Run For The Wall and Rolling Thunder were new terms to me a few years ago, until I met Steve Woestemeyer.
Steve is a computer guy I worked with at HP, here in Colorado Springs, a tall quiet man with white hair and a white beard. He scared me once, although I had no idea it was him for some time. It was Halloween and I was sitting at my desk early one morning when I looked up to find the Grim Reaper standing in front of me. He wore a flowing black robe and carried a scythe. I couldn't see his face, and more scarily, he didn't speak. I was hesitantly laughing and trying to work out who was under the costume but the figure never said a word to me, and after a while just turned and left.
Steve is a Vietnam Veteran and every other year he joins with family and friends to participate in the Run For The Wall motorcycle ride (www.rftw.org) This ride, from coast to coast across America, ending at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington, DC was started in 1989 by a couple of Vietnam Veterans who traveled across the heartland of America on motorcycles, talking to local radio, TV, and newspapers about the fact that there were thousands of men and women still unaccounted for from all of America's wars.
The Run For The Wall always culminates with a Rolling Thunder Protest Ride from the Pentagon to the Wall on Memorial Weekend. Mainstream media calls it a parade but the organizers refer to it as a protest ride. It’s not a party. It’s a mission to pay respect to those who have fallen and to call attention to issues regarding the POW's and MIA's that are not accounted for after each war or conflict.
Steve and Linda have two sons, Aaron and Shawn, and last Friday suffered the unimaginable when they lost their son Aaron in a motorcycle accident. I want so badly to tell Steve, Linda and Aaron's wife Tami how sorry I am, but no words can adequately convey those feelings. I can never tell them I understand how they feel, and I hope and pray I will never lose a child. Now that I am a mother I cannot imagine how you ever get over losing a child. I cannot imagine the sadness and pain and the immense sense of loss. Aaron was only 29, he had his entire life ahead of him. I didn't know him at all, but if he was like his dad, he was a great guy.
I can't be at the memorial service, but I will be there in spirit and my thoughts will be with Steve and his family long after the ceremony is over and 'normal' life is resumed. I know that for Steve, Linda, Tami and Shawn life will never be the same again, but I do know that in time things will become easier, that they will smile and laugh and talk about Aaron fondly. Steve, I hope that your family and friends help you be strong at this time, I hope the sun shines on you all, and I hope that you are able to get past this terrible time in the knowledge that so many of your friends and work colleagues, past and present, would take this burden from you if they could.
You are all in my thoughts.
