Life is finite no matter how comfy or secure or destitute or endangered. Me-the-misanthrope could use some damned private time (down days give me some distance, and time away from the old comrades-in-arms gives sanity), a little seclusion for oh so many reasons, but its becoming more important to be around those I love and miss.
- Sgt. Thomas J. Strickland, July 9, 2005
Sgt Thomas J. Strickland was from Douglasville, a town about 30 minutes south-and-west of our house. My extended in-laws live there. And if you live in Alanta, chances are good that you’ve been there. A half-an-hour means different things in other cities. In Atlanta, anything under an hour is still local.
Sgt Strickland died on August 15, 2005, in Al Mahmudiyah, Iraq.
When his name appeared in the news, several people mentioned it to me. For some reason, I just hadn’t heard. Every morning, there are so many numbers and not enough name. Some co-workers said they were momentarily shocked, but then reason and common sense reminded them that the Thomas Strickland they know isn’t on active duty with the National Guard.
I’ve been meaning to post something about this soldier that shared my name, but nothing seemed appropriate. I didn’t know him. I can only guess from the photo on television that he was a decent fellow. Nice smile.
It turns out that Sgt Strickland left behind a LiveJournal. If words are anything to go by — and in my opinion, there is often little else — Thomas was more than just decent. He had an orange cat named Punchy. He liked Dean Martin and Wilco. He was either a libertarian or a democrat or some combination of both. And he was a better-than-pretty-good writer.
My thoughts on this are unfinished … but I had to put them somewhere.
