Advertisement
We can’t always choose the time for a memory. But over the years I have fought off selective thoughts so that the sad comes on the terms that I wanted. Reality is that as hard as I have deferred the memories or wanted to change the conditions; the memory is in charge.
Over the years the random thoughts of my Soldiers deaths have been at times debilitating. The yearly ceremony of remembrance, the notes, calls, and check ins that can be somewhat robotic to match up with the special dates. These families are now friends, and at times we share the secret of sadness. The families of my fallen have been dedicated to paving the way for others to follow behind them. Their dedication after the fact has been so heartfelt and noticeable as they are the faces of sacrifice.
What a Soldier remembers about their buddies can be very different than family members. Many times, we have had unique and strange adventures with them on a very personal basis. So many times, we have opportunities to share our fears (planned or unplanned), we can talk about our dreams unfiltered, and interestingly we know exactly how much they love
their family and friends. The most intimate conversations can be had while driving in a truck together or sitting in a mortar pit.
I decided the other day to openly choose to continue remembering after a triggering thought. My sadness and unwanted guilt usually override the years of counseling and dozens of conversations about the residual feelings of war. I was meandering around the waiting room at the Veterans Affairs Office in South Carolina when I was transported to a musical memory. Unconsciously, I could hear the soft intro music and then began humming,
"And I will always do my duty no matter what the price.
I've counted up the cost, I know the sacrifice.
Oh, and I don't want to die for you, but if dying's asked of me.
I'll bear that cross with honor, “cause freedom don't come free.”
I smiled as I studied the flag in the case. I have my own. I have helped give them to other service members as they return from deployments. But for some reason, I read the plaque and I just kept humming. I had never thought about him before while viewing this folded flag
in the presentation case.
I could breathe easily as the fond thoughts flooded back. He was one of my sibling teams. In our unit there were 16 sibling matches that were being deployed together, and one family sent 2 brothers and a sister with me to Iraq. He was one of the brother pairs and only on this deployment because of the strongest brotherly love. His baby brother volunteered to train and deploy with us Bridger and he was not having his partner in crime go off to danger without him in by his side. These decisions do not fare well with parents, but I gave my word to them that I would keep the boys separated during missions.
He was a friend to all and a bit sassy with a twist of fun for all those around. A magnet for his friends and very respectful to the leaders, he had so much to give us all. His friendship with his brother was just a small town buddyship with flashes of safety overwatch. They were funny and fresh when they were together and individually mischievous when separated. Nearly 20 years later the memory of the baby-faced brothers still
resemble youth and innocence.
The next time he volunteered was to build a six-foot tall ND military patch out of bamboo sticks. I was set on calling our unit area “Camp Dakota” and needed to stake out that claim before the other ND unit took the title from us. I know he sensed my determination to thumb my nose at the Lieutenant Colonel who tried to claim rank as the owner of the fictional “Camp Dakota”. His energy was instantaneous as he gathered his small team to work under the cover of darkness. I had no idea to what level he would take the initiative. The life size monument of bamboo was the envy of all Soldiers. Camp Dakota was created, and I have him to thank!
As time passed and missions changed, I was separated from my unit for a few months. It was the winter in Iraq, the weather had chilled down and we all just went about our deployment business and did what all Soldiers did at about the 9 months mark: complained about not going home yet!
It was January and I had a new mission that led me to a small group
of my Soldiers on the outskirts of Baghdad. The reunion was amazing, and it was heartwarming to catch up with the happenings and people at the unit. My mission had been delayed for maintenance needs and I was able to take a bit of time to hang. As all good Soldiers humor their commanders, they even agreed to eat dinner with me in the Ar Ramadi mess hall. I shared a meal of weird little cupcakes and a big ole dish of jello. I wish I could tell you we had steak and marinated asparagus, but A-rations was as fancy as it got.
Time was short and I must applaud those Soldiers; they had to listen to my adventures across Iraq and didn’t even moan about the boredom with their current mission. I left the camp to hugs, waves, and excitement of the promises to hang out when we all return home! I am glad that I did not know that the promise would never be kept.
My convoy left at daybreak and after a bit was suddenly unsteady and queasy about 10 miles after our start. Mortars began raining down on my convoy and the fear of
a direct hit on the precious cargo weighed heavily on my mind. The danger and unknowingness of where the mortars would land after each shot was unnerving. I called for helicopter support and knew that all we had to do was hang tight for a few minutes. Just continue to drive and keep the convoy calm as we lumbered down the road. I was focused on getting us fire power from above and calling in coordinates as we continued to be lucky as round after round were missing but slowly inching their way closer to the inner edges of the convoy.
The chatter on the military radio suddenly exploded and I was notified that my requested helicopters have been diverted. A part of the bridge had been rigged with improvised explosive devises. They exploded. Really big explosion. We listened on the radio to the quick reactionary force respond to the sight of the explosion to secure the area and hunt for the enemy. My convoy kept driving and eventually was out of the range for the mortars. We just drove on.
It seemed such a small token when I told his mother that he was in the Toby
Keith fan club. He was a patriot and was always playing the song on his Walkman. Toby had sent a letter to his biggest fan and took a picture together during a fandom event. These were included when Toby Keith sent his heartfelt condolences to the family. A patriotic anthem of our generation now represents the truth and sacrifice of a man who will stay young forever.
His final act of volunteerism was to take the place of a lessor ranked Soldier on that convoy. I ended up being the commander who couldn’t be sadder telling a mother …A brother’s love has no boundaries.
Tell the story. Say their names. Remember the Love.
Advertisement
Tot: 0.146s; Tpl: 0.014s; cc: 10; qc: 43; dbt: 0.0479s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.2mb