Waiting No More

Waiting No More

Dedicated to those who were there and those who understand why

My platoon waited.

We waited for the order to go. We waited for the order to load. We waited while we crossed the channel. We waited for the drawbridge to lower. I ran forward, but I had to wait to exit.

I waited to rise from the water as the tide came in. I waited for the gunfire to concentrate to my left. I waited to summon the courage to move forward.

My sergeant yelled, “Get off that beach!”

The wait was over.

It took us nearly a week to break through and concentrate enough forces and supplies to secure the beachhead for further reinforcements and supplies.

What I didn’t wait for was the bill. That had to be paid immediately by the young men ready to give their lives for the cause. Everyone went in with eyes wide open. All knew what was at stake. While the price was indeed high, the benefits were even higher.

Today was a deal.

I swore if I ever lived through this, I would never forget. I would make others never forget. I would teach those not yet born what happened and why.

Finally, I would give up waiting.

It is now 80 years later. I sit in my wheelchair watching the world go by, oblivious to the cost of their leisure activities and personal freedoms. I gave it my best shot at keeping my oath, but time snuck up on me and wore me down. I have eroded physical attributes keeping me from screaming from the rooftops. I no longer challenge the ignorance of those incapable of understanding.

I await my assured, impending demise as a comfort, not with fear.

But I still hate waiting.

So, on this day, most likely my last, I embrace the YOLO philosophy of my great grandchildren to call my own shots. I don’t check in for lunch of Jello and sugar cookies. I have an Uber ready for my signal. Once I stormed the beaches amid a hail of gunfire. Today, I will storm City Hall, crashing the gates, tempting the guards adorned in their jack boots to try to stop me.

Perhaps one will. Perhaps one won’t.

On this day, 80 years ago, all gave some, and some gave all. It is no longer good enough to regulate this memory to a Jeopardy trivia question. It must be exercised to be lived.

Otherwise, life in the gilded cage, we have constructed, is still life in a gilded cage of our own being.

Log that as my last thought, with my last breath, as I return to the sands of Omaha beach.