Yes, Ronnie, I had journeyed across a continent so that I could speak to you across the evening skies. The feeling that if I could but stand alone on the warm desert sands, where first we met, I would feel again the gentle touch of your hand. I had to whisper to you when only the stars kept watch. I had to call your name. I had to tell you of my love.
I had been so sure that I could speak to Ronnie across the great infinitude of space 'twixt here and there, if only I could kneel alone in the deep solitude of a desert night and feel that silent benediction of the evening skies, for surely the dusky twilight is but a benediction, a symbol of eternal peace. I had traveled from New Jersey because I had suddenly become so sure that I could speak his name above the hushed silence of the breathless solitude. My very voice would caress the night with such pleading warmth it would have to carry my message to the uttermost ends of the universe, if need be.
My confidence to reach Ronnie thus came after my grief had spent itself, and after my sniveling self-pity had arisen from the shame of its selfishness, and after my sorrow had clothed itself with courage, and my broken heart had been offered upon the altar of complete quiescence.
And so I whispered softly and my voice breathed out caressingly across the evening sky: "Ronnie, Ronnie, dear, I must talk with you! Please listen! I must share with you the things that have beaten themselves into my soul, these new, hidden things that lie new-born within my heart, things which were conceived in such great sorrow.
"Darling, I've learned to banish the great grief and the darkness of despair. It isn't that I think of you less, or love you less. I think it may be that I love you even more. Or that I am growing more worthy of your love. The hopeless, tragic heartbreak has become a source of inner strength, of love perfected, of being able to let you go -- and yet having you closer. I must tell you about it.
"When you went to Korea, Ronnie dear, I had a premonition that you would not return. You had it too, for back of your bantering, half jesting words, 'Christine dear, when you get lonely just speak to me across the desert sky, in evening, and I will hear,' there was a message so earnest, so serious I could not fail to understand.
"Part of me went with you, Ronnie. I knew when you were killed for part of me died. I knew you had gone before I received the news from your mother. I knew it the instant it happened. I was as sure of it then as I am now. Such is my love for you. Such has it been from the beginning. Such will it always be.
"For months I only wanted to die. I longed -- I even prayed for death. Something inside of me was already dead, my heart, my soul, my mind, perhaps a portion of all three, and only this unhappy body went on in an unreal agony of existence. It was that way for months. I could not work. I could not think. I could only go on feeling and even that was in a dead, half-paralyzed sort of way.
"And then, Ronnie dear, an angel's wing must have brushed my cheek, or your kiss breathed upon it, or God reached out a healing finger and touched my soul -- I know not what. I only know I was alive again, that life's responsibilities were again mine, and that I had to make good, for your sake.
"It was not an exuberant, glorious aliveness to which I awoke, Ronnie, It was more like a painful awakening to face life's difficulties that had somehow accumulated during the interval of shock and recovery. It was a return of my thinking faculties and then I was ashamed suddenly of my selfish sorrow. I was not ashamed of loving you so much. I would always love you like that. But I was ashamed of the selfish abandon of my grief. It was unworthy of you. I realized I was a selfish coward, rebellious and ugly in my heart. I was not grieving altogether for you, Ronnie. I was mourning mostly over myself, the bleakness of my life without you. Quite suddenly I knew that you were all right! That you would always be all right! No matter where you were you would be all right, standing always triumphant, above the storms and all vicissitudes.
"Ronnie, darling, I'm sorry for my selfishness and a grief so unworthy of you, truly I am. I would have called you back, crippled, blinded, broken in body, just to satisfy my selfish sorrow instead of letting you go on triumphant, free.
I realized your medals of bravery had been bestowed, not so much because you had given your life, but because you had lived each moment of it, even the very last, torturous one, being big and noble and unselfish. It was those moments of living that counted. Yes, it was those last glorified moments of complete super-living that made the dying so very great.
"I know now, Ronnie, that it is not glorious just to die, though I still look forward with longing to it. But I know that it is only how one dies. No. I don't think even that is correct. It is only how one lives, for it is only the living that could possibly glorify death, or overcome it.
"Two thieves were crucified with Christ, thousands had been crucified before, and many since His time. Yet no others glorified such a death as he glorified it. It was only the way He lived that glorified the shameful way He died. Even as the life you lived, even in those last moments, as you saved your regiment, glorified completely your going. And so I realize that death can only be exalted by magnificent, courageous living.
"We hear, Ronnie, of giving our lives for our country, a work, an ideal, a religion, a loved one, or a way of life -- and we think it means dying. How blind we've been, really. Dying takes only a few minutes -- at most a few hours. Living takes a lifetime. To really give one's life for any cause would call for the dedication of that living, breathing, daily consecration of conscious existence and awareness -- every year -- every month -- every week -- every day and every moment of living.
"It is this supreme dedication, Ronnie, that I must give. It is the only thing that is worthy of your glorious ideals, your courage and your love.
"I give my life, Ronnie! Not by dying! But I give my living life! Every vital moment of it! Now! And forever more!"
Then with the tears gathering in my eyes and coursing down my cheeks I added a little post-script to my message, for suddenly I felt that Ronnie had heard -- and now the very heavens were listening in silent anticipation.
"I promise that I shall never again complain! No matter what happens! I shall glorify every sorrow, sanctify every shred of suffering, glorify the pain, and light the darkness with love. And upon the holy altars of heaven I offer up the burden of my broken heart. If ever again the unbearable burden of it tries to weigh me down, O Lord, I shall lift my heart in praise to you."
Those had been my words sent across the desert sky as the deepening dusk sped upon its way to hold its pace in the flying footsteps of the sun.
What happened next is most difficult to describe. It was as though a mantle of deep peace came down and covered me -- and someone stood beside me -- someone who took me gently by the arm and led me down the hill and back to my room. I never felt their touch, really, I only felt their presence and a deep and abiding peace -- a peace such as I had never before known.
I vaguely remember retiring. I remember arising early -- packing my suitcase -- going to the station -- getting a ticket -- boarding a bus and traveling along without having to take any thought of how, or when, or even why. It was as though I had no power of volition -- as though someone else, or something else, a higher force was arranging things for me, taking complete charge. I was being moved -- not moving.
Then quite suddenly I was wide awake! It was the middle of the afternoon! I was on a bus! Traveling somewhere! But where? Where was I? And where was I going? It was like waking from a deep sleep in a strange place and searching desperately for one's bearings. I remembered clearly only the hilltop, the sunset -- my pledge. But where was I? And where was I going?
"It's quite all right, Christine. Don't be alarmed. You're on your way to Los Angeles!"
I didn't hear the words with my ears. Rather were they poured into my being. And I sank back into my seat to marvel at the wonder of it.
Los Angeles was the last place on the face of the earth I intended to go. I had visited there several years before. I had had no reason for remaining the first time, and certainly knew of no reason now for going there. Then I realized that the dedication of my life had been accepted for the choice had not been mine. I would have preferred remaining in Yuma, in fact, had intended to if I could have found employment. Phoenix would have been my second choice -- but Los Angeles -- never!
I knew, with all the intelligence that I possessed, that I had been placed on that bus. The choice had not been mine, therefore, there must be a deep purpose for it.
That was all I knew. But that was enough. Just to be sure that higher power was taking a hand in my life was a joy beyond measure. It gave me a warm feeling of homecoming after a lifetime of wandering in a strange land. If my welcome was not with a brass band and rolled out carpets I still had no complaints. And the song of gratitude I had been cultivating since I had awakened to the realization of my selfishness -- that singing song of glory that banished the darkness, the loneliness, the desperate despair, was increasing in my soul. It was enough.
It was more than enough though I had only seven dollars in my purse when I arrived, and though I had to spend five of it for a dingy little room crawling with cockroaches and bedbugs. How could I complain, I who had so much.