Memories

I don't know what is going on with me these days. Every minute of every day I think of Travis. Is it a delayed reaction or the proximity of the holiday season? I don't know. I dream about him now most nights, and it is usually about when he was a child. Perhaps I long for that lost time, when things were as they should be.

Travis loved the holidays. All holidays. He had planned to be Batman to his son's Robin on the Halloween following his death. He loved Thanksgiving, and usually would sit in the kitchen with me, watching and talking, making me laugh. I remember him calling me from Hawaii, where he was stationed, asking me how to cook a turkey.

For Christmas, Travis had his own miniature tree in his bedroom. I remember when he was five, he punched little holes in all the gifts to see what everyone had gotten. His excitement and anticipation was so great, he couldn't wait.

Oh, I miss him so much. So many people tell me to not think about it, to let it go, to go on with my life, but right now, I don't know how. I am consumed with guilt, with anger, too. I remember once he told me, before he joined the military, that he would like to go to New York and become a comedian. All I could think of was his 19 year old self, alone in New York, and I did not support the idea. What if I had? What if I had encouraged him to follow that dream?

The worst part of all of this is not being able to go back and do things differently. To spend as much time with him as I could. But we don't know. We just never know what tomorrow brings. His son's birthday is coming up, and I cannot be a part of his celebration, his life. That has been denied me, and it hurts. His daughter turned 3 in September, and I have never seen her, except pictures I have gathered from the internet. His widow works hard to keep his memory alive and I wish I could be a part of her life, but she does not want that. And I don't know how to fix it. She has her reasons, and, to her they are valid. To me, it is devastating.

I am not the only one feeling this kind of agony. Anyone who has ever lost a child knows exactly what I mean. And, I think sometimes, we are avoided. As if being close to someone who has suffered such a tragedy might bring tragedy with them. I had a therapist tell me that grieving people are not that much fun to be around. I had another therapist tell me that talking about Travis too much was probably not a good thing. I had a neighbor tell me that I just grieved for my son, and not the others who had fallen with him. What do you say to these people?

I just don't know. But I still get up everyday. I still try to smile and enjoy what life I have carved out, which isn't that much right now. I depend too much on my oldest son, and know it would be healthier for him to live away from me. I think he feels he must be there for me. And he has his own grief to deal with. His own regrets.

I will try to celebrate these holidays, for Travis, if nothing else. I will try to embrace that same joy he always had, the same sense of quiet wonder at the simple beauty of family being together. But I miss him so much. So very, very much.

My Veteran's Day Post

I had a post prepared for Veterans Day, but lost it somewhere in a little application that comes with Firefox called ScribeFire. I saved it as a note, but don't know how to retrieve the note. But it went something like this.

God bless all those who have served and are serving our country. I remember my family members who have served, through World War II, the Viet Nam War, and Operation Iraqi Freedom. I miss my son everyday. Every moment of everyday. And that will never change. But God bless those he served with and all those who have served before him. He keeps good company in Arlington.









Those who choose to serve in our military do what the rest of us cannot. Let us never forget the sweat, the tears, and the blood they have shed in defense of our great country. They deserve our respect, our support, and our humility. I thank them, all who serve. May we as a nation always remember and venerate their sacrifice.

I found another post talking about the alleged atrocities committed by our troops in Iraq. I'm so sick of this. I am so sick of people thinking that today's military is the result of backwoods rural America, high school drop-outs, poor idiots being recruited so they can go out and kill people.

It is a slap in the face to every member of the enlisted military, their families, and their their survivors. The enlisted personnel in our military did not make the decision to invade Iraq. They just did what their commander in chief said.

After 9/11, everyone in this country wanted to kick some ass, and who did we look to? Our neighbors? Our friends? Ourselves? Did we all, the common everyday, gas-guzzling, teachers, mechanics, bankers, whoever, do it? No. We sent our military to do it. And now they have become in many people's eyes nothing more than hired killers.

As for allegations, well, we are all innocent until proven guilty. Or does that not apply to our service members? Are they held to some higher standard than the rest of us? Are they supposed to find body parts of their comrades and not feel anything? Are they supposed to be shot at, and not shoot back? Would you?

I didn't want them to go. I voted for Kerry, hoping that would prevent some of this mess. But I was criticized because people didn't think he would be a strong commander-in-chief.

I lost my son who was serving in Iraq as a medic, and when I read these comments it is as if someone has kicked me in the stomach. You do not know my son, who had a 4 year old son, a baby on the way that he never had the chance to see. You do not know how intelligent, compassionate, giving and wonderful he was. You do not know any of the people you accuse of being mad killers. Probably most of the deaths incurred in Iraq were from suicide bombers and IED devices. I don't know of any suicide bombers in our military.

Unless you are there, doing what they are doing, you don't know what they face each and every day. My brother was called baby-killer and God knows what else when he returned from Viet Nam. Looks like its going to happen again. And he enlisted because he felt it was the right thing to do. God, what a stupid guy, huh? He received a bronze star, a purple heart, and other medals that lie in a box covered with dust. They lie there because of how they were earned and the memories they bring back.

I suggest all of those who believe our military personnel are such base and ignorant people go to the 3000+ families that have lost wives, husbands, sons, and daughters, and tell them that to their face. Let them give you their opinion of what they think about you.

Goddammit, I am mad. I am so fucking mad. And I am hurt, more than anything. You think this war has caused you pain? You don't know shit!!

Everyone talks about the media, and how they don't focus on the real issues, and how their reporting is not up to standard, but let them say anything derogatory about the troops in Iraq and they instantly become believable and up-to-the minute purveyors of truth and justice. Do you honestly believe everything you hear?

Because we hate the war in Iraq, it has become a popular thread to associate everything with the war as bad. Even our troops. Please, if you want the real story, go to Iraq and see for yourself. Then come back and tell me what a bunch of cutthroats they are.

Then, you can kiss my ass. And take a flying fuck to the moon. Because its all brown-nosing. Oh, this is the popular thing to say, so I better say it. Don't want anyone to think I'm not against the current and popular theme in the country. Don't want anyone to actually think I associate with the low-life people who join the military because they have nothing better to do.

In some countries it is mandatory that everyone serve in the military. Good thing you don't live there because you would be one of those lowlifes too.

As I said before, don't tell me my son joined the military because he was stupid to do anything else. You did not know him. And, unfortunately, you never will.

God, what a lot of bullshit there is floating around on the net, uttered by people, who if things got bad, the first person they would look to for help would be that marine, or soldier in his fatigues and carrying his M-16.

17 months ago, a bright, caring, wonderful young man, while doing his job, accompanied by two other marines, walked by a Mosque in Hit, Iraq. They were showing their presence on the street, to deter insurgent activity and reassure the Iraqi residents. Passing the mosque they encountered an ied device, which exploded, piercing their young bodies with shrapnel and engulfing them in fiery smoke. One young man was killed outright, the other two sustaining massive wounds.

One was a naval corpsman. He was there to provide medical assistance. Not realizing he himself had been seriously injured, he called to his comrades, "Who's hurt? Who needs me?" before falling. He had been hit with shrapnel in his neck, legs, and arms. As his commanding officer tried to administer emergency aide to him, he instructed his commander what procedures to take. He was airlifted to a hospital in Baghdad, where his wounds were treated. He lost a hand, and a foot, but he was alive. His next of kin were notified of his injuries, but were told he would be transferred to Germany as soon as he was stable.

However, after a few days, he had trouble breathing. He was placed on a respirator, and it was determined that his lungs had been burned beyond repair by the heat of the explosion. Before removing the respirator, he was placed in a coma, so when the respirator was removed he would die without pain. Then they made another call to his next of kin, telling them he had died.

An autopsy was performed, confirming their diagnosis. His body was was preserved, waiting for a transport to Dover Airport, where it was taken to a mortuary in Arlington, VA. His body arrived 10 days after his death. During the viewing, he was surrounded by fellow corpsman he had served with in Great Lakes, IL. They stood in a circle around his coffin, and shed their tears quietly. They watched as family members grieved and cried, their faces bewildered with shock and disbelief. They watched as his wife called his name over and over again. They watched as his mother, trying her best to cover him up, as he was so very cold, looked at her son, and wanted nothing more than to pick him up and carry him home with her. They watched his father, escorted by oldest son, cry uncontrollably at the site of his youngest son laying so cold and white in the casket.

The next day, the funeral was conducted with full military honors. They half-listened to the words being spoken, each trying to grasp the fact that what was happening was real. They listened to the bugler playing taps, the 21-gun saluted, and watched the folding of the flag, and the presentation of the flag from the coffin to his widow, and the presentation of medals to his 5 year old son. Two other flags were presented to his father and mother, and his mother grasped it closely to her chest, as it instantly became sacred. They rose, and one by one, they said goodbye to the young man they loved so very dearly. As they got up to leave, they were amazed at the many people who stood behind them, hundreds of people who had journeyed to this cemetery to witness the laying to rest of a fine and beloved friend and comrade.

The mother did not want to leave. She thought it best she should stay awhile, as her son should not be alone. She wanted to lay beside him, as she did as a child, and comfort him, hold him close, and protect him, cheer him, show him how very much he was loved. But, she was ushered away, taken home, far away from his resting place. But, still each day, she grieves for him, not wanting to accept that he is really gone, still thinking in the deepest core of her being that somehow it was a dream or a mistake. But each day that passes she realizes that he won't be coming home.

And, now, obsessively she reads the newspapers, watching for news of another young man or woman who has lost their lives in a far off land, full of sand, and heat, and death. She mourns for them as well, hoping that her son is there to greet them as they pass from this life to the next. That is what keeps her going. Knowing that somehow, somewhere she will see her son again, his smiling face, serene and calm.

She dreams about him, when he was a baby, a child, and the young man he grew to be. When she wakes up she feels the weight of his loss settle around her for another day. And she knows she is not alone in her grief, that many, many people suffer from the loss of this one young man.

She sees people going about their lives, unaware of her loss, everyone's loss, and wants to scream at them to not forget. Remember them all she silently pleads. No matter where she is, the grief hits her, and she cries, fresh tears for her lost son. She realizes the grief is the same for any parent who has lost a child, no matter the circumstances, but she also knows that more will die needlessly as her son did. She knows it must stop.

She remembers his last words. Take care of my guys. Don't forget them. Tell them I'll be back, don't let them get another corpsman. And she never wants to see another family face this kind of loss again. She wants all of the men and women to come home. She just wants them all to come home, alive, and be with their families again.

She wants them to come home.