Where is our individual sense of duty?

My brother and I were discussing the impact the death of my classmate had on each of us recently. And while both of us walked away from this tragic situation with a renewed admiration for our troops overseas, my admiration for the individuals who sign up to defend us does not translate to me understanding why we are still in Iraq.

What is remarkable, however, about Nick's story is his conviction of duty to his himself, his family, his hometown, his nation, his brothers in the military.

Duty.

I think we tend cringe at the word because it implies that we owe something to someone else, an idea which at least my generation hates with a passion. We live as if we owe nothing to anyone except ourselves, as if no one else matters, no else's needs could ever come before our own.

But Nick is different. He bore that sense of duty like a true hero. He put his life at risk to protect what he loved, whether that was his family, his country, or more specifically his fellow soldiers. In contemplating this, Ev said, "His own understanding of duty denied him the right to overlook, ignore, and hide from...reality. "

We hide from reality because it's painful, it's uncomfortable, and it's not always pleasant or aligned with what we desire out of life, small or big things. Nick chose not to turn away when reality found him and he chose to make a difference, to put his life as he knew it - a Midwestern, small town father - on hold. I'm sure it helped him gain a more balanced perspective and an appreciation for life in this country that so many Gen Xers despise.

What is duty? What is my duty? I've never really thought about it prior to my conversation with Evan. That I would have a duty in this world never crossed my mind. I live for myself, which is so easy to do as a 25-year-old, single, working professional. What else is there in my world but what I need, want, and choose to do?

It's like I forgot to pause in my trek through life, to take my eyes off of the road--the inches in front of my feet--and to look around, to take in, absorb, the view, the other people and their needs around me. Like glancing up while speed reading a 500-page novel for the first time in hours; your eyes have to adjust to seeing more than a few inches away, to the lights, colors, and 3-D objects around you. My eyes are adjusting to this new view, eyes off of my feet.

Where does my duty lie? I hope to find in this season of reflection a renewed sense of purpose. And if I should have a duty that denies me the right to overlook the harsh reality around me, I want to find that, too. To embrace it. To let it change my life.

Thanks, Nick, for inspiring so many by the way you lived. That we would all know the conviction and passion you had, even if just for one simple thing.

A blast of the unfathomable

Grief.

Comes in waves. You can almost watch it roll in and out.
In...denial. It can't be true. He's still alive.
Out...understanding. He's gone.
In...His child no longer has a daddy. His wife, husbandless at 25.
Out...It's silly to cry with six years of separation.

The fact remains that I did know him. We were friends. We had next-door neighbor lockers in middle school. We accompanied each other to dances, with matching corsages and boutonnieres. We shared mutual respect.

He got married, had a baby, and joined the military.

Had I run into him in the last few years since high school, I'd have thoroughly enjoyed catching up. Meeting his family.

His step-brother has lost not only this life in Iraq, but his uncle as well. Within this calendar year. And his father died on Monday. Three of the most important men in his life, gone.

I mourn for that family. For the loss of brother, son, husband, and father. For the emptiness and pain. I pray for comfort and peace, and against bitterness and hatred that can so stealthily fill those empty spaces.