"We don't know what to do," said a 35 ish woman sitting alongside her male companion in a white car as their eyes glowed with warmth for the vigil.
"Shall we clap," she asked, as she put her hands together.
"No, I replied with a smile. "But thank you. What you can do is to keep these people in your heart. And please speak-up for them. The news media doesn't cover them very often any more. But their pain is every bit as real.
"We know," she answered wistfully, as her companion nodded his head in agreement. "And we will."
A little later, the vigil was joined by a 50 ish couple who often do and by a 38 year old man who occasionally does. While they were there, two large 18 ish men pulled up and called out loudly, both wanting to shake my hand.
They were boisterous and playing blaring rap music, like two guys in a bar. They turned off the music. I reached into their car to shake their hands and while looking into their eyes asked, "Do you really care for these people?"
"We do," one replied in a suddenly serious tone. "Very much" added the other, sounding equally as serious. And as the signal turned green, they quietly drove-off.
Meanwhile, in Baghdad on Monday afternoon, three suicide bombers in explosive packed cars, hit three hotels frequented by U.S. companies and journalists, the Sheraton receiving the worst damage.
41 people were dead and at least 106 more were injured. These hotels are in a heavily guarded area, near the Green Zone, where the U.S. government offices and the Iraqi Parliament are based.
The next day, in the same immediate area, a forth suicide bomber in a car loaded with explosives hit an Iraqi Interior Ministry building, killing 21 and injuring at least 84 others. Nearby offices, restaurants and shops were also damaged.
To have gotten access to such heavily secured areas shows the attackers had support from within the Iraqi government. The message to the U.S. government, tinged in blood and heartache, was simple. There is no place in Baghdad that is safe.
But as for the vigil, thousands of miles from Baghdad, a 65 ish woman drove-up in a white SUV. She had a round, kindly face and with the sparkle in her eyes and her soft smile, she looked like a lady Hollywood would cast as a loving mother or grandmother.
"My son is in Afghanistan," she said. "Thank you for doing this."
"How old is he," I asked. "36," she replied. "Is he career military?" "He never meant to be," she answered. "He's in the National Guard.
"Yesterday, his base got bombed," she continued. "His convoy also got hit, but he wasn't in it. He was having surgery from carrying 92 pounds of equipment and supplies."
After an instant of silence, she added "His commanding officer, who said he didn't need body armor, was ... " as her voice trailed off and she drove away slowly.
As the hour grew late, a 50 ish woman in a big white SUV blasted her horn repeatedly in support of the vigil. It was music to my ears. As she waved, I waved back and smiled and brought the vigil to an end.
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