Freedom's Price

By Submitted by: Mallory Rambler
Your Words
Poetry

Freedom’s Price I have a cousin, and his name is Clint, and on Facebook, it’s Clinton Freedom Prince. For some reason, I always read it as Price. He’s in his 20’s, with a young daughter. He spent years in Iraq. I remember one day, we Skyped him, he said he was tired. When we asked him why, he said he’d been in a firefight early that morning. What is the Price of Freedom? It’s paid in the lives of people with parents, children, spouses… Maybe cousins that care. The Price of Freedom is the life of my cousin in Iraq. Instead of water, it’s bullets he showered in.

Freedom’s Price

I have a cousin, and his name is Clint, and on Facebook, it’s Clinton Freedom Prince. For some reason, I always read it as Price. He’s in his 20’s, with a young daughter.

He spent years in Iraq. I remember one day, we Skyped him, he said he was tired. When we asked him why, he said he’d been in a firefight early that morning.

What is the Price of Freedom?
It’s paid in the lives of people with parents, children, spouses… Maybe cousins that care.

The Price of Freedom is the life of my cousin in Iraq. Instead of water, it’s bullets he showered in. His family worried that one day a flag would be delivered to our doorstep. Everyday could have been his last. Boot prints in the dust could have been his last images.

He would never get to see his daughter grow up. We would never get to see him grow with her.

So bombshells and bullet casings make a necklace around those that fight in battle and sometimes, it’s a noose. For those that fight so their children can sleep soundly at night.

That is the Price of Freedom.

We treat war like a distant memory, but for some it’s some nightmare-ish reality. I’m thankful my cousin is out of the Military. I’m thankful that he kisses his daughter goodnight when he tucks her into bed instead of clicking the ‘End Call’ button on Skype.

My cousin came home safe and sound. I know others were not so lucky. I’m grateful every time I see him. Grateful that those that shot at him missed.

I know others were not so fortunate.

The Price of Freedom is being paid by graves honoring those that fell. In dogtags, flags, and apologizes delivered to doorsteps.

This Price people are willing to pay. They know they run the risk of being another statistic in a war that won’t end.

But this is the Price they pay for Freedom. Freedom to protect the ones they love. For them, the Price wasn’t too high.

So honor those that fight. Admire those who are willing to.

Respect those that died. Because there is a Price to Freedom, many wouldn’t pay, and those that will, those that have, they paid so we didn’t have to.
And the honor they deserve, we are free to give, because they made sure that we can.

So don’t make their sacrifice mean nothing.

Live happily in your freedom. Raise your children to understand what the word ‘soldier’ means. Because many of the heroes that made sure your children can see the American Flag Fly, aren’t around to raise theirs.

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