A blue star

My daughter Cassaundra called me the other day.  We talked for a while, mostly about this and that and the other thing – the stuff that a father and daughter talk about when a 3,000 mile distance is bridged by a telephone call.

And then she said something to me that I hoped I would never hear – not from my only child, not ever.

“Dad, my National Guard unit is going to mobilize at the end of the year.  I’m either going to Kuwait or I’m going to Iraq.”

If you heard no sound, that was because my heart stopped beating for a couple of minutes.

I know there’s a million families out there who have heard those words from their sons and from their daughters, from their husbands and from their wives, from their brothers and from their sisters.  And a million families have heard those words – and a million families have made their personal decisions.  I was not part of those million families.  Now I am.

I know she’s not going to the Middle East for a suntan.  I know she’s not going to the Middle East to work as a concierge at Burj Khalifa.  And I know she’s not going to the Middle East to go jet-skiing in the Dead Sea.  She’s going over to serve our country to fight against the Taliban and Al-Qaeda and a dozen other enemies.   She’s going over there – to protect our way of life over here.

And there’s nothing I can do to stop her from going.

There’s a legacy involved.  Cassaundra is descended, by marriage and by blood, from many family members who have served America in times of war and in times of peace.  There was a Bragg that fought for the Confederates in the Civil War.  There was a Bragg and a Ginsburg, both of whom served in World War II.  A Bailey was in the Vietnam War.  The legacy skipped me, but it landed on her.  I have to know that she’s following that legacy.

And part of me knows that with Cassaundra’s background in medical and computer training, there’s no way she’s going to be on the front line of anything.  She’ll probably spend her 11-month tour of duty behind a desk, making sure that the computers at the PX all have Angry Birds installed.  And if she goes to Kuwait, she’ll probably never leave the Army base.

I also realize that this informational decision is six months away.  Things can change.  Her unit could get reassigned to serve in New Zealand or Australia or Fiji.  The only thing that could hurt here there would be either a sunburn or an addiction to vegemite.

But still, I don’t want her to go.  I don’t want her riding on a convoy and getting hit by an IED.  I don’t want her to die because some fanatic blew himself up in a suicide raid.  I don’t want her to go to Iraq – because I don’t want her to die in Iraq.  I don’t care if they finally caught bin Laden, there’s still a bunch of his followers out there who are crazy and demented enough to kill anything American.

I know she has a duty to serve her country – but I keep thinking, couldn’t she serve her country by fighting wildfires in Arizona or flooding in Iowa?  Doesn’t the National Guard help in situations of domestic disasters?  Can’t she serve there – instead of in an area where she could die?

I don’t want her to go.  I don’t want to come home one night and find two Army officers in full military garb, with a white envelope from the President of the United States, telling me my worst fears.

I don’t want her to go.  I don’t want to visit her at the VA every other day, with her body demolished by shrapnel.  I don’t want to see my daughter like that.

I don’t want her to go.  No father wants their only daughter to go off to war.

I know that’s what she needs to do.  I know that’s what she wants to do.

It doesn’t mean that I don’t love her any less.

It only means that I don’t want her to go.

But if and when she goes…

I’ll fly out to Seattle for that weekend to see my daughter and her unit as they head off to serve our country. I’ll be there, strong as I can be.  I won’t let anyone see how scared I am that I might never see Cassaundra again.  I won’t let anyone know how proud I am of her and what she’s going to do – and I won’t let anyone know that I wish I could just take her back to Albany and have her work a nice quiet job at Brown’s Brewing or McGreevy Pro Lab or something.

And when I return home from Seattle, I’ll join my local chapter of the Blue Star Mothers.  And I’ll get a blue star flag. And I’ll hang it from the front window.  And I’ll put a blue star sticker on Cardachrome.

Just so that she knows… that wherever Cassaundra is in this world, whatever freedoms she is defending…

There will always be a blue star in the window, a light to show her the way home.

I know that I have six months to reconcile all this.  Six months to steady myself at the thought of my daughter being on the other side of the world for the better part of 2012.  Six months to know that this is the most important thing Cassaundra can do.

Six months to know that she needs her dad to be strong.

And just like every parent who sees their child go off to serve our country…

I want her to come back home as soon as possible.  And as safe and as sound as possible.

And when she returns, I want to be the first one to hug her as she gets off that plane.