The 4th of July came and went. It started with the Veteran's Memorial in Oconee County, which was stunning. I couldn't believe how many people were there showing their support. I didn't really realize we were going to be a part of the ceremony until I got there-I knew Dad was participating in the laying of the wreath, but didn't expect to be involved. Nevertheless, we were honored to participate.

It was harder than I thought it would be, I suppose because it reminded me so much of Evan's service. When they played TAPS at the end, I knew it was all over. I was especially emotional while reflecting on the simple words that I have heard so many times, but have so much of a greater meaning for me now-

Freedom isn't free.

Even as I heard the guest speaker talk about those families that have made the "ultimate sacrifice", I began to think again of the fact that we were one of those families, even if I still don't believe that. As I gazed off into the distance, I thought of the bravery that Evan and so many of his fellow soldiers demonstrate. I began to think of all the people that I don't perceive as "appreciating" the fact that these soldiers are risking their very LIVES in Operation:Iraqi Freedom, and in past wars, so that we can enjoy the freedoms we have here. Think about that for a moment.

I have to admit that I was not appreciative of that fact until Evan joined the military. I hate to admit it, but it is honest. I think many of us fall into this trap. It's just not something you think about. You get caught up in life and your responsibilities, and just fail to pause and consider it.

I can tell you that after Evan joined the Army, any time we ever went to the airport, Dad never failed to approach any soldier in uniform and thank him for his service. It's something I always wanted to do, but never quite had the courage. Now I consider-do I want to miss this opportunity? I want them to know that Americans appreciate them, especially when so many people seem so vocal about the war, and some that can't differentiate between supporting our troops and supporting this war. In fact, I have had to walk out of many a conversation, because I just couldn't listen to people bash the war.

I have to take this moment to tell you that no one was prouder of Evan than my Dad was, and we were all very proud of him. Dad wore his yellow "support our troops" pin every day: in court, in depositions, and anytime he was wearing anything other than a t-shirt. His pin has now changed to the gold star, the killed in action pin that we all wear, given to families of fallen soldiers by the Army. But there is one time that I will never forget, one time that we were at the airport to pick Evan up when he came home on leave.

He was in his uniform, and we had waited forever for him to come down that escalator at the Hartsfield airport. We were all there, just staring, waiting for him to come into view. All of the sudden, there he was, and Dad just burst into tears. This is questionably, if my memory serves me well, the only time I have ever seen my father cry, with the exception, of course, being when Evan was killed. This had a profound effect on me. I think Mom and I both joked, "Get it together, Dad!"

I'll never forget the day Evan came home after his first deployment. I was ELATED that he was back in the United States. I didn't care that he wasn't in Athens, I was just thankful to have him back in the States. I remember thanking God over and over, praying, thanking him for keeping him safe.

I looked back over some emails I had sent to Evan a few days ago while cleaning out my account. One of them struck me in particular. It had been sent on Evan's first deployment, after the two soldiers in his unit had been killed. I told him that I couldn't imagine how bad things were over there, but that I knew God was in control and that he would see him through. And I thought to myself...How I wished I could believe that now.

And I do, I really do, believe that God is in control, and I believe He will see me through. I suppose yesterday, and today, were just hard days and nights, and I will certainly have those.

And perhaps joy will come in the morning.