Sunday at church, I offered my hand to a tall, thin young man who stood before me as we said our farewells. I felt his strengths, physical and spiritual, as he took my hand, but that wasn’t good enough for him or me. He gathered me into his arms and embraced me as a brother and so we are, and soon will be on another level. We are brothers because we are of the same Corps, and brothers-to-be as only those who have been to war can be. Fairhope is sending another Marine to war. Aaron Winberg leaves this week for Afghanistan.

His father, a warrior in his own right has prepared him well with insight, training and spiritual strength, and has had the courage to support his son’s dream and ambition to be a United States Marine. It takes courage to do such a thing. My contribution to this young man’s training is my experience and advice, and as I offered it, I harkened back to when I was 19 and leaving for a war and wonder if I listened to guidance offered me. I’m certain I did not and stood holding this young warrior who carries the hopes of a nation and prayed that he be wiser than me. He is.

Thousands of such scenes have been enacted in the past several years as they have been since man hated man and sent his sons and daughters to do battle. It is a bittersweet thing knowing that handshake, that embrace may be the last in this life. We send them with a prayer that will be constant until they are in our arms again, and are proud of their choices, their strengths, and remember and envy their immortality because the years have taught us that we are not.

We know that many more survive the experiences of combat than do not, but for the next seven or eight months, we who wait at home will cringe every time the phone rings, and our hearts will beat faster at the knock on the door. We will also listen for the faintest sound heralding the arrival of the mail and will for the rest of our lives. “I’m going to check my e-mail,” will no longer be a casual statement, but an exercise approaching that of a ritual as we pray for word from our warrior.

The odds are good that our warrior will survive, and we will too, but none of us will be the same. Those who fight will never see the world as they did before. They may not come back with physical scars, but there will be those on their souls that will never go away. We at home will carry scars too. Waiting and not fighting is a terrible battle. We will survive, and we will go on and rejoice, but it too will be bittersweet as we ask ourselves, “To what end?”

How long will Fairhope and countless other places send another one? The answer brings a tear; we will as long as man hates man and threatens his peace to destroy.

David Wilson Atwood is a local freelance writer whose human interest columns offer a unique perspective. He may be contacted at: david@starchasers.us.