I went to a Veteran’s Day program today.  My first since becoming a Veteran.  The pomp and circumstance, the uniforms, the flag, the patriotic music-it swirled around and through me.  Pulling me back in time.  The happier moments of childhood tickled my memory first.  The image of a much younger version of my father, handsome and funny, walking through the front door in time for dinner.  An unhappier version of my mother, may she rest in peace, always struggling to fulfill her roles as an Officer’s wife and mother to three daughters.

Hands over hearts, standing at attention, or in salute, the crowd joins The Legionnaires as they sing The Star-Spangled Banner.  The voices of many melding into one.  E Pluribus Unum.

At some point in the middle of the program, my heart begins to beat a little faster, my throat tightens.  Tears threaten to spill down my cheeks.  This is why I do not come.  I do not want to remember my military service.  I do not want to feel that shame again, be reintroduced to the soldier who left the service with her pride ripped into shreds, back broken in defeat.

The Master of Ceremonies asks women veterans to stand and be recognized.  I comply, feeling naked, exposed.  The crowd claps for the few of us that are there.  I sit back down quickly and subconsciously grab my son’s hand.  How I long to find a home for that soldier inside of me.  Yes, she has her husband, her sons, and a few friends.  But she still feels alone during times like these.  I feel alone during times like these.

Do not worry for me should you happen upon this little confession.  The melancholy I feel will be short-lived and I’ll be fine by Monday, ready to take on another day.  Just not today.