Here We Are

November 23, 2005

After a series of false starts, my brother finally left the country last week. He is now sitting in Kuwait, awaiting transfer orders to Tikrit. He’s an officer in the National Guard. He takes comfort in the fact that he will be in a “non – combat” zone.

I made a 2,000 mile detour on my cross country voyage in July to visit him and his family. They were all pretty upbeat, considering. It’s easy to not think about the future all the way up until it becomes the present. It was a great visit, even if it was a little tense and slightly sorrowful.

He is older then me by six years and he lives in Texas of all places. He has been there for a long time. There is no question that time and miles have created a distance between us, but we are still brothers. He agrees with George Bush and he believes in what he is doing. I’m afraid I don’t share his convictions. Our visits always pick up right where we left off. We have grown closer over the last decade, especially since the death of our father.

I am the youngest of all the relatives in my generation. My dad’s siblings were substantially older then him. My mother’s brother was very close in age to her. They alternated the birthing ritual. First, cousin Eric, next was my brother Bill, along came my sister Marjorie, followed by cousin Kris, and cousin Lisa, and finally me. This generally meant that I was excluded from all of the really fun stuff growing up. It also meant that I never got to know my older cousins. When I turned eighteen I started to get to know Kris. He lived in Dallas and I lived in Topeka. What a great guy! He was about twenty-three and living with cancer. He had already lost a leg to the disease. He came to my twentieth birthday party. He was upbeat, ready to party, emaciated, and as weak as an old man. A week later he was dead. I hardly got to know him at all.

I’m scared. I don’t want to lose my brother just as I am starting to really know him. I think about Kris. Our relationship had only just begun. I have often lamented the wasted years, promising myself that would never happen again, and now here it is happening again. I can’t imagine being in Bill’s position. He is half way across the world from his wife, three kids, and a grandchild, fighting a war that should never have been started.

Here at the mine we are the only Americans. I am half way across the world from my home, but I have my family and the only thing I am fighting is boredom. People sometimes ask about Iraq and the political climate of our home, but not much. For the most part they could care less. They are South African, Namibian, Australian, English, and French all living in the middle of nowhere. There is no point in dwelling on a war that doesn’t affect them in any way. It’s a quiet little hamlet here. I generally like the way that feels; being isolated from world events. Today I feel lost, selfish, and scared.

I cling to my brother’s optimism. I try to believe that there really are “non – combat” zones in Iraq. I think about his family. I curse George Bush. Then I relax back into the slow pace of life in the third world and try to forget there is a whole other world out there.
MJR