Holy Ground

A departure here today. I am thinking about the horror surrounding the Boston Marathon two days ago, and now the explosion of a manure plant in West, Texas.

So many places where so many have lost their lives, or at least their lives as they knew them. Often, our worst tragedy's become some of our most reverred memorials. Today, I choose to remember one of them.

 

HOLY GROUND

July 4, 2009
Gettysburg, Pa.

Civil War Re-enactment Site

 

The retired Marine officer, resplendent in medals and ribbons of past glory stepped to the microphone and the annual ceremony began; "Fourscore and seven years ago..." 

"Pop, get back here! You

aren't allowed past that rope!"

 

 Cheeze, would the old man ever get back to normal? Since mom died, he seems to drift further from reality every day. I'm getting tired of it. I feel more like his babysitter than his son. Why's he glarring at me? I wondered what was going on in that old man's head. Maybe it's time to put him somewhere with people his age.

The aged father looked at his son and thought, I remember my father telling me what a pain in the arse kids were. I never really believed it till I had some of my own. I know I can't pass the damn rope. Young fool!

 

I miss you Maggie, especially when I have to do these family holiday things. You were my family, girl and without you… The world will not end if I step onto this field. I wonder if there really are ghosts here.

July 4, 1863

Blue, gray, it didn't matter. Men old too soon, rough, hard, dirty, staggered across this field sobbing. Many too spent to cry as they walked among 40,000 bodies. Two days ago, these had been soldiers, farmers, teachers, husbands and fathers. These had been men with dreams and hopes for their futures.

Here a flag of the Union, there a flag of the Confederacy. On both sides, the emerald green of the northern and southern Irish regiments. Men in gray knelt on the ground beside fallen friends, comforted by men in blue who laid a hand on their shoulder. The color of the ground was brownish red from the gore of this bloody battle. This had become consecrated ground. This field had become a holy place.

 

In 1776, the men and women who had come to this country had proclaimed their independence from foreign governments, and founded a country of their own. For the last two days, descendants of those very people had participated in a battle, part of a war that had nearly destroyed that country.

Today, looking on the carnage of battle, those who still stood, left the field too full of sorrow to feel hate. Many of the men who left that day, continued on with the war, but with less passion. Others left the field and simply went home. This place would turn the tide.

July 4, 2009

His daughter in law screamed when the old man grasped his left arm and fell. A doctor in the crowd of spectators ran forward, but it was too late.

He'd heard the ceremonial rifles as they fired a 21 gun salute to those who had died over those two days nearly 150 years ago. He heard a local hero recite Lincolns Gettysburg Address. He heard his son calling him, and then he heard new; more distinct sounds. He heard the muskets, the screams, the trumpets of battle, and he heard the sudden silence.

 

A few moments ago he had seen the memorial to 40,000 men, but now he saw those 40,000 men laughing, waving, and beckoning him to join them under a cloudless sky. The ceremonial field vanished into lush grass. In the distance he saw their wives at cooking pots and their children laughing, running; playing with each other.

 

 He saw his Maggie waving a greeting, and he felt the pains and stiffness of old age leave his joints as he ran to meet her. He felt the blood of a young man coursing through his veins as he finally held her in his arms.

His son wept realizing that his father was gone.

 

But was he? After all, this is consecrated ground...a holy place.