Caffeinated Commentary

I live in a country that vastly forgets it’s at war.


Sure, headlines pop up every now and then about when (and if) Canada will pull out or when a solider loses their life, like the tragic story this week of 24 year-old Steven Marshall, we see a stock photo of a ramp ceremony.

But how often do we realize that men and women are risking their lives, their personalities, their futures, for others – you, me, Afghans, and those who live in oppression around the world?

Our troops in Afghanistan aren’t peacekeepers. They are combat trained, helicopter flying, admirable, tough soldiers.


And at 21, going on 22 years-old, these soldiers are my peers.

Last summer, when Canada lost it’s 88th solider in the Afghanistan conflict, that fact truly hit me, right in the heart.


I cried for someone I’d never met. He was the good friend of a classmate and I cried for the aching loss that his friends and family were suffering thorough.

James was 25. I knew men just like him. Fun loving, dedicated, sweet, brave, strong, determined and ambitious men.


Men I care about. Men that have been and are a part of my life.

I thought of one man in particular when I cried for James, who at the time was on course with the Canadian Forces two provinces away.


One that I drank coffee with while bickering about politics, pop culture and music.

A man whose pick up truck I sat in while eating Twerps, listening to stand up comedy in a parking lot.


A young man who gave me goosebumps when he kissed me in the warmth of his truck, safe from the rain outside while Doc Walker played in our ears.

This man is leaving for a year term in Afghanistan to serve his country. This man just entered his 20s.


He's ready and willing to go half way around the world and fight for this country's honour and freedom. For our honour and freedom. For my ability to chase dreams, write for a media free of fear, restrictions and consequence for truth.

He’s honest about being scared but admits it hasn’t entirely hit him yet. He speaks of death with a dark but honest humour. He faces the reality of war with a smirk, the crack of a joke and an acceptance of his life choices. He has told me on many occasions that if he is going to die young, he wants to die doing something he believes in.


So, so many men and women have been taken out of this world through military conflict.
And when I hear another has left this life and is coming home in a flag-draped casket, I always think about them in terms of this man.

They were all individuals with favourites and great loves and fantastic stories. There were not just statistics as reported in the media that I'm a part of.


I think of them all as someone like him. Happy go lucky. A truck singing, beer drinking, hard working, genuine person. The kind of man, that when he barely knows you, will stay with you all night and into the morning while you're at your lowest low in trying to deal with other people's problems in a hotel hallway. And sing to you at 3 a.m. and just... be there.

I don’t understand the motive or desire to go to war, but I understand that I admire it. And appreciate it.


Having the opportunity to know this person I write about, who has made these choices, has changed the way I think about life. He has pushed me intellectually and emotionally but mostly he’s made me think about how precious life is. He, by being the person he is and making the decisions he has, forces me to remember to savour moments.

Life isn't just about how many breaths you take. It's about the moments that take your breath away.


Come what may, good, bad and otherwise until we are drinking coffee and bickering about politics in August 2010, I'll consider myself lucky to know this man and think of him as someone who took my breath away.