The quote above is sometimes attributed to Patrick Henry or Thomas Jefferson, but no one really knows where it came from.
Doesn't this seem true not only on Memorial Day, but in many different things? I saw it today and it got me thinking about how being a parent--hell, being a person--it seems like constant vigilance is necessary. It makes me think of my husband spending months in dirty sand, using wet wipes to shower and always on guard for that next round of mortars or machine gun fire.
It makes me think of all those days I spent making his care packages, getting to know the postal workers.
It makes me think of him telling me about how a whole pallet of mail was dropped into the sea.
It makes me think about how I used to wait and wait for a phone call, sometimes for weeks.
It makes me think about coming down the escalator at the San Diego airport and running into his arms.
It makes me think of him in his dress blues on the beach on our wedding day, and that breeze off the ocean.
That quote also makes me think of losing weight--realizing that for the rest of my life I will have to eat 1600 calories or less per day and work out religiously to be the weight I want to be. It is sacrifice. Small ones and big ones.
It is running over to my son every time he bends over to pick something up off the ground to keep him from choking on it. It is every night when I spend five or ten minutes with my hand on his chest while he sleeps feeling him breathe. It is exhausting. Eternal vigilance.
Even though I know it isn't the truth, it is that I wasn't vigilant enough when pregnant. I keep thinking that maybe I could have done something more--maybe I should have being doing kick counts earlier (even though they don't recommend them until about 26-27 weeks). Maybe I should have called the doctor sooner.
I tried to do everything right and it didn't matter. No matter how vigilant I was, it just wasn't enough. I know the guilt is unnecessary. I know that in my head, but my heart is harder to convince. Tony makes me repeat this to him sometimes, "There is nothing I could have done."
My heart is broken.
But that freedom and happiness and all the wonderful things that come from certain kinds of vigilance...those things keep me going. All the minutes and hours I spend carefully watching my son, they are worth it. All that money and time I poured into a long distance relationship--those months that I spent worrying and waiting--it was all worth it. Having the opportunity to be with Allison for 25 weeks...I wouldn't trade a day. No matter how painful it is now.
Liberty and happiness both exact a high price.
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