yellow. Whether you were left or right, Republican or Democrat, rural or urban, white or blue-collar. We held hands and sang “God Bless America.” We flew our flags and burst with pride during the playing of the Star-Spangled Banner.

Somehow, our love of country has been sidetracked. That concerns people like me, the ones who have family members in uniform. To listen to the mainstream and social media, about half the US population supports little of what the country does internationally or domestically. So many look patriotism in the eye as though it was a four-letter word. Some of the bigger egos have moved to another country, while many others threaten to, or pretend they wish to. Yet, according to the Gallup Poll, an estimated 134 million adults—up to 700 MILLION when their children are included—would move to the United States TOMORROW if they could. How those two facts square is beyond my meager understanding.

Twenty-five years ago tonight, we would have never believed that the next day would deliver terrorism to our front door. We were adrift in the tragedy of losing a dog so dear to us that the thought of him brings back tears to this day. Yet, how small those feelings are compared to the magnitude of 9/11!

That’s the thing about good times. You don’t know it when you are living through them. You only look back and realize how blessed you were. Having a normal week day, with a good 'ole dog to greet you after work, and a sure footing in a country so loved by its citizens--that was life before 9/11.

Love of country. Appreciation for our blessings and the men and women who stand up to protect us: I pray that it will be a reality again tomorrow, next month and next year. And after the next quarter-century. And forever. God Bless America!