In this column we often celebrate the joys of “coming home”. 

One of the saddest experiences a person can have in life involves “leaving home,” especially those times when a person has to leave a home they have come to enjoy and are not interested in leaving.

Last fall this happened to a veteran in our community. To add to the challenge of this move, it was a cloudy day on the verge of raining and the veteran was unable to lift the furniture or help with carrying the boxes because of debilitating chronic pain that was limiting his mobility.

Despite not having control over this exodus, this veteran was extremely positive. He greeted each of us, learning
our names. He shook our hands, extending the hand that was working, his left hand, in a welcoming gesture.

He smiled all of the way through the move asking each of us to note a particular task or special personal collector’s item from an era in his life. He was at the center of the move, reluctantly ensconced in his “Archie Bunker”-type chair. He thanked us profusely for our help in his relocation.

The moving crew on this particular day consisted of six veterans, the wife of a deceased veteran and three friends of one veteran who attend the same church. (We maintain that with 10 of us we have one good body, but in actuality we are a smooth-running machine once the coffee and bagels kick in.) We had four pick up trucks and four cars for the mission.

After we loaded up the trucks, vacuumed up the house, and tied down the loads, we left the pick-up zone for the last time in a trail formation (one car behind the other). The landing zone was about five clicks (kilometers) away.

The new rental house was, in short, amazing. The LZ was a very nice neighborhood with families and neat, well-maintained houses. The house was all on one level (perfect for someone with limited mobility), nice landscaping, large recreation room, bright kitchen, bathroom, and bedrooms for father and daughter. The big chair went near the window in the front room and across from the TV and stereo.

We had completed another mission in less than two hours. There were no WIAs (wounded in action) because we were careful and there were lots of good feelings for helping one of our own. At this point, we all realize that one day it could be us that could use a little help . . .  and here on Whidbey Island that’s what we do  . . .  we help each other.

The VRC is a nongovernmental, charitable, tax-deductible Veteran Service Organization made up of volunteers. We are supported by donations.