The Death of Heros

Sorry, dear readers, that I missed yesterday’s blog, but I had an experience that has, I am sure, marked me forever.

My husband is chronically seriously ill and spent July in hospital. He came home last Thursday and we had to go to his doctor yesterday. Entering the building, he partially lost consciousness and fell backwards onto a marble floor, hitting his head. He was conscious but bleeding profusely because he takes blood thinners. I watched it in what seemed slow motion, knowing that he had killed himself. But, he opened his eyes and said, “Je tiens, ambulance.” (I’m holding on, ambulance.)

After the emergency call and while I was afraid to move him, blood started oozing all around his head. It finally covered an area the size of a 15-inch halo and I thought he had cracked his skull.

As if in a miracle, a young doctor walked into the building, saw the blood, said don’t touch him, and ran to get his kit. He saved my husband’s life, I am sure.

The ambulance arrived, the skull was intact, there were no broken bones, and my husband is back in hospital trying to recover yet again.

But, in those moments when I was watching, helpless, I saw images of my father, a career infantry officer - WWII, Korea, Vietnam - and wondered how many time he had knelt, helpless, beside one of his men, shot and bleeding to death, his hands covered with the dying man’s blood as mine were with my husband’s. As my father aged, he would get tears in his eyes when he talked of his men, who were for him, the most important people on earth. He won many medals but he always said that they weren’t for him but for his men.

And, then I thought of the pieces I’ve written about men dying in Syria, Libya or Egypt. And, suddenly, I saw their wives, children, mothers, fathers, comrades in arms kneeling beside them, watching the life bleed out of them, helpless.  For them, there was no world class ambulance to save them. There was only their determination to die, if need be, for their dignity as human beings, for the freedom to live in the way that they knew was their right.

The reported 50’s dead, the 15’s wounded, the 100’s fired on and in harm’s way. They will never be numbers again for me. They will be my husband lying there dying, drenched in their own blood. Heros in the cause of freedom.

My husband is out of harm’s way, and when I visited the hospital today I told him what I had experienced, and he looked at me and then turned his eyes away. He knew my father. He now knows the many men who are dying in equally brave circumstances, for freedom and heroic love of family and country.