It's an old war song, the tune "Over There." George Cohan wrote in during World War I, when we Americans finally got our shit together and made it over to Europe to fight. [I wonder if it was resurrected at all in World War II, when it again took us many years to shed our xenophobia and make our way over to help fight one of the most heinous figures in history?]
What's my point, you wonder? I'm here. Somehow, I've lost a number of hours to air travel and time changes and muddled brain. But I'm here. And much as I hated leaving the kids and much as I know I'll hate being away from them, I am relieved to be here. To be with Pete. To be with Aunt Margaret. To provide some comfort in such awful times.
I won't be fighting to put an end to evil. And I likely won't even be here for the funeral as coroners and crematoriums and morticians and inquests swirl around Aunt Margaret and my husband, making a horridly difficult time even more so. But I can make tea. And I can open sympathy cards. And I can make jokes. And I can offer love.
It's not a lot, really, in the general scheme of things. But I'm hoping it will be enough. Over here.