News articles from all over the country
were posted, stories and old photos
were shared, and hundreds gathered
on a social media site to be with each
other in their mourning because there
is comfort in numbers.
You see, I had no direct link
to Dustin besides those very few
and fleeting old memories from his
childhood and the fact that I know
his dad and his grandmother Sue.
But for reasons that I cannot explain,
seeing his face in the photographs and
hearing his story have all affected me
deeply, and I know that I am not the
only one. In the coming days, I would
be a witness to a multitude of people
from our community and all over our
nation mourning this man’s death.
It has truly been one of the most
amazing, beautiful, and heartbreaking
events that I have ever watched
unfold.
A strong sense of community,
a gathering of friends and perfect
strangers to unite in a common cause,
is something that I get a high off
of – it is truly very much like a drug
to me – and as the news of Dustin’s
return home for his last tour began
to trickle out and the strands of this
community’s rope began to braid and
tighten, I was ridiculously proud. Red,
white and blue bows went up, and
flags were flying but ordered to halfstaff
the day before his homecoming,
and a touching ceremony planned
on his high school football field. The
day of his return, everyone was on
alert and preparing to honor our
soldier. Patriotic shirts were pulled
out of dresser drawers, more bows
and flags and balloons were popping
up everywhere, children sat at their
kitchen tables making signs out of
poster board and markers as their
mamas and daddies explained to them
what it means to be a hero and what
the term “ultimate sacrifice” means.
The plan for Dustin’s route home had
come together, and our people spent
their day opening their arms and
hearts to welcome him in. The air was
thick with reverence, and there was
a tangible sadness that I’ve not felt in
such large numbers since 9/11.
We gathered on the lawn of the
hospital. A woman began passing
out small flags in a bucket, and the
women next to us in matching flag
vests were instructing the crowd that
the flag should be held in your left
hand, and your right hand should be
placed over your heart. Everyone had
their telephones out, sharing the latest
Facebook updates on our soldier’s
arrival. Someone would read, “He is
on US#1 and should arrive into Lyons
in 10 minutes!” and you would hear
that news echo through the crowd as
it was passed down the line. Pictures
were starting to come in of overpasses
and road sides where firetrucks,
policemen, and ordinary citizens
had stopped on the route to stand
at attention and quiet themselves
as the processional rode by them.
The reality of what we were about
to experience was hitting hard, and
people began to get somewhat nervous
and feel anxious.
“He is on 280 heading this way.”
The tone dropped. We all straightened
and rolled our shoulders back.
Hometown Living At Its Best 61
PHOTO PROVIDED BY JEREMY MCCALLUM
PHOTO PROVIDED BY FAMILY
TOP Dustin with his mom Teri Trull Criscio. BOTTOM Dustin
with his dad Ardie and brothers Ardie Jr., Will and Zach.