Tears of a pilot

In my line of work I have had both the honor and pleasure of caring for elderly veterans. I have listened to the stories that others don't take the time to hear, spent moments in silence with them when they are quietly humbled by the love and respect they are given. I have seen the pain in their eyes when they watch the news full of anti-war demonstrations and the single tear on the aged cheek of a man that dedicated his life to protect those very peoples right to do so. He nor I understand how people separate the war and the soldiers fighting in it, or how a man feels to hear his "boss" disparaged publicly.


During our annual "Cherry Festival" we have an air show performed over West Grand Traverse Bay. Every other year the Navy's Blue Angels dazzle onlookers with brilliant maneuvers and hair raising precision. This last year was different for me however, I was able to see through the heart of a man, who once had been a pilot of the great (or similar) beasts.


The thunderous roar of the planes shook the building and startled us. I heard a cry from down the hall, I went running, I was expecting to find someone hurt or in need of help. What I found was a man sitting on the edge of his chair scrambling to get to his window. He looked at me tearfully and said "they left without me". I went to him, helped him to stand, we walked to the window together and stood silently waiting for the next passing, that I new would undoubtedly come.


We stood there for what felt like for ever, I snuck a side glance to see a tear rolling down his cheek. I placed my hand on top of his and we remained silent. We began to hear the low growl that assured us that they were once again going to pass over. He took a deep breath and held it. When they had passed us his breath exploded from him like a pressure tank explosion and the tears came freely with it.


He was becoming a bit unsteady so I quickly moved his chair next to the window where he could still see, I moved another close to it for myself and we sat again in silence. They didn't pass again that day and after a little while he looked at me and said "I want to do that again, just once before I die". I choked on my emotions due to the depth of pain in his voice, I wanted to jump out of my chair and find someone who would take this fragile man to the airport. I remained. He continued to tell me the story of how he "buzzed" his now wifes family farm with his squad on her fathers birthday and how the chickens didn't lay eggs for a week after. He told me what it felt like to flip, turn and soar with the eagles. I will not repeat his words however, I could never get it right, but I feel it.


We sat and chatted through dinner and well into the night about his pain, his love, his dreams and how his wife and family begged him not to join. This man (career military) saw so many bad things, of that I am sure, but when he spoke it wasn't about how many lives were lost, or how much it cost his family, friends or the nation. It was simply love, the love of the plane he flew, the love of his country, the respect of his comrades, and ultimately the desire to be more then the one. He was part of something much larger and took no credit for himself; it was always "we".


At the end of the day, every tear we cried, shared and held back meant something. I learned from him that day how much it means to "them" to do what they do. It still breaks my heart to this day to remember the pain in his eyes when he said "do they not understand, this is who we are? Why do they complain and disrespect the man I would give my life for?"