Faces of the Fallen

This Memorial Day weekend has had so much more meaning for me than in the past—more than a long weekend and bbq’s. It hits home in a much more direct way now.

I was in Washington D.C. last week with my 8^th graders. Knowing that seeing the memorials and Arlington would be more difficult this time than in the past, I was feeling a bit hesitant. I wasn’t sure how having the fossas (Sean’s and my affectionate term for my students) around would affect things. While there, I learned of an exhibit called “Faces of the Fallen” honoring those who were killed in Afghanistan and Iraq at Arlington in the lobby of the Women in Service building. Our tour guide, knowing that Sean had served in Iraq last year, suggested I go alone while he took the students up to the Tomb of the Unknown.

I wrote this letter to Sean on the plane on my way home.

“I wanted to write about the Iraq Wall and tell you what it was like. I guess like you, I’m still synthesizing what your deployment meant to you and to us, or more accurately, what it means.

I’m so glad I went to see the wall alone. I wasn’t expecting it to hit me quite the way it did, and having exuberant fossas around would have made it all the more difficult.

Each soldier's portrait had been rendered in a different style by different artists. Faces—so many—some in oils, pastels, even sculptures, but none larger than 6”X 8”. Most had flags, dog tags, coins, religious medals, cards, or notes on them—from people who loved them, and some from school children or people who had visited and wanted to leave some tribute, something behind.

They were organized in chronological order by date of death—starting in 2003 through Nov 11^th, 2004. I walked by them, wanting to look at the faces, but afraid to look too closely. Each face had a story behind the hero depicted, a family who loved and lost that soldier. I think it was the first time other than with you that I let the tears fall about your deployment and how much it scared me.

There were very few people there. A few walked by me, and a couple were sitting facing the wall of 1300 pictures, soaking it all in. It was very quiet and reverent.

I was able to find a local Eagle Scout, Abraham Simpson, who one of my students had known. I heard his story on Veteran’s Day last year during the speeches. He was killed just 4 days before Sean Sims, in the same place, Fallujah. I found him at the very end, one of the last pictures. Though the sheer number of pictures was overwhelming, I was disappointed not to find Jessica Housby. I went back to the entrance hoping to find someone to ask, and that’s when I discovered that the pictures just stop at November 11^th. I walked back along the wall again, letting it all sink in when I turned the corner at the end of the exhibit and found the Women in Service Notebook with Jessica’s picture and biography. She believed in what she was doing and in why she was in Iraq.

My students often ask me what I think about the war, and I struggle with what to tell them. I thought when you got back, I’d be able to think more objectively about it. But it is still so wrapped up in how I feel about you—how proud I am that you are who you are—so generous, brave and honorable.

I’m glad I saw the exhibit, though it was harder that I expected. It was healing. Is deployment something people “recover” from? In some sense, I hope not. I know deeply how blessed I am to have you in my life.”

L
http://facesofthefallen.org/main/home/

One of my students wrote this lovely poem--appropriate for Memorial Day.

Freedom
America,
A powerful figure rising from the new world
Symbolic of protection and security
The Stars and Stripes,
Its standard,
Ensign of freedom
Its soldiers, the protectors of freedom,
Make the ultimate sacrifice
For the hope of freedom and justice
America,
Born up by eagles’ wings,
Spread freedom’s wind,
Across the sky.

--Scott Z.