Everyday individuals lose their lives overseas fighting for our freedom. Most people don’t understand what those men and women go through everyday just to keep this country safe. Many individuals come home with hearing problems and more importantly a life time of taking medication to prevent reoccurring nightmares of being on the so called “ battle field.” On May 11, 2011 my little town of Harrison Michigan received news that one of our very own had been killed fighting. I will never forget the day our little community that rarely cares about anything banding together in an effort to support the family of this lost hero.
Vacant is the one word I would use when describing the streets of my town the day news of this tragic event leaked out. “ There was an eerie feeling on the streets. I looked into Mario's drugstore, a favorite hangout for the high school crowd, but there were only a couple of old Jewish men at the soda bar, talking with the short order cook in tones that sounded almost angry, but they were keeping their voices low,” ( Ortiz, 295). When I read this line in the short story, “American Dream” by Judith Ortiz Cofer it reminded me of exactly how my town appeared while I was driving home after a quiet day at school, empty and sad.
The next two weeks following the death of this small town hero were filled with gatherings and ceremony’s. No matter how old you were everyone seemed to be hurt in some way whenever this issue arouse. Our community banded together in efforts to help support this family at any cost.
Before this tragic event took place the people of my town never really cared about anything. Citizens would always complain about how bad and careless everyone was and how most people were just out for what he or she could get, not caring about anyone other than themselves.
The day this fallen solider returned to Harrison quite often plays on repeat in the back of my mind. Like some kind of inspirational movie; no matter how many times you replay it, it will never get old.
People filled the streets more than two hours before the memorial, like hungry animals awaiting their pray, tension arouse. “ I didn't believe that such a world had ever really existed,” ( Ortiz 294) . As his body was brought through our small town not one person spoke a word. I peered up at the sea of people, heads were lowered to show appreciation for this young solider that had lost his life while fighting for our freedom.
From that day on citizens of my small community banded together for good, supporting each other and being their shoulder to cry on. Not a day goes by when I don’t think about how grateful I truly am to have such a supportive change in my community.
I’ve learned that sometimes it takes a tragic event to occur in order for something or someone to change and to be more supportive. Strength is my definition of change, be the individual that’s strong enough to change; for the better.