Dear Editor:

I glanced out my office window and saw a couple of cars back in (with the rear end of the van and truck facing the street). One couple climbed out of the van and a group of teenagers climbed out of the truck, all strolling around to the back, opened up their respective hood or tailgate and sat on the edge...the young man stealing a kiss or two. I smiled and thought, “young love is so precious.”

I went about my work and noticed another truck or two pulling in the same way and I smiled again thinking, “Guess this is the newest hangout place,” and again began finishing up my workload for the day.

But more cars were pulling in, Duke Energy had three or four great big ol’ trucks pulling in — and I’m silently thinking “what in the world is going on?”

I walked out onto the sidewalk and glanced down at a young woman who was standing in front of her office and asked, “Um...what’s going on?”

She smiled and said, “There’s a parade today. Lance Cpl. Chris Fowlkes is returning from Afghanistan today! The town folks just wanted to welcome him.”

I silently thought “WOW, he must be a really special young man...but then, any man who is willing to serve his country has to be special.”

I watched as the boulevard began filling up with more cars, parking lots overflowing, people from all walks of life...businesses allowing their employees the chance to participate in the parade, flags waving. Duke Power had hung flags off their trucks — young, old, rich, poor, black, white, Hispanic, employed, unemployed — it was awesome.

I began closing up and I heard a young girl run to her friends and say, “He’s over on Hyatt Street now — the parade is heading to town and then by here.”

The sidewalks got so dense I couldn’t even see the street. A young teenager assisted an elderly person to the sidewalk area so they could see and then they climbed on the hoods of their vehicles, keeping an ever-watchful eye out for Lance Cpl. Fowlkes. And then I heard the sirens ... fire trucks, state troopers, local police, sheriff’s department officers, all led by a Marine motorcade, not to mention the Patriot Guards. As the motorcade got closer, I knew I couldn’t leave ... because I too wanted to thank him, if by no other way than showing respect for his safe return.

After the motorcade, the next vehicle had his parents in it ... they had rolled down the windows and were mouthing, “Thank you...thank you so much.” I knew the tears streaming down their faces had to be tears of so much pride they felt for their son as well as for being thankful he was home safe.

And finally, behind his parents’ vehicle was Lance Cpl. Fowlkes vehicle - a beautiful, sleek, silver ... hearse. As his car passed, people wept with their hands placed over their hearts, Marines stood at attention, their faces like stone, yet I knew their hearts were not. I had mistakenly thought this young man was coming home alive, only to have a small glimpse of the brutal face of war.

His car proceeded towards town...many stayed around...young and old were hugging each other, if for no other reason than to feel another human’s touch. Many sat in their cars and talked, speaking of fond memories of the 20- year-old — his good nature, his Christian faith. Me? I sat down in my car and just wept...wept for the loss of another life who freely gave his, no questions asked.

Regardless of your stance on this war, this young man (along with thousands of others) died so you could have the right to agree or disagree with this war.

We’ve seen more than our fair share of hearses in the past eight weeks — an 83-year-old mother and her 57-year-old daughter — one hearse right behind the other; two more hearses passed by three days later — a 47-year-old father and his 15-year-old daughter — all four, courtesy of the serial killing spree in July. Four people whom I have never met, and yet my heart felt like lead. Now another hearse passes by with another young man, whom I have also never met...and yet...again, my heart is so heavy.

Today, Lance Cpl. Fowlkes will be buried. I shall not hurry to get home before the funeral procession begins. I, as well as most others, will wait, flags in our left hand with our right hand over our hearts and our heads bowed, fully understanding that “there, but by the grace of God, go I.”

I’ve watched this community lift up the victim’s families (the serial killings) in their thoughts and their deeds, as I know they will certainly do for the Fowlkes family, and I find myself realizing I would never want to live anywhere BUT the South. Because our own lives are not so hurried or our jobs so important that we can’t take a day or two to honor those who don’t make it home, or to simply show respect for those who have lost loved ones.

Yes true, we have more than our earned share of blemishes to say the least, but what has remained steadfast is our grace and dignity, our love of God, country, family and friends and our compassion for those in pain or need.
Semper Fi,
Anne Causey
Gaffney, S.C.