Blog of War Front-line Dispatches from Soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan

CHAPTER SEVEN THE FALLEN In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea,With a glory in his bosom that transfigures you and me;As he died to make men holy, let us die to make men free,While God is marching on. -- JULIE WARD HOWE, THE LAST VERSE OF "THE BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC" Music has an enormous influence on our memories. On one early morning, I was on the way to work when music reminded me of a good friend. The first light of day had just peeked across the east horizon -- the sky was still dark blue. Seventy-five degrees.Beautiful. I put the windows down and felt the cool morning wind off Lake Michigan. The radio station was playing Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Tuesday's Gone." Tuesday's gone with the windBut somehow I've got to carry on. A few years ago, during a night much like that morning -- 75 degrees, the dusk sky purple and pink and blue, a cool breeze off Lake Michigan -- my friend Cooter and I were in a beer garden watching a live band. Cooter was from East Kentucky and was visiting me in Chicago. Cooter and I met about eight or nine years back. I was an officer and he wasn't. We shared some common hardships that would make us an oddball pair of friends. We became brothers. So he came to Chicago not too long ago. We were laughing over many beers when the band started playing "Tuesday's Gone." Cooter, already well on his way to a hangover, jumped up on the picnic table and started singing along. He yelled down at me, "Git up here, man!" I jumped up on the table and noticed the crowd looking our way. I can't sing worth a damn and neither can Cooter. But that wouldn't stop us -- one arm around the other's shoulders with the other extended, holding a plastic cup of beer sloshing all over the place -- drunk and screeching at the top of our lungs. Tuesday's gone with the windBut somehow I've got to carry on. And then I was back in the car and thinking of Coot and hearing that song and thinking of that night and thinking of his wife and wondering how she's doing and that I should call her. That was the last time I saw Coot. He was killed in Afghanistan. I remember that my eyes were a bit wet and the guy in the Lexus next to me had to be wondering,What's up with the guy in the Ford, singing loudly and out of tune? Tuesday's gone with the windBut somehow I've got to carry on. As with music, there are other things that trigger our memories of loved ones lost in battle, or maybe they are signs. Heidi Sims blogs at Learning to Live, where she recounts her life before and after her husband, Captain Sean Sims, was killed in Fallujah, Iraq. Just a few days after learning of her husband's fate, Heidi runs across an article about Sean written by Tom Lasseter of Knight Ridder: Today I was in the grocery store and could not help but think about signs from Sean. While in the grocery store, I was helping my grandmother find foods for her diabetic diet . . . we spent a lot of time on the "health" food aisle, which I am learning is not that healthy! So we are reading labels (seemed like all of them) when something caught my eye so I turned around. In the middle of the sugar-free cookies was a four-pack of Guinness cans . . . if you knew Sean you know how much he loved his Guinness beer. No matter where we traveled we always had to find an Irish pub so he could have a brew while I sipped tea. I long for him to send me more signs. I must admit that I was never a believer before November 13, but that night changed my mind. I can't help but remember the letter I sent to my family and fBurden, Matthew Currier is the author of 'Blog of War Front-line Dispatches from Soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan', published 2006 under ISBN 9780743294188 and ISBN 0743294181.