Every home game, the team honors a military veteran as a sign of gratitude for their service. It’s seems noble, but never seems like enough.

Some of these vets come back with serious problems. Some return with missing sections of their body and all seemingly return missing sections of their lives they’ll never get back, replaced with memories only a select few will every truly be able to understand.

The worst ones are the memorials for the fallen soldiers, especially the ones who left a family behind. I read one for a sergeant whose pregnant wife now only has a folded flag and a visual reminder of her husband.

I’ll never understand the stress and issues she’ll have to deal with, but I know my thoughts and prayers for her can only go so far. And they certainly won’t help at 2 in the morning when the baby won’t go to sleep.

But the baby is who crowds my thoughts. A child that will grow up with nothing but images and other people’s ideas about their father. They’ll never get a chance to speak to him, but will have countless people tell them what he would have said or how he would feel if he were here.

Where does that child go from there? Do they long to follow in their father’s heroic footsteps, dedicating their life to helping others or joining the military to finish what was started?

Do they rebel against the order that took away a symbol they’ve never known? Do they disdain those that protect and serve, swerving towards the opposite with the weight of the deceased always on their shoulders?

Or do they grow up to become a major league relief pitcher?