A very sad thing happened a few weeks ago. The little brother of Dave, our frisbee team captain, died in Iraq when the truck he was riding in ran over a landmine. You can read a little bit about Jamie in this Daily Nebraskan story.
Only a few weeks earlier I met Jamie at a party. Dave had been telling us all for about a month that his brother was going to come home, and since he had turned 21 while in Iraq, they were going to celebrate hard. A real homecoming. From the way he talked about him you could tell Dave loved him like an older brother should, I heard all about him on those long frisbee trips. When I finally met him at the party somebody yelled a congratulatory "Hey, he's back from Iraq" and Jamie just had this look on his face like he wanted to forget that, didn't say a word but took his silent beer to another room. Jake saw this of course keen observer of people that he can be sometimes, told me later that night as we talked of politics and war--we stayed up till 6 am talking I recall--that that look was the first time the war had become real for him.
When I heard the news it was not war but death that suddenly became real for me. Previously it had never pierced my sphere of existence, I have been more fortunate than most in that, I guess. Admittedly, it's still remote, but I see the effect on Dave who's my friend. And the night I heard I dreamt of my own little brother. If you're reading this I love ya bro and I'll see you at home for Thanksgiving.
Posted by Alan at November 19, 2003 12:43 AM