I am writing this on Nov. 11.  Veteran's Day.  Thinking of all of the Marines that I have known and the sacrifices they made.  I am also thinking of the families of those Marines and how difficult it was (and is) for them to hold everything together at home when their Marine was deployed.

I am ashamed to say that, at the time, I never gave much thought at all as to how those deployments affected my children.  I was too busy holding down the fort.  When you grow up as a child of a Marine who is actively engaged in a career in the Corps, you don't know any other way to live.  You think your life is normal.

It isn't normal.  Just when you make a friend, you move.  Or they move.  We were always moving.  Two children were born in California.  Two in Virginia.  One in Oklahoma.  With many moves  in between.  There were deployments to Spain, Greece, Cuba, the Philippines, Japan, Korea, Viet Nam.  And always, we were left behind.  If the Marine Corps had wanted you to have a family, they would have issued you one.

So I grieve for the families of those who are deployed.  I honor those who serve.  It is a double edged sword of separation that bleeds in both direction.

When I went to Normandy and stood on the cliff overlooking the beach--the cliff on which the German pillboxes were set up--I could close my eyes and see the young boys drowning in the surf--weighted down with gear.  I could imagine them crossing the beach, trying to reach and climb the cliffs all the while being strafed by machine guns.

Where do such men come from?   God protect them.