Bullets Flying
Teresa Spies Dempewolf
At thirty-eight years old, Kara wrestled with the noun ‘hero’ these days. She hadn’t been for the war against Iraq-thought it foolish to impose America’s democracy on another country. She knew plenty about laws and courts as a Peace and Justice Advocate lawyer; she had a father who was a General in the Army, so life in her later years was never smooth. Plus, she was the only one now who could give her parents grandchildren. Through two husbands, a career and volunteering, time didn’t permit it. Besides, the heartache of loosing her young brother years ago left her emotionally wasted.
She glanced around at the deep green walls of her family’s library. Stacks of beautifully bound books alphabetically shelved, many read and enjoyed. But, what always drug her eyes across the wall to the left of the river rock fireplace, were the many medals and snapshots of her father’s days at West Point. Also, snaps of his buddies who served with him in his young years, pictures of old historic flags and his promotion ceremonies. She leaned her head back on the soft leather chair; her small head strangling in wispy auburn hair as she thought about her life, kept at arms length.
Many young people go into the Marines, Army, Air Force, Navy and Coast Guard because they don’t want to go to college and don’t know what else to do with their lives. Or they do want to go to college but can’t afford to and know the United States will pay their way. They join a service to travel and many times never have to shoot a gun. They get paid the minimal amount, but housing, food, clothing and time to grow-up are free.
Kara heard a door open then close. A voice yelled down from the second story home where she was raised.
“Ruth, is that you? It’s about time. It’s sixteen-hundred. I need a pain pill.”
Her father was still giving orders and treating them like soldiers, even though he was dying of prostate cancer.
“I’ll get it mom,” her voice loud as she jumped up and went into the kitchen.
“Hi Kara,” mom said, giving her a smile as she put the grocery sacks on the table. “Has he been awake long?”
“I didn’t hear a thing. I rested when he did. He must have just woken up or I would have heard him. How was the bridge game?”
“Oh Honey, I’m so glad you came and stayed with your father so I could leave for awhile. I enjoyed seeing my friends again and you know how much I love to play bridge.”
“No problem, mom. Oh, Mary Ellen Maffey from Hospice called and said she’d see you at ten for the in-take tomorrow.”
“Good. I’ll be here.”
“Ruth, did you forget me already?” Dad yelled. “Two women in the house and I’m still forgotten.”
“Coming daddy,” Kara said, grabbing the pain medication. She poured water into a glass from the refrigerator. “Your wish is my command, general.”
Her father was hard to talk to these past years. He was the soldier, the ‘I love America right or wrong’ guy; and she, the complete opposite. They always ran away from each other when in reality there was so much to talk about, especially the war. They were miles apart in an empty cocoon. It didn’t have to be. It wasn’t always this way.
Yet, with the war she argued with herself about the two-thousand who died September-eleventh; but at what price? How many others do we kill to make up for them?
“Daddy, would you like me to give you a backrub or read this mornings paper to you?”
Gruffly, “I’m not dying today and I read the parts of the paper I like this morning.” Then he turned his back to her and she was dismissed.
“Here’s your pain pill.” She left it and the water on his bed stand. This little power play drove her up the wall, but she wouldn’t acknowledge it. She wanted to ease his life in some way, but saluted his backside and went downstairs looking for her mom.
She saw the light under the bathroom door, so went into the library and sat back down in the dark brown chair she loved and closed her eyes again, waiting. When her mom came and sat down by her she told her mother what was eating at her.
“Those of us in the private sector made our way also after graduation, mom. We went to colleges, universities and rambled through books and studies and classes. We had part time jobs and many lived at home. Luckier ones lived in dorms and made do with one or two people living in close proximity like I did. When we graduated we had to find jobs and it wasn’t always an easy task. We had to pay back our student loans. Dad never asked me if he could buy my books. I was thrown out to sea. I was his only child, then. I would think he could afford it, mom.”
Honey, I’m so sorry he wasn’t there for you like you wanted.”
“Thanks, but those who join the service never think they’ll be engaged in a war. So, if one comes up they’re told to be ready to be deployed. Dad just won’t see there’s other ways to look at this war besides his way. I’m feeling so frustrated. The day before dad was diagnosed with cancer we had one of our many arguments.”
“I know Honey, I’ve heard them before.”
“You men are all alike,” I said, steaming hot like a tea kettle. “Not going to the doctor for regular check-ups; your macho-career getting in the way of good health. Now you’re hurting and I hate it.”
“Well Kara, you’re right in one way. We don’t run to the doctor every few weeks like you women do. Besides, we run the country. Our men are in Iraq. We have heroes coming home in body bags to keep you women-folk safe. We don’t have to run to the doctor all the time. We have important work to do.”
“It was just like him, mom, to put women down. He hated the idea of my being a feminist. ‘If I wanted two boys I would have had them.’ He yelled. I was devastated by the comment, mom. He made my blood pressure quicken. Here I worked my butt off to get through law school and do you think he ever gave me thumbs up? Hell no.”
I yelled back, “Yea, daddy,” my voice steaming like dry ice. “The next thing you know one is killed. The young man or woman is now a hero. They gave their life for their country. But who says just because they’re doing their job-the job they signed up for, they are Americas heroes?”
“Kara, watch what you say, here. Your uncle Karl gave his life in the Korean War for you and all other Americans. His blood poured out on the battle field. You bet he was a hero. Sometimes you disgrace me with your words. You went wrong somewhere, Kara-terribly wrong.”
“No, daddy, teachers, students, firemen, actors, parents and just plain others working in their line of work aren’t called heroes if they’re killed by a robber during a bank heist or by a drunken driver. But, we turn those in the service into heroes just for showing up. Not because they begged to fight, but because they had nowhere else to go; no skills, no nothing, but hoped life would be easy and it was a chance to get away on one’s own and see the world. I just don’t get it, dad!”
Her mom patted her hand, but got up from the couch. “I need to put the groceries away, Honey.”
Kara was agitated. Her thoughts hurled like wind, swooping in the cold dampness of life. Daddy wasn’t always like that to her. He was a sweetheart in her young years and she had him eating out of her hand. He read to her and played finger puppets at night when she was scared someone was in her room. He made hotcakes in the shapes of animals and made her laugh. It took him forever to get the food ready, but she didn’t care. After all, he was her dad.
Then when she turned thirteen and began developing he did a complete turnaround. Mom said it wasn’t about her. It was the same time her brother Josh died in a swimming pool accident at age nine. He had sneaked into the city pool two blocks from their house on a hot night, climbed over the fence and drowned. We never knew why, since he was a good swimmer. Her daddy closed up and slapped her from his fun loving ways. It seemed they turned into enemies. She missed their wonderful relationship.
There was so much grief in the house after that, she made herself invisible. She got good grades in school and sang in the church choir even though she hated it. She babysat the neighbor’s kids just to hear laughter. She had to admit she stopped being lovable, too.
She remembered coming home for the weekend once in college. Her mom and dad were relaxing after dinner, so she asked him to talk about her brother, Josh.
“What in the hell for, he’s dead. Leave it alone, Kara.” Then he knocked his chair down trying to hurry away from us. She looked at her mother, but her eyes begged Kara to understand.
“Mom, it’s been almost twenty years now. Why can’t we talk about what happened to Josh? Doesn’t he realize I hurt and miss him, too?”
Her eyes sprang a leak and she pulled me close. “We all do, Honey. I miss my son terribly. Sometimes I feel like I’ll break into little pieces if I speak his name. It’s not fair to you, but it just hurts us so much not to have him in our life any more.”
Then Kara realized how fractured the family had been since her brothers death. Love doesn’t always smooth the seam of life and hearts do break.
Each time they argued she’d leave and slam the door. They both got fired up, but now she wished she would haveÉcould haveÉjust stayed and met him head on. But she never did. She always chickened out. She let him take her power away. He never talked to her as an adult, so they stayed child to adult. She blamed herself as she was a red hot ember that never cooled, so she was more like her dad than she wanted to admit. She wasn’t a shrinking violet in court or on the job though. Her temper kept her sharp, but she couldn’t argue with her own father.
The night of his death his wife of forty-four years and daughter stayed close by his side, gently wiping his face with a cool cloth and holding his hand. They spoke softly with remembrances of old times. Only once his eyes opened. He stared longingly at his wife and slowly his head turned to Kara. Haltinly, laboring with whispered breath he said. “Give ‘em hell, honey,” and his eyes closed for the last time. The sobbing daughter fell apart.
Major General Ross Edward Morrisy died last Friday. He had a four star funeral attended by many hash marked individuals with impeccable uniforms and highly polished boots. His wife and daughter sat front and center at his funeral. As Kara watched the sad, stark ceremony she heard a close friend of her fathers talk about his beginnings.
“Over forty years he spent in the Army. Not because he had to, but because he loved the rules and traditions and American spirit and the democratic way of life. He was apple pie and all it meant growing up on a homestead in Wyoming as the oldest of six boys. From poverty he excelled to be a major general and we’ll deeply miss him.”
Yes, she thought through shimmering tears, he was one who went in the service to be taken care of and for him it worked. It really did. She lost it though, when the bugle played taps. She was proud of her father, but her blue tears only wanted the one thing he stopped giving her. She just needed-no, wanted back-more of his swee
