Between the Sandhills and the Sea

2012-02-01T20:12:00.000-08:00

He is a United States Marine

He will steal your last beer, but give you his last magazine of ammo. He will drop 6 F-bombs in one sentence, but write you the most endearing letters. He will be your worst enemy, and your best friend - often in the same day. He will borrow twenty dollars, and will repay you in alcohol. He has forgotten more names than you have ever known. … He has hurried more than you. He has waited more than… He can stand for hours, he can sit in a puddle of mud for hours on end and still crack a joke. He can sit in a small room, and stare out over a thousand yards. He will be friendly to every person he meets, but will have a plan to kill them if the need arises. He will smoke 3packs a day and run 3miles in 20 minutes. He can fall asleep in the middle of a construction zone, but is restless in his own bed. He will lace his shoes left over right, and will not tell you why. He will be the filthiest person you ever met, and the most handsome when he cleans up. His mind will swim with stories of adventure, but he will remain still. He is a rough man that watches over you while you sleep. He is a United States Marine.

Book of the Week: Lost in America by Colby Buzzell

2011-10-12T11:49:00.000-07:00

Book of the Week was Lost in America: A Dead-End Journey by Colby Buzzell. Buzzell is a former milblogger of My War: Killing Time in Iraq fame. Overall, an interesting read. A road memoir that pays homage to Kerouac, Buzzell paints a picture of every day America in tough economic times. He also chronicles an inner journey towards peace and purpose as he navigates post-war existence, the loss of his mother, and his new introduction to fatherhood.

I empathize with this journey. Making your way in a world where the opportunities you were promised have come and gone already. Where purpose and meaning have come inextricably interwoven with war. Where there is little direction for your life so you just keeping moving, keep stepping forward, hoping to stumble upon the place where lost becomes found.

10 Years

2011-09-11T17:55:00.000-07:00

There are so many memories of that day. 10 years later September Eleventh is still as incomprehensible to me as it was when I was a kid watching it unfold on the tvs in the classrooms. It was the catalyst for so much that has come since. It was the defining moment of my childhood. It was the line of departure. The before and the after.

So much loss of life. So many heroes. Rick Rescorla. FDNY. NYPD. PAPD. Everyday civilians who took the opportunity to help others when it was presented to them. So much good and so much evil in the same day.

How do you process it?

So many questions remain. So many lessons are left to learn.

Since 9/11 I have become and adult. I have watched my friends who sat in a classroom with me that day when someone announced that our country was at war and we were going to be the ones to fight it go off to war. I have said goodbye to my best friend and prayed that I have seen some friends of them be wounded in war. I have been to funerals for others. I joined an organization that has provided me with more experiences that I ever could have though possible.

9/11 was the catalyst for all of it.

With the death of bin Ladin in May, I am left to wonder if there will ever be closure. I, like many others, had hoped that that is what his death would provide. But I think it was just the metaphorical "end of the beginning." I think though that it will always be an open wound.

9/11 changed so much.

God bless the families of the lost.

2,996 souls.

Never forgotten.

4 years

2011-08-17T14:15:00.000-07:00

Never Forgotten

August 16, 2007

Taramiyah, Iraq

OIF

"If you are able, save for them a place inside of you and save one backward glance when you are leaving for the places they can no longer go.

Be not ashamed to say you loved them, though you may or may not have always. Take what they have taught you with their dying and keep it with your
own.

And in that time when men decide and feel safe to call the war insane, take one moment to embrace those gentle heroes you left behind.

Major Michael Davis O'Donnell
1 January 1970
Dak To, Vietnam
Listed as KIA February 7, 1978

Of Three Or Four In The Room by Yehuda Amichai

2011-07-21T19:34:00.000-07:00

I have fallen in love with this poem. In so many ways it encompasses the past 7 years for me. There are lines of this poem that stay with me like few others do. Part of me will always be standing at the window. Part of me will always see the ones who left whole and came back in pieces.

Of Three or Four in the Room

Out of three or four in the room
One is always standing at the window.
Forced to see the injustice amongst the thorns,
The fires on the hills.

And people who left whole
Are brought home in the evening, like small change.

Out of three or four in the room
One is always standing at the window.
Hair dark above his thoughts.
Behind him, the words, wandering, without luggage,
Hearts without provision, prophecies without water
Big stones put there
Standing, closed like letters
With no addresses; and no one to receive them.

Not Taking it for Granted

2011-07-13T18:27:00.000-07:00

There are so many little things that you take for granted.

Following your favorite teams. Sharing those experiences with those you love. Especially sharing those moments in the forms of instant communication that are available now.

Got to do that again this week. Pretty cool moment to realize, hey, the Marine Corps gave him back! I can do this again!

So many things can happen in the world. I am reminded of that again this week. Of close calls and almosts.

I am grateful for all the little moments.

And all the moments I get to enjoy again with the ones that I love.

Go USA!

Dreamlife: Sleeping At Last

2011-06-27T20:26:00.000-07:00

Beautifully and eloquently put. ~W

Dreamlife by Sleeping at Last

As our hearts lay sleeping,
As our bodies rest,
The Heavens open up for us.
Put down your weapon, child,
And close your eyes,
Because you and your enemies
Are innocent tonight.

I never wanted you,
I never wanted you to go.

There's a voice inside your soul
That resonates through your skin and bone,
Up through the blades of grass,
Underneath the feet of God's only son.
The war that you're fighting
Has already been won.

I just want to survive with you by my side.
With you by my side, I just want to survive.

Crooked mouth, quiet down.
Let your fists come undone.
Miscarried love will be reborn.
When we sleep,
The devil's arms are tied.

The war that we're fighting
Has already been won

I never wanted this,
I never wanted this to go away.
I never wanted this,
I never asked for it,
I never meant to let it go.

I just want to survive with you by my side.
With you by my side, I just want to survive.

Wartorn: 1861-2010

2011-06-04T10:26:00.000-07:00

HBO has done an excellent documentary on PTSD called Wartorn: 1861-2010. It gives a good accounting of the scope and history of the aftermath of war. Through individual accounts it shows the personal devastation and change that these invisible wounds can have on soldiers and their families. I was particularly interested in the Civil War and WWI letters and video imagery. Definitely worth a watch.

Volunteer

2011-06-03T21:12:00.000-07:00

Ronald Reagan Memorial Day Speech:

“…Each died for a cause he considered more important than his own life. Well, they didn’t volunteer to die. They volunteered to defend values for which men have always been willing to die if need be – the values which make up what we call civilization. And how they must have wished – in all the ugliness that war brings – that no other generation of young men to follow would have to undergo that same experience.

As we honor their memory today, let us pledge that their lives, their sacrifices, their valor shall be justified and remembered for as long as God gives life to this nation. And let us also pledge to do our utmost to carry out what must have been their wish – that no other generation will ever have to share their experiences and repeat their sacrifice.”

RIP Will

2011-05-30T19:31:00.000-07:00

Never Forgotten

"What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others." ~Pericles

Not Forgotten

2011-05-29T17:39:00.000-07:00

This is a post I originally did for the anniversary of a friend of mine's death in Iraq. I will visit his grave tomorrow and I will think of many more fallen soldiers and their families. You are not forgotten.

Also see this post:
Coming Together

Meet Cpl. Willard M. Powell

August 15, 20007 was Cpl. Will Powell's last day on this earth.

He joined the Army in Feb. of 2006. He was assigned to the 4th Battalion, 9th Infantry Regiment, 4th Brigade, 2nd Infantry Division (Stryker Brigade Combat Team), Fort Lewis, Wash. and died Aug. 16 in Balad, Iraq, of wounds sustained when the enemy attacked using small-arms fire during combat operations in Taramiyah, Iraq. He was posthumously awarded the Combat Infantryman’s Badge, Bronze Star, Purple Heart, Army Commendation Medal and Good Conduct Medal.

This was a man who grew into a hero, but I knew him best as Will, a super-competitive kid who often annoyed the crap out of me in 3rd-4th grade. I was a super-competitive kid too. We had many battles before and after school in daycare. Recesses were also fair game. We played on competing soccer teams in the school league. I took great pleasure in beating him. At anything.

Whatever it was-basketball, soccer, checkers, the card game War with Uno cards, redlight-greenlight, or heads up seven up- we seemed to face off. He didn't want me on his teams much, as I was a just a girl, and a small one at that. That just made me angry and all the more determined to beat the living daylights out of him.

One day in childcare, we were playing basketball. I was on the opposing team, the only girl. He gave me crap the whole game, wouldn't shut up. I ended up with the ball as the teacher was calling everyone in. It was the last shot and the score was tied. I got a shot away- while being knocked down by one the boys- and ended up with two bloody knees and a bloody elbow. But I made the basket. My team won. My mom wasn't happy with another pair of torn pants, but my team won.
As I was picking the gravel out of my knee and contemplating a trip to the nurse for some bandaids, Will offered me a hand up and said, "you can play." That day, we went from being rivals to friends. We recognized in each other a certain fight, a stubborn determination. After that, we teamed up together a couple of times. We never lost.

Will transfered schools at some point, maybe a year later. It seemed like one day he was there and the next he was gone. He was going through some family stuff, and that probably had something to do with it. The playground wasn't quite as frustrating without him, or as fun.

I was walking down the hallway at my high school, I believe at the beginning of the year, turned a corner and almost walked into him. This was a surprise, not many kids from our small Christian school went to this high school, ever. It took us a second to recognize each other and from where. We caught up, laughed, and then rushed off to make it to class before the bell rang.

We saw each other in the halls often after that. I had a class or two with him, and we were friendly. Didn't really run around with the same people though, after classes. But he always had a smile for me in the hall. We joked around about teachers and assignments. Sometimes even about those games on the playground when I kicked his butt (or he kicked mine). He never failed to notice if I looked sad or upset. He'd crack a grin and tell me to cheer up.

Will is one of the last people I saw before I left the building the final time on the last day of school as a senior. I was in the business hallway, and he was too. He was at a locker, his or someone elses, just standing around. He flashed a giant last-day-of-school smile and said "Good luck, have a good summer. I'll see ya around."

We went our separate ways after that. I regret not keeping in better touch. I guess I thought we would fall back into each others lives at some point, as childhood friends seem to do. That image- of Will holding onto a locker at the end of the hall, rocking jeans and a white shirt, huge grin plastered on his face- is the memory I hold onto.

Cpl. Will Powell is a hero who gave his life looking out for other people. It will be two years tomorrow. His story should be told. He deserves to be remembered.

RIP Will.

The Blood Stripe

2011-05-22T15:54:00.000-07:00

The Blood Stripe:

The month of May marks the return of the sun, warm weather, and pops of color as plants and flowers embrace spring. It also brings with it a time to remember. If you are connected in any way to the military you have a list of names to remember. They are friends, battle buddies, mentors, and leaders who left for war and did not return. They are brothers, sisters, cousins, moms, dads, and best friends. As we enjoy the sunshine and make our Memorial Day plans this month, may we pause to remember those families who will honor not just the fallen, but their fallen loved ones.

Outside my workplace there is an American flag that rises high above the parking lot. I see it everyday, multiple times a day. A recent storm made the wind blow it out to it's full length and I was struck by the colors that stood out boldly from the muted grays in the clouds.

The sight provoked this question: What do you see when you look at the flag? We see it every day. Salute it at ball games. Cheer on the stars and stripes in international sporting events. It graces everything from our municipal vehicles to various clothing and novelty items. It is a complex symbol which simultaneously provokes love and hate, hope and oppression.

But what do you see when you look at the flag? There are 50 white stars representing the states, and symbolizing heaven, 13 stripes for the original colonies that rebelled against British rule and founded the nation and which are symbolic of the rays of light emanating from the sun. There are colors: blue, signifying vigilance, perseverance & justice; white, signifying purity and innocence; and red signifying hardiness and valor.

The boldness of the red stripes grab me. Stripes that proclaim hardiness and valor. Red stripes carry additional lore within military culture, particularly within the Marine Corps. There is a similar red stripe that runs down the trouser legs on the dress blue uniforms of NCOs, SNCOs, and officers. This stripe is commonly referred to as the "blood stripe" and serves as a reminder of the blood that has been spilled and honors the memory of fallen comrades.

Red for the blood of those who die to keep our nation free. Blood stripe. Red stripes on the flag that covers our war dead. Our wars are anesthetized now. We don't see the pools of blood under a young man who has just had his legs ripped off by an RPG. We don't see the shoulder patch-- muted battle flag leaning forward into battle, soaked with the blood of a young woman who has just been peppered with fragments of metal and bone by a bomber willing to use even his own body as a weapon. We are shielded from the pink mist, the human detritus that stripped of it's niceties is the sacrifice of war. But it is up there with us every day in the red stripes that drip down the flag.

I am reminded of a John Ciardi poem. In "A Box Comes Home" he writes, "I remember the United States of America/ As a flag-draped box with Arthur in it/ And six Marines to bear it on their shoulders."

When I look at the flag hanging vertically off a wall in my bedroom, I see names and faces blurred inside the crimson. Gunnar is there with his duct tape and fast car. Will is there too, probably making a bet on something. Jonathan has on a lazy grin. Liz's Sergeant is there next to Sam, Kim, and Jess. Chris is in there playing Little League. Jon is there rubbing the pregnant belly of his wife before loading the bus that took him away forever. It is their blood that has stained red the flags imprinted on our Old Navy tshirts and that fly outside our windows and line our pews.

It is their sacrifice, the blood of "patriots who proved in liberating strife that our flag was still there."

When the little flags are flying this month over graves long since neglected and over the fresh graves of a new generation's war dead pay attention to the red stripes. Look at the names on the graves and imagine the people they were. Imagine the stories they could tell you. Remember the fallen were people once, not an academic abstraction, a dry statistic, a tally on a journalist's score sheet, or a tool to be used in political debate. Remember what the flags signify-a ideal, a country, an oath, a soldier.

Remember, as Robert Leckie wrote, "It is to sacrifice that men go to war. They do not go to kill, they go to be killed; to risk their flesh, to insert their precious persons in the path of destruction." Remember those who will be absent from their families' picnics on Memorial Day, because sacrifice whispered to them "Not the blood of your brother, my friend-your blood."

Hopes and dreams stopped mid act. An empty bedroom. A picture instead of a father. A mother's arms embracing a folded flag where a daughter used to be.

John Ciardi said this about the loss of his friend, "I would pray/ An agreement with the United States of America/ To equal Arthur's living as it equals his dying../

Or, to quote a pop-culture source, a dying Captain Miller says to Private Ryan in Spielberg's film "Saving Private Ryan," "Earn this James...Earn this."

What can we do to honor those we have loved and lost? On whatever path God has placed you on, live your life in a manner worthy of their sacrifice. Vote. Serve others. Send a care package. Hug a soldier. And whatever you do, take a moment this May to remember.

Vigils by Siegfried Sassoon

2011-05-13T16:21:00.000-07:00

I've spent quite a bit of time studying the poets of the first World War. Most classes study the poets who were subsequently killed in the war and therefore left rather limited bodies of work behind. These poets certainly left behind very valuable and insightful works on the nature of war and human experience of war but they cannot answer a question that I find intriguing: What happens after the war? How does the war impact you for the rest of your life? How do you carry on, especially in the case of the WWI poets, when so many of your friends and comrades did not come home?

These questions led me to the work of Siegfried Sassoon and a collection of poems published in 1936 entitled Vigils. Sassoon enlisted at the relatively advanced age of 28. I'm sure that the maturity he gained in the preceding years impacted his wartime experience. As a soldier he was known for his courage, often leading nighttime raids. He was decorated for his gallantry in battle. He was wounded. He had a complicated relationship with the war in which he served. He saw its destruction and created controversy when he spoke out with the notion that his nation's leaders were unnecessarily prolonging the war by their actions.

What makes his story different from other Great War poets is that he survived the war.

Of all the men who were lost to the war, this one lived. He lived until 1967.

I think of all the life he lived after his 4 years at war and how they must have colored the way he saw the world. We often hear of how WWII veterans lived after the war but we don't seem to collectively remember that those veterans of the first world war did the same.

Vigils is a glimpse into that life. For example, a line from "December Stillness,"

December stillness, crossed by twilight roads, Teach me to travel far and bear my loads...
They were not true, those dreams, those story books of youth;
I left them all at home; went out to find the truth;
Slammed the green garden gate on my young years, and started
Along the road to search for freedom, empty-hearted.

But dreams have secret strength; the will not die so soon:
They haunt the quiet house through idle afternoon;
And under childhood skies their summer thoughts await
The rediscovering soul returning tired and late.

For, having grown world wise through harshly unlearned illusion,
The Traveller into time arrives at this conclusion,-
That life, encountered and unmasked in variant shapes,
Dissolves in dust and cloud, and thwartingly escapes.
But in remembered eyes of youth my dreams remain.
They were my firstling friends. I have returned again. (p.7)

It becomes clear that the past stays with him. He wrestles with it. He mocks it. He embraces it. But he never forgets it. As he shows in Ex-Service and We Shall Not All Sleep, it is always with him, always in his head.

Break silence. You have listened overlong to muttering mind-wrought voices. Call for lights.
Prove these persistent haunting presences wrong Who mock and stultify your days and nights.

Dawn comes, and re-creates the sleepless room;
And eyesight asks what arguing plagues exist.
But in that garret of uneasy gloom
Which is your brain, the presences persist (17).

I love how he recalls John McCrae's famous poem and all of its connotations in this one. He plays with the imagery of sleep and life and death. Again, not all of them "sleep." Some of them find the dead revisit them in their sleep. The vet and the fallen are both restless.

Unvouched are visions. But sleep-forsaken faith
Can win unworlded miracles and rejoice,
Welcoming, at haggard ends of the night, ---what wraith---
What angel---what beloved and banished voice?

I am also drawn to Revisitation.

What voice revisits me this night? What face
to my heart's room returns?
From that perpetual silence where the grace
Of human sainthood burns
Hates he once more to harmonize and heal?
I know not. Only I feel
His influence undiminished.
And his life's work, in me and many, unfinished.

Who hasn't lost someone and continued to feel their influence after they are gone. Who hasn't wanted to live a life worthy of the loss sustained? Who hasn't wanted to complete something that someone who is gone started?

Sassoon's collection Vigils doesn't provide an explicit answer for how he lived his life after the trauma and the loss of the Great War. But he does give us clues as to what it was like to be a survivor. He lets us in a little, lifts the veil, and let's us see how the war in his head grew, evolved, struggled, and ultimately healed.

Osama Bin Laden is Dead

2011-05-02T17:27:00.000-07:00

This deserves much more reflection later, but for now, this picture pretty much sums it up.

Fire in our Youth

2011-03-20T20:39:00.000-07:00

"But, nevertheless, the generation that carried on the war has been set apart by its experience. Through our great good fortune, in our youth our hearts were touched with fire. It was given to us to learn at the outset that life is a profound and passionate thing. While we are permitted to scorn nothing but indifference, and do not pretend to undervalue the worldly rewards of ambition, we have seen with our own eyes, beyond and above the gold fields, the snowy heights of honor, and it is for us to bear the report to those who come after us. But, above all, we have learned that whether a man accepts from Fortune her spade, and will look downward and dig, or from Aspiration her axe and cord, and will scale the ice, the one and only success which it is his to command is to bring to his work a mighty heart." ~Oliver Wendell Holmes; An address delivered for Memorial Day, May 30, 1884

For the first time in seven years, I do not have any friends or family members deployed to a war zone. I do not have any adopted soldiers or Marines playing in any of the various sandboxes that they often find themselves in. Seven years of deployments. Hundreds of guys and girls. And for the first time, really, the relentless cycle of homecoming and goodbye, joy and sorrow, relief and danger has paused. For the entirety of my adulthood, the war has been my ever-present companion.

I knew the timing was going to work out for the first time awhile ago. I wasn't sure what to expect. Now that I have spent almost a month without sending a care package or writing a letter, without a phone call from an international number or a shopping list that including baking supplies, I am trying to wrap my head around the experience.

I don't give a lot of thought to my end of the experience. It is easier to just keep moving forward, to see all that needs to be done and to keep doing. But what does it mean in this generation to be a civilian that has worked so closely with the military in wartime? Lately I have been looking to the past for answers. To the women who ran local canteens, packed civil war era packages in sewing clubs, served in the volunteer ambulance corps, the donut and coffee girls of the USO and its precursors. I'm not sure I've found any answers yet but it is clear that the wartime experience is lifelong. It is an emotional, spiritual, physical, mental, epic kind of thing.

Even when you are not in the middle of it, the memories and emotions creep in sometimes unexpected ways. For example, there are songs I literally cannot listen to, tv shows I can't get through, and movies I can't watch. And I'm never quite sure when I will stumble across one of those things. Like that new show Coming Home. I saw a commercial for an episode recently and found myself sobbing without really even knowing why. I think mostly they were happy tears. Or take a documentary like Restrepo or a movie like The Dry Land or Taking Chance. I can see them multiple times and really not have much of a reaction to them beyond what you have for any movie. But then one day I'll watch it and something will hit me and bam- sobbing girl reaction. Rather inconvenient really, if you happing to be viewing with friends. But I think it goes back to the intensity of experiences and the never taking the time to process the emotions that go with them. I wonder if Elsie, Vera, or Florence had the equivalent experience and responses as well.

I guess without someone to focus on, I've had a little bit of time to think about myself in relation to the war and the last seven years. Sift through them a little bit. I came to the realization that there is a lot there to sift through.

In the midst of all this reflection a new documentary on the Patriot Guard Riders is being released. It features a few events that I have attended and some people that I am familiar with in passing. I get this invitation to go see it. I went back and forth decided if I should go or not. In the end, I took a pass because I'm not sure it is one that I want view in public. I'm not sure what reaction it will provoke from within me. I think for now it is better to see that one in the privacy of my own home, despite the camaraderie that exists amongst those of us who do the military support thing.

So what's the point of this rambling, jumbled mess? I don't know. I do think that Oliver Wendell Holmes got it right though, that "the generation that carried on the war has been set apart by its experience," and that to have your heart touched by fire in your youth is a pretty powerful thing.

I Was Here

2011-03-04T11:44:00.000-08:00

I Was Here by Lady Antebellum
You will notice me
I’ll be leaving my mark
Like initials carved in an old oak tree
You wait and see

Maybe I’ll write like Twain wrote
Maybe I’ll paint like Van Gogh
Cure the common cold… I don’t know
But I’m ready to start ‘cause I know in my heart

I wanna do something that matters
Say something different
Something that sets the whole world on its ear
Wanna do something better
With the time I’ve been given
I wanna try
To touch a few hearts in this life
And leave nothing less than something that says
I was here

I will prove you wrong
If you think I’m all talk
You’re in for a shock ‘cause this dreams too strong
Before too long

Maybe I’ll compose symphonies
Maybe I’ll fight for world peace
‘Cause I know it’s my destiny
to leave more than a trace of myself in this place

I know that I will do more than just pass through this life
I’ll leave nothing less than something that says
I was here

When they finished laughing

2011-02-15T19:31:00.000-08:00

I would like to thank the Marine Corps for returning Bestie to me. It is so good to talk to him and pull out the phone to text whenever I feel like it.

When they finished laughing they were on their way to being not just friends, but the dearest of friends, the sort of friends whose lives are shaped by the friendship.

SPINDLE’S END, ROBIN MCKINLEY

Welcome Home

2011-02-11T16:42:00.000-08:00

With a deep sigh of relief:
Welcome Home, Marine.

Welcome Home.

Oh, how we have missed you.

Remembering Pfc Gunnar Becker

2011-01-12T18:16:00.000-08:00

One inescapable fact about war is that there will be casualties. When nations wage war men and women will die. They will be young. They will be missed. They will be gone, as Seeger says, forever lost to "some disputed barricade."

There is an old, traditional song entitled Hard Times that reminds us that we must account for these things that are hard to acknowledge. It begins, "Let us pause in life's pleasures and count its many tears..." Often, the hard times are the ones we want to forget. The harsh reality of young men and women in uniform not coming home is certainly a reality we as a society wish to ignore.

But we cannot ignore them. We cannot hide from them. We must pause our own lives for a moment to count life's tears. There are many tears to be shed for our fallen, not just in the moment their names are released to stream on the scrolling news bar, but for the many moments after where their absence is felt.

One of the casualties of our current wars is Pfc. Gunnar D Becker, 19, Forestburg, South Dakota. Gunnar was a tanker stationed out of Vilseck, Germany. Today, January 12, 2005, he was living the last day of his life. By the end of the next, January 13, 2005, his rendezvous with Death had come to pass. The disputed barricade where he gave his life was came on a battlefield in Iraq.

By all accounts, Gunnar was someone you'd be lucky to call a friend. Despite his youth, he had a commitment to his chosen profession. He knew the risks. He believed in what he was doing. He possessed the values of Honor, Courage, and Commitment that too many of his peers lack. He understood service and undertook the greatest act of service there is, service to one's country. He stood the watch for us, protecting us and the ideals of our nation. He was willing to give his life for a cause that was greater than himself. The phrase "the price of freedom" is thrown around a lot by the media, sometimes seriously, mostly around Memorial Day, but mostly facetiously. But the true price of freedom ultimately is the life of Pfc Gunnar Becker and those like him who defend our nation. That is what it has always been.

Gunnar gave his life for his country. He paid the ultimate price. For this reason, many would call him a hero. I would argue that it is not his death that makes him one. He is a hero for the way he lived his life. It reminds me of FDNY Chief Ed Croker's words while speaking upon the deaths of a deputy chief and four firemen in a 1908 blaze. He said of their bravery:

"Firemen are going to get killed. When they join the department they face that fact. When a man becomes a fireman his greatest act of bravery has been accomplished. What he does after that is all in the line of work. They were not thinking of getting killed when they went where death lurked. They went there to put the fire out, and got killed. Firefighters do not regard themselves as heroes because they do what the business requires."

Indeed, Gunnar's greatest act of bravery was accomplished when he took the oath of enlistment and promised to protect and defend the United States of America. He went where the job sent him and did what the job required. This is what makes him hero.

But it does not lessen the pain of his loss for those who loved and knew him. He is still gone from them. There are no words we can offer to make this loss better.

Instead, we must offer what we can: acknowledgement.

Pfc. Gunnar D Becker lost his life in service to our country. Today, and everyday, I remember him. I remember him as an individual who is no longer here to leave his mark on the world. I remember his family who must face his absence daily.

Laurence Binyon wrote of the fallen in World War I that "they will not grow old, as we that are left grow old:/ age will not weary them, nor the years condemn." With each year that passes, I become more aware of the truth in these lines.

As another anniversary of his death nears Gunnar remains as he was.

And we must remember him.

Film: The Dry Land

2011-01-02T18:19:00.000-08:00

I just finished the independent film, The Dry Land. It blew me away. I'm usually wary of films depicting military veterans or soldiers in general. They usually do not strike the right tone, are two inaccurate, or are just plain insulting. I left this one with the feeling that the actors and the film makers "got it." There was a sincerity to the acting and to the storytelling that impressed me.

From actress America Ferrera "There is a disconnect in our society.... Everyone wants a hero but no one wants to see or think about what they had to go through to be that hero."

The journey home post war and post military is different for every person. The experience is different for every family. The film brings a reality to one way that it can go. I'm not going to summarize the plot or try to delve into the reasons why the film resonated.

I am just going to say that it is powerful. Watch it and take what you want away from it.

Haunting us, Daunting us, Taunting us

2010-12-04T20:55:00.000-08:00

A powerful piece that struck a chord, hat tip to a certain accented gentleman.

Thomas Hardy’s 1899 poem –

The Going of the Battery [Wives’ Lament]

O it was sad enough, weak enough, mad enough
Light in their loving as soldiers can be
First to risk choosing them, leave alone losing them
Now, in far battle, beyond the South Sea! . . .

Rain came down drenchingly; but we unblenchingly
Trudged on beside them through mirk and through mire,
They stepping steadily--only too readily!
Scarce as if stepping brought parting-time nigher.

Great guns were gleaming there, living things seeming there,
Cloaked in their tar-cloths, upmouthed to the night;
Wheels wet and yellow from axle to felloe,
Throats blank of sound, but prophetic to sight.

Gas-glimmers drearily, blearily, eerily
Lit our pale faces outstretched for one kiss,
While we stood prest to them, with a last quest to them
Not to court perils that honour could miss.

Sharp were those sighs of ours, blinded these eyes of ours,
When at last moved away under the arch
All we loved. Aid for them each woman prayed for them,
Treading back slowly the track of their march.

Someone said: "Nevermore will they come: evermore
Are they now lost to us." O it was wrong!
Though may be hard their ways, some Hand will guard their ways,
Bear them through safely, in brief time or long.

Yet, voices haunting us, daunting us, taunting us,
Hint in the night-time when life beats are low
Other and graver things . . . Hold we to braver things,
Wait we, in trust, what Time's fulness shall show.

Quote of the week

2010-11-28T18:18:00.000-08:00

"Gotta love em, they talk in grunts and curse words, yell to speak, and sometimes smell funny but by God when it's time to step up they [Marines] sure as hell do it right. "
~ Commenter on Blackfive

Sure got that right!

Empty Seat

2010-11-21T12:08:00.000-08:00

Recently I had a birthday. I had a great time with friends and family. Enjoyed a lunch and dinner at two of my favorite places to eat. Mostly I felt blessed by all the people I get to share life with.

However, the worst part of deployments are the empty seats where your loved one should be. It is the second birthday that Bestie has missed because he is in a war zone. He's missed several more being stationed across the country. At the dinner and when we were goofing off and telling stories that night, I had fun. I enjoyed myself. But I still felt like his presence was missing in the whole affair.

I wish he could have been there to share in our fun and have some of the AMAZING cake that Sandy baked for me. But he did what he could. My heart was lifted by a slightly garbled phone call from far away and a energetic birthday wish from him. Getting to here him and have him sound good is an excellent birthday gift, if he cannot be here to share the fun.

I am also aware in these moments, of those families whose empty seat was never filled. My heart hurts for them in the knowledge that they won't get even the phone calls any longer.

Again, I am reminded of how blessed I am.

Happy 235th Birthday, Marines!

2010-11-10T14:07:00.000-08:00

10 November, 1775, the greatest fighting force in all the world, the United States Marine Corps, was formed.

Happy 235th Birthday to all Marines, past and present. A special Happy Birthday wish goes out to Bubs, D, Smity, Kelbs, Hernadez, Capt. Cal, the Colonel, Sgt. D, and all the rest of my favorite Marines. No better friend, no worse enemy.

WE STOLE THE EAGLE FROM THE AIR FORCE, THE ANCHOR FROM THE NAVY AND THE ROPE FROM THE ARMY.

ON THE SEVENTH DAY WHILE GOD RESTED, WE OVERRAN HIS PERIMETER, STOLE THE GLOBE AND WE'VE BEEN RUNNING THE WHOLE SHOW EVER SINCE.

WE LIVE LIKE SOLDIERS, TALK LIKE SAILORS, AND SLAP THE HELL OUT OF BOTH OF THEM.

WARRIORS BY DAY, LOVERS BY NIGHT, PROFESSIONALS BY CHOICE, AND MARINES BY THE GRACE OF GOD.

"Exactly" Moment

2010-11-08T19:08:00.000-08:00

I was reading the fabulous Kanani Fong's blog The Kitchen Dispatch today and had one of those moments when someone else says something that you've been wanting to articulate, but you didn't know how or even exactly what it was.

People ask why I do all the military support work that I do and why it affects me the way it does. She said it perfectly. There is a bond there and once it is established you cannot look at war or those who fight them the same way again. You cannot go backwards.

They will always be a part of you. War will always be a part of you. You will always feel it.

"But the truth of the matter is there's a bond between those in the military, as well as with our supporters. It doesn't matter whether or not we have met. It doesn't matter whether or not we will ever meet. We will always be happy for one another; we will grieve for one another as well."

The Junior Officer's Reading Club- Patrick Hennessey

2010-10-29T09:45:00.000-07:00

I knocked out Patrick Hennessey's The Junior Officer's Reading Club: Killing Time and Fighting Wars in 2 day. Couldn't put it down. I think it could be fairly described as the British counterpart to Craig Mulanney's The Unforgiving Minute.

There was so much I loved about this book, from his humor to his battlefield descriptions peppered with pop culture and classic references. He tells a captivating story about the journey through young adulthood with stops along the way at Sandhurst, Iraq, and Afghanistan.

He talks a lot about his time as a trainer of Afghan forces and the connections he makes to those men and their officers. I think sometimes we forget when we talk about the wars and standing up an army or the deaths of Afghan soldiers that they are brothers in arms as well. Those that stand and fight forge bonds with our military men and British allies. Sometimes I think we underestimate that bond.

I am also fascinated by points in his story where the war and the outside world combine. A lot of people are so numb and/or ignorant of events that I always find it interesting when they are jolted out of their complacency.

The best example of this is a story in which Hennessey relates the aftermath of an attack and the evacuation of casualties:

The Chinook which comes thundering into the hastily prepared landing site turns out not to be the air ambulance but a diverted R & R flight, and I'll never forget the look of horror on the face of the young, possibly pretty journalist who's sitting in the back in gimpy blue helmet, unsure why her flight home has just dropped into the Green Zone, where the air is still a-rattle with fire form the ANA on the cordon, when suddenly the reality of Helmand charges on to her lap as four sweating, swearing, emotional soldiers drop a bleeding, naked, morphine-babbling black man on her brand new hiking boots.

I find myself wondering what her side of that story is. What did she take away from that experience? What were her thoughts and emotions? Did it change the way she reported on the war? Did it change her reactions, emotions, and relationships to soldiers? Did she see war in general with new eyes?

There probably are no answers to these questions but I think they are important to ask anyway. What do we do with the war when its realities are brought home? How do those realities fundamentally change us?

Those are questions I've thought about for a long time. I still don't have answers for them.

But I love this book for sparking my interest in searching for them again.

Where War Lives: A Photographic Journal of Vietnam

2010-10-14T19:00:00.000-07:00

I've been reading Where War Lives: A Photographic Journal of Vietnam by Dick Durrance. It is a collection of his photographs during his military service accompanied by an introduction by Ron Kovic of Born on the 4th of July fame.

The Vietnam war is, in many ways, the military history I grew up on. Stories from Vietnam were told by relatives who served, passed down in family legend. Its pictures, patches, and maps covered the walls of the VFW where we had so many family gatherings.

Yet its jungles and aging warriors seem far removed after so many years of the wars that have become my own.

Through Durrance's photographic journey of his service, I am reminded once again of the commonalities of war and of the men and women who fight them.

A war is a war is a war. A warrior is a warrior is a warrior.

The future photojournalist captures the humanity of his compatriots. In the black and white photographs of training I can see Bestie and a hundred friends reflected in the bearing and attitude of young men now thirty-plus years their senior.

Take the trees out of his helo shots and the door gunner could be the one that sits in my hard drive, flying over an entirely different battlefield.

Flipping through the photographs, I am drawn to their eyes. Eyes that reflect too many hours without a decent sleep. Young men burdened with the weight too much gear and too many memories. Eyes with a certain hardness and sureness of attitude.

I have seen these eyes before. I will see them again soon.

I find it interesting that Dick Durrance waited twenty years after he left Vietnam to publish this book. I wonder what we will learn about our wars and from our warriors in twenty years.

"Nothing can repair the damage caused by war, but returning to the memories and pictures has connected me to those experiences, which, in spite of my efforts to ignore them, have done so much to shape the rest of my life (143)." ~Dick Durrance

Continuing and Beginning Again

2010-10-08T19:55:00.000-07:00

Bestie is back is the sand.

The weight that I felt lift when he called and said he was out of the country and on his way home for leave has settled again on my shoulders. I am sad that he is back there, away from his wife and all of us who love him. I am already miss not being able to pick up the phone and harass him with the the trivial details of my day.

War is freaking painful.

I spend a lot of time trying not to think about the possibilities and the emotions. I want to ignore risk, fear, and the ache that settles somewhere in my heart. The one that will persist until he leaves Afghan airspace for good and touches down on US soil.

At the same time, it is easier this time than other times. Maybe I have toughened up. Maybe it is just a internal protection mechanism that makes me think that. Maybe it is because I know he has more support this time around and that makes a substantial difference.

What I do know is that even if it is easier, it still hurts.

The lump in my throat as I told him to "travel safe" as he prepared to reenter bad guy land was the size of a softball.

That hasn't changed.

He is my best friend. My brother. I love him and want him to be safe. To be happy. To not carry the weight that I hear in his voice.

We are halfway done.

So much time has passed.

Yet so much remains before this one comes to a close.

Miss you brother bear.

Be safe.

The Silly Things

2010-10-07T16:25:00.000-07:00

I have a bag of Jelly Belly jelly beans sitting in my room.

The bag is two thirds empty but plenty of jelly beans remain in the bottom that I never got around to eating. They've been there since Christmas, so they are rather stale at this point.

The bag itself is getting ragged, the plastic starting to pull away from the zip lock top. It is covered in duck tape which prevents any holes from forming.

It still holds the sweet scent of sugar when I sit down to the computer or pass it as I grab my make up bag in the morning.

I really should throw it away. After all, isn't that what you are supposed to do with stale jelly beans that have no hope of being consumed? But I can't bring myself to put it in the waste basket because Bestie gave it to me.

A bag of jelly beans from my best friend who is so far away.

Is it superstition? I'm not sure. I don't really believe that changing the location of a bag of jelly beans will, like the mystical butterfly that flaps its wings in China, alter the course of events across the world. By holding on to that bag I am not keeping him safe from harm. But isn't that an awesome concept...a magical bag of jelly beans blessed with the powers of protection.

Yet I cannot get rid of it. I can't throw it away. Not yet.

Maybe not until he is back for good.

Because he gave it to me.

He gave it to me.

So the Jelly Belly jelly beans bag remains on the desk.

A reminder of one who is away.

R&R Leave

2010-10-01T18:26:00.001-07:00

The Bestie is on his R&R leave, enjoying a vacation with the Bestie-in Law.

I am hoping that this time away recharges his spirits and allows him to get some rest. It has been so good to hear from him consistently and to be able to talk to him whenever I want. I don't have to worry where he is, what he is doing, or what is going on in his part of the world.

He sent a picture. His smile said it all.

I wish that this was it. That he was home for good. But we are only halfway done.

When he goes back, my phone is going to feel unloved with out all the texts he sends.

The thought of him going back makes me miss him all the more.

Love ya Brother Bear.

Devotion

2010-09-12T13:19:00.000-07:00

Devotion-

Robert Frost

The heart can think of no devotion
Greater than being shore to ocean -
Holding the curve of one position,
Counting an endless repetition.

WTF Moments Bestie Missed List

2010-08-29T18:04:00.000-07:00

2. Elvis is on the escalator. Really. White jumpsuit. Beer gut. Sideburns. Too much hair gel. The King lives.

WTF Moments Bestie Missed

2010-08-28T18:06:00.000-07:00

I will be so happy when Bestie is back and I can just pull out the cell to text him about all the ridiculous things that happen in day to day life.

Nothing funnier then getting halfway through a text before going CRAP! Yep, he's not going to get that. After all, what is a Bestie for if not to be the person one texts when they need to quote random movies or share the most ridiculous things they've just seen at the mall.

Instead of just joking about it, I am actually starting it now in honor of all the stupid things he has missed that just have to be shared. That way, he has a record of them to read over when he is bored.

This is for you, Bestie:

The Best WTF Moments You Missed List:

1. Location--Mall. Situation: Epic Mullet.

You know the ones. Beer gut. Sleeveless shirt. Burt Reynolds circa 1970 in the front. Billy Ray circa Achy Breaky Heart in the back. Two-toned even. Brunette with a little bit of blond highlight. Epic.

3 Years: Remembering Will

2010-08-16T16:51:00.000-07:00

On August 16, 2007 Cpl. Willard M. Powell was wounded in action near Tarimiyah, Iraq after his unit was attacked. He succombed to his wounds and passed away in Balad.

Word traveled across the globe to the home of his mother, to his father, to his best friends, his friends, and to all those who knew him.

Will Powell, who had just weeks ago turned 21, was gone.

I made a promise to never forget Will and

that promise is something I take very seriously. Will was a good soldier. He was a better man. We cannot let his memory fade away.

I wrote a long post on this subject last year. You can read that here: Coming Together.

This year, I am just remembering his smile. His competitiveness. His sacrifice.

One thing that Will has taught me with his death is that each day is sacred. We must take it and use it for all that it is worth. We don't know how much time we have left on earth or how much time we have with those that we love. We must be present in the moment. We must love each other with all that we have. We must live life fully and faithfully.

Will did.

Will gave up his life so that we have the chance to do so in a free country, safe from the threat of harm.

Let us not waste it.

Will, you are loved. You are missed. You are not forgotten.

See you when I get there.

If you are able,
save them a place
inside of you
and save one backward glance
when you are leaving
for the places they can
no longer go.
Be not ashamed to say
you loved them,
though you may
or may not have always.
Take what they have left
and what they have taught you
with their dying
and keep it with your own.
And in that time
when men decide and feel safe
to call the war insane,
take one moment to embrace
those gentle heroes
you left behind.

Major Michael Davis O'Donnell
1 January 1970
Dak To, Vietnam, KIA

The Long Way Home: An American Journey from Ellis Island to the Great War

2010-08-14T08:40:00.000-07:00

I just finished David Laskin's book The Long Way Home: An American Journey from Ellis Island to the Great War.

Laskin tells the story of America's involvement in the Great War through the stories of 12 men who immigrated to the United States not long before the conflict began. It is a perspective that we don't hear enough about when learning about that war. It is easy to forget how the nation was still being formed and molded into what we know it as today. Laskin illustrates how immigrant experience cannot be untangled from America's experience in the war.

I enjoyed how he weaved the stories of these men together with their place in their family histories as well as the greater American history. He clearly shows how the draft brought together all these men of different nationalities, ethnicities, and histories who before did not interact with those outside of their neighborhoods or enclaves. The war takes these men and makes them suffer together, bleed together, and die together until their differences are less important than their commonality as soldiers. Post-war Laskin shows that this did more for integrating immigrants into America long term than perhaps anything else.

In the words of their relatives these men "came home American." Most were proud of their service and it was a touchstone throughout their lives. For many, that legacy of military service continued in their families and still continues through the wars we fight today.

Great read that further illustrates that suffering in war is the same kind of hell be it in Ypres, Normandy, Chosin, Khe Sahn, Kuwait, Fallujah, or Marjah. It always leaves its mark, both positive and negative, on the men, women, and families it touches.

Distance

2010-08-08T13:58:00.000-07:00

It is easy to forget just how long a deployment is.

In the last few weeks the length of this seems never ending.

I don't know how to explain it other than to say it is the distance. A lot changes in the course of a week, a month, six months. 365+ days? Wow.

I try to keep him updated on the day to day happenings of my life. Sometimes it is easier than others, depending on how regular the contact is. But it is hard to decide what to share and what to leave out. How to pick and choose what is noteworthy, or exciting, or funny when he wasn't here to share it? Is it still noteworthy, exciting, or funny now?

I send the notes. I pack up the care packages. I am on a first name basis with the people at both the post office and B-Dubs--gotta send the sauce, ya know?

I think I got spoiled on the last one because it was shorter. We both feel the distance more this time, both geographically and emotionally. He has much less time to check in. I have a lot going. It all leads to distance.

He summed it up best: ."... it's just... easier to remain disconnected to a point?"

Sometimes it is easier to pull back. Try and forget (not possible) where he is and what he is doing. I am sure it is the same for him--easier to put some distance between his current world and home.

The acute feeling of distance makes it more apparent that someone I love, my family, my brother, isn't around.

It miss him.

Be safe Brother Bear, I'm thinking of you.

Fading Echoes by Mike Sielski

2010-07-31T13:55:00.000-07:00

I just finished Mike Sielski's excellent book Fading Echoes: A True Story of Rivalry and Brotherhood From the Football Field to the Fields of Honor.

When I picked it up I wasn't sure if it was a football book or a military book. Turns out it is a little bit of both.

Mike tells the stories of two boys who grow up on the football fields of suburban Pennsylvania, with all its tradition, rivalry, and community. He tells about Colby and Bryan, two boys are a passingly familiar with each other, who play for rival high schools, and play football at a high level. We meet their families, their friends, teachers, and coaches. We ride the ups and downs of their senior seasons and beyond.

Both boys have drive, determination, and leadership abilities that set them apart. We follow them as they grow into young men, struggling to find their paths in life and in football. They play football in college with varying degrees of success until they find the curtain closing on their football lives. Bryan and Colby must find their way as men in their post football careers.

For both Bryan and Colby, the path led to service in the post-9/11 military. Brian became an Lt in the Marine Corps. Colby became an Army officer and an Airborne Ranger.

As family and friends adjust to the mixture of pride and fear having a loved one in uniform brings, fate drops both men in the sands of Iraq.

Bryan Buckley made it back to Doylestown, PA.

1Lt Colby Umbrell did not.

As a community comes together to mourn and remember Colby in the fields, bars, and classrooms that helped build both young men, we are reminded that each man and woman in the service is more than their uniform.

Everyone has a story and the uniform is only a part.

1Lt Colby Umbrell has a story and the stone in Arlington National Cemetery is only one part of it.

Mike Sielski helps tell us the rest.

In a way, this idea is why I blog. Bestie, Bestie in Law, and I all have stories as well. Someone has to tell them. Someone has to tell the stories. Good on Mike Sielski for telling this one.

Road Trip Lessons

2010-07-27T09:47:00.000-07:00

I am recently back from a cross country road trip with friends, which was a fantastic and badly needed vacation.

One of the goals of the road trip was to get away from everything I do and deal with on a day to day basis. No cell, no email, no news.

I also took a break from all things war-related, as much as that is possible with Bestie still over there.

What I learned is that the war, the wars, are in inescapable.

A lot is made about how much this war is different from others, how detached the general population is, how the American public isn't at war, the military is. That is true to an extent. What I found on my road trip is that while America generally may be able to ignore the war, it has slowly become a part of the fabric of a thousand small communities.

It is in new, shiny signs that declare a patch of interstate or highway a memorial to a LCpl, a Pfc, a Sgt in Illinios, Missouri, and Kansas. It is in the newly unveiled GWOT memorials that have sprung up in front of VFW posts and downtown next to WWII and Vietnam memorials.

It is in the somber passage of family and friends headed to a funeral in a city in Colorado on the day I passed through. A Marine was laid to rest and I couldn't help but think of Bestie. May you rest in peace, Cpl. Harris.

In a few months, a few years, maybe there will be a stretch of highway bearing his name.

Maybe there will be a banner with his picture on it in a town just off the interstate, his name added to the list on the plaque honoring his state's lost in the rest stops.

These wars are a part of us now.

Just Another Day

2010-07-21T10:58:00.000-07:00

Bestie is now 65 days away from his mid tour R &R. He and Bestie in Law will be going on a getaway, which excites them both to no end. I know that they will both be so happy to have the time together.

This is the lighthearted stuff. If you look close, if you are let in, you can also get a glimpse into the darker side of this struggle.

I hit a breaking point this month that Bestie was able to talk me through, for once. I'm not particularly proud of it, but it is what it is, for both of us.

I had a series of run-ins with people who I call "mall people," referring to the quote "The Marines are at war, America is at the mall." These mall people have to tell me their opinions on the war, on strategy, on how those boys should just come home because why are they over there anyway. If you continue after my hostile response of "gee, I don't know, maybe cause a bunch of ideologues in Afghanistan attacked our country (again) blew up a couple of our buildings (again), killed (again) a few thousand people, and decimated the FDNY," well, you deserve whatever happens after that. I cannot escape the war, I see it in everything. The mall people only see it if it inconveniences them in some way, if they trip over it, and even then, only see the tip of the iceberg, if they see it at all.

I had a run in with a couple of groups on the 4th of July who wanted me to do tributes to the troops, but "you know, keep it light. Don't focus on death or fighting, or any of that stuff, it is too depressing. We don't want to see that, it's a downer." My usually contained temper exploded at that point. I saw stars. My ears turned red. I got tunnel vision. My heartbeat pounded in my ears. A friend later told me she had never seen that look on my face before and she sincerely thought I was going to punch someone. I wanted to. I didn't. I just walked away. But some cosmic shift in the universe must have taken place because Bestie's spidey-sense was tingling. I get an email that night asking if everything was ok.

No. No it was not ok. It hasn't been ok since G took a round to the head, since J left his left leg and half his blood volume in the desert, since L hung upside down and bleeding next to her dead Sgt for an hour after an IED while they tried to extricate her from the vehicle, since C killed the man shooting at him, since J went down in the helo crash, since S's 12 year olds with RPG launchers, since J had a mortar land on his chest, since BD held the hands of a hundred dying soldiers, since M spent 18 months driving up and down the roads of the the Sunni Triangle, since Bestie was ambushed and tried to keep the blood of a fellow Marine from seeping through his hands, since an AK round collapsed W forehead, since a thousand Phils, Rays, Michaels, Chris', Ambers, Kellys, Shellys, Jacobs, Mikes, Glenns, Donalds, Dereks, Stevens, Brians, Kathys, Maggies, and their stories.

I can't put it away. I can't go to the mall. My heart, my soul, is with the Marines, with the Army, at war.

I keep all of this inside me somewhere. I push it to the back and it sits there most of the time time. But it is a darkness that seeps into your very soul. It is fear and anger and anxiety and helplessness. It is there and it is something that you have to deal with eventually, even if you don't know how to begin. It eats away little pieces of something unknown. Most days it is a non-factor but once in a blue moon, you find only your nose above water and it is all you can do to breathe.

That is when my Bestie throws the life ring.

It is what we do for each other.

He also knows the darkness intimately, for he too, has feared drowning in it.

I can share with him and he will give me neither the blank stare nor the horrified look of the sheltered.

He goes where others fear to tread or are simply not welcome.

My best friend returned the favor this month, for the many times I have thrown the ring to him.

He jumps into the darkness with me and says, 'I have been there and we will get out together.'

He empathizes:
"this is, believe it or not, still a war. sure, it's different from any other war ever fought by our military, but it is a war nonetheless. bad things happen to good people, and not bad enough things happen to the bad people. if you want to talk about being cynical, i sit here some days and...i laugh at these little people on the screen... but still, that i laugh at watching people die, other human beings... it's just something i never thought i would do."

He consoles:
"i'm here with you on the boat across the river to senility and cynicism. maybe you just need a break? and it's alright if you do. you don't always have to push yourself 120% for this all. you have earned your right to take time to yourself when you need it, or take time away from thoughts of these places and these people. no one can blame you, and no one who truly knows you like i do, or who truly respects and loves you the way i do, could ever think anything less of you. you're a heroic individual, and you're worth more to the world than any of these people who don't understand you, kid. Keep breathing."

We turn off the chat, get off the computers.

He begins another day in Afghanistan, one closer to being home.

I head to bed and say my prayers of safety and thanks, hoping my sleep is dreamless.

Maybe I need a break.

Maybe he does.

Just another day at war, at home, and abroad.

DH Lawrence

2010-07-18T16:06:00.000-07:00

On vacation and catching up on my reading. Read a DH Lawrence piece that was recommended to me and this quote stood out:

"DH Lawrence: "The essential American soul is hard, isolate, stoic, and a killer...it has never yet melted."

Too bad I found that after the 4th of July festivities.

Independence Day

2010-07-02T11:32:00.001-07:00

It is easy to forget what it took to get a holiday on the 4th of July. It is remarkable when you think about it. A group of people came together and did more than talk about how they wished the world to be. They took their beliefs about limited, representative government, about faith, tolerance, humanity and unity, and actually made that world happen.

Think about how much courage it took to sign that Declaration of Independence. By signing their names on that document, they became wanted men. The King wouldn't have minded at all if each one of them was killed for their rebellion. It is breath-taking. Yet these men and women of the not yet free United States of America stood together. They fought a battles they probably shouldn't have won. Yet, they did.

The Founders saw their vision to fruition. They achieved their freedom and generations of Americans have fought to keep it through numerous challenges.

As I prepare to enjoy my family and a long weekend, I remember the men and women who helped make this nation happen. I also remember the men and women who have taken the torch and defend our nation today. We will save a plate and a lawn chair at the fireworks for our friends who are in harm's way and can't be here to celebrate with us. Miss you. You are in my prayers.

Happy Birthday, Bestie!

2010-06-25T08:24:00.001-07:00

Bestie is spending yet another birthday in a combat zone. Instead of celebrating, he is working 16 hour days, every day. He is feeling a little under the weather, but doesn't get to spend the day in bed.

No, on his birthday, he is protecting our nation. Protecting freedom.

But strip away the gun, the uniform, the desert, the jarhead, and he is still the awkward, goofy kid who somewhere between Ring Pops, AP Lit, and Batman rollercoasters, became my best friend.

Happy Birthday, Bestie! Wish you could be here and we could have a proper celebration.

Know that we miss you, we love you, and we are so proud of you.

Be safe.

Be happy.

If You Are Able

2010-06-23T18:44:00.000-07:00

I came across this today and it touched me deeply.

If you are able,
save for them a place inside of you
and save one backward glance when you are leaving
for the places they can no longer go.

Be not ashamed to say you loved them,
though you may or may not have always.
Take what they have taught you with their dying
and keep it with your own.

And in that time when men decide
and feel safe to call the war insane,
take one moment to embrace
those gentle heroes you left behind.

Major Michael Davis O’Donnell
1 January 1970
Dak To, Vietnam
Listed as KIA February 7, 1978

Love and Brotherhood

2010-06-10T13:42:00.000-07:00

E.B. Sledge on war in With the Old Breed at Pelelui and Okinawa:

"War is brutism, inglorious, and a terrible waste. Combat leaves an indelible mark on those who are forced to endure it. The only redeeming factors were my comrades' incredible bravery and their devotion to each other...it also taught us loyalty to each other- and love (315)."

Photo from 9 June, 2010 The Wall Street Journal

Hat tip: Rich Lowry

Price of Freedom

2010-05-31T20:19:00.000-07:00

Flags.

Cigarettes.

Wonka Bar.

Chocolate Chip Cookies.

Præmaturi

When men are old, and their friends die,

They are not so sad,

Because their love is running slow,

And cannot spring from the wound with so sharp a pain;

And they are happy with many memories,

And only a little while to be alone.

But we are young, and our friends are dead

Suddenly, and our quick love is torn in two;

So our memories are only hopes that came to nothing.

We are left alone like old men; we should be dead

--But there are years and years in which we shall still be young.

~Margaret Postgate

Memorial Day 2010

2010-05-28T18:56:00.000-07:00

I have been working with soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines deployed overseas to Iraq and Afghanistan for over 6 years. That is a really long time. There are times where I feel each and every day. One of those days where I feel it most acutely is Memorial Day.

Memorial Day has always been associated with a picnic that brings the entire extended family network together to celebrate the beginning of summer. There is joy, laughter, swimming, horseshoes, and baseball in the field. It is a small town and it is well known that this spot is ours on this day, yet occasionally we still have to fight off those who would swipe the tables...even then, we always end up sharing our food with them.

From the early days of my adulthood, Memorial Day has also become something else. It has reverted to its historical origins and become a day that brings with it the sharp twist of mourning. It is when I feel each and every day of the six years in the ache of my heart, the set of my jaw, and the bags under my eyes.

It is a fact that when nations go to war men and women will die. They will most often be young. Their deaths will cause a ripple effect that rips across the nation, tearing the hearts of brothers in arms, parents, spouses, siblings, children, grandparents, best friends, relatives, school mates, teachers, caregivers, pediatricians, neighbors, former employers, the guy that used to deliver the pizzas on Friday night, and any number of people that cross paths in the course of living.

These deaths also rip into those who care deeply for their nation and their nation's armed forces, the people that join military support organizations. People like me, who build relationships with these men and women, knowing there is a chance that this new friend may not make it back. Knowing that the more people you befriend in a war, the greater the chances are.

I have not escaped this phenomenon. When I first started writing soldiers I was a bit naive about it. It would be cool to write soldiers and they are doing this brave and noble thing. I knew people could get hurt, even killed in a war, but it didn't seem real. I didn't really think about it happening. That naivety shattered with that first name I recognized on a casualty list. Then I recognized another, and another, and another. As Lucas Holt wrote: "nothing threatens the romance of war more effectively than war itself."

I have my list of people to visit, names to engrave, when they get around to building memorials for our war. It has been six years and it seems that each year the list grows longer.

They are "My Guys." The funerals I have represented at. They are the people behind the sacred stories I have been entrusted with. They are the Fallen. They are my fallen.

It is not my place to judge what their deaths mean in terms of big-picture war or policy strategy. I don't really care how history judges the conflict in which they fought. They lived lives of honor and service. Many died for something they truly believed in. That is enough for me. Each one has taught me something in life or through their death about living. I have had the chance to meet some of their families, something I am humbled and honored by. It is a reminder that behind each name, each number, is a unique individual.

Each and every individual deserves to be remembered on this Memorial Day weekend. I encourage you to visit a site like Honor the Fallen to do just that. But if you can't or won't do that then borrow a portion of my list and remember them.

They were killed in Iraq or Afghanistan.

Each name means something specific to me.

One is a childhood friend. One was the first military funeral I ever attended. One was a name on the letter I never got send. Each one I am connected to in some way.

Even if I didn't know them in life, today I miss them.

I will carry each of them, and many others, in my heart forever.

It is our sacred duty to remember. We must not forget.

May you have Peace and Rest, my friends. I remember you.

Pfc. Gunnar Becker
Sgt. Jessica Housby
Pvt. Jonathon Pfender
Pfc. James Brown
Pfc. Chris Dixon
Spc. Joseph Ford
Pfc. Aaron Gautier
Pfc. Jonathan Hamm
Cpl. Will Powell

Lt. Miroslav "Steve" Zilberman

We shall find peace. We shall hear the angels, we shall see the sky sparkling with diamonds.
~Chekhov, Uncle Vanya

103 Days

2010-05-26T18:46:00.000-07:00

We are now 4 months, about 103 Days into this deployment. It always amazes me how much time really goes by and how many things change in that time. I know I try to keep Bestie updated on the happenings on this end, as does the Bestie-in-Law on hers, and he to us and his dad, but there is no way to cover everything. Our worlds keep turning. So many significant changes have already occurred since he left.

He misses his wife deeply, with an intensity that at times has surprised him. He says deployment is significantly different with a spouse waiting at home. He wishes he could keep her from worrying and wishes he were there to take care of the life little challenges, like fixing the truck and sorting out problems with the phone company. So much of deployment is distance and fear of the changes distance can lead to.

Overall, Bestie has had a better couple of weeks and I am happy to report that communications have been more consistently restored.

Bestie and Co. are recovering from the large fire that broke out at the main base last week. It is very fortunate that no one was killed or severely injured in the attack, though supplies were lost. After the recent attacks in Bagram, I am thankful that he is safe. Like many people, I want to create an image of the bigger bases as being invincible, but this is another reminder that nowhere at war is completely safe.

Bestie is trying to remain focused on the future to remind himself that this deployment is only temporary. He has asked for music theory workbooks to be sent to him so he can begin preparing for life after the Marines. He is working with the Bestie-in-Law on plans for their church wedding and his mid tour R &R.

He has been a great encouragement to me in the past week after some difficulties. There is nothing like knowing your best friend has your back. It is even more comforting when that Bestie happens to be well armed at the time he is offering assistance. Just adds a little extra something.

As in Iraq, music is his outlet and his way of filtering and processing things. This past week, he sent the lyrics of a Camera Can't Lie song. He had a chance to see them open a Straylight Run show before deploying.

Since he sent it, I haven't been able to turn it off. It really applies to all of us who are counting the days. For the extended military family, there are always days to count, be it towards leaving, towards coming home, towards getting out, getting better, or something else.

I am counting the days until my best friend comes home. Counting the days until I call him up whenever I want to talk about the important things in my life. Counting the days until he is reunited with his wife and they can begin the next chapter of their lives together. I am counting the days until my cousin joins him in Afghanistan. I am counting the days until Memorial Day, when I will head to Will's grave to remember and count the days since he was KIA. I am counting the days since Pfc. Gunnar Becker was killed-- a young man who taught me the meaning of sacrifice.

I am counting the days since I sent my first letter to a soldier at war, since I got my first response, since I made my first friend who was fighting a war.

One hundred and three days have passed since the Afghan Adventure began. Two hundred sixty two days, give or take, remain, God-willing, until it is over.

Days and Days- Camera Can't Lie

I've been missing you for days and days
I don't know how much this heart can take
A kinda feeling you can't explain
Like I'm lost along the way
Like I'm lost along the way
Come take me home
And unchain my soul
You could break my heart
If it meant that you would never be alone
Come take me home

I've been thinking about this game we play
Its a silly thing with much at stake
I don't know why we choose this pain
Without you I'm lost along the way
Without you I'm lost along the way

So, come take me home
Unchain my soul
And you can break my heart
If it meant that you would never be alone
just take me home, home
Just take me home, home
Just take me home, home

Come take me home
Unchain my soul
And you could break my heart
if it meant that you would never be alone
Come take me home
I've been missing you for days and days
I don't know how much this heart can take.

John Reyes Rides for the Wounded

2010-05-24T17:13:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I had the chance to meet John Reyes.

John Reyes is a cyclist who is riding from San Antonio to Boston and back to raise money for Fisher House, an organization that provides the families of wounded soldiers with a place to stay while their loved one recovers.

I met with some other Soldier's Angels and we had a chance to welcome him to town and talk to him over dinner. One of the neat things about being a Soldier's Angel is the chance to participate in experiences like this one. I get the chance to meet amazing people who I never would cross paths with otherwise. It is a privilege to experience the closeness that comes when a diverse group of people come together, united in one purpose. In this case, we all are working to aid the men and women who serve our country. There is a trust, an openness, and a general willingness to lend a hand amongst those in the extended military support networks. It is truly an honor to work hand in hand with groups like the Patriot Guard Riders, Rolling Thunder, and individuals with a good heart and a persevering spirit who seek to make a difference in the lives of those who serve.

When asked why he would ride all those miles on a bike, John answered-for the freedom. The reason he has chosen to raise money for Fisher House while on the ride is for that very reason. He understands and acknowledges that there are brave men and women who stand the line for us and allow us the freedoms we have in this country. If that sense of freedom moves you to ride your bike across the country, all the better. It must be an incredible way to meet people. It certainly will be a journey for him to cherish forever as he learns more about himself and the people that make up the United States of America.

Go here to donate to John's cause:
http://www.active.com/donate/teamfisherhouse/Bostonandback

Good luck, John. May you have safe travels, no hard rain, and absolutely no run ins with stolen cars or crazy sheriffs.

Love in a Torn Land and Paradise General

2010-05-18T08:08:00.000-07:00

Of the books I read last week, two stuck out for me. One was Love in a Torn Land: Joanna of Kurdistan: The True Story of a Freedom Fighter's Escape from Iraqi Vengeance by Jean Sasson. It tells the story of the life of Joanna, who grew up in Baghdad during the rise of Saddam. As she grew, so did the tensions in her country. She lived through the Iran/Iraq War and saw many of her relatives forever changed by conflict and torture. She narrowly dodged run-ins with Saddam's security forces, made harder as she embraced her Kurdish identity. As she grew into a woman, she fell in love with a Peshmerga, a Kurdish fighter. Their love took time to develop, but grew deep in the face of hardship as she gave up her relatively comfortable life in Baghdad to live as a fighter in the mountains. She survives chemical attacks and bombings, as well as the treacherous and rugged mountain living, before seeking asylum in England.

Her story is a beautiful one, despite her hardships. It is a tale of someone who is committed to her people and her belief that they should be free from the oppression of Saddam's government. It is also a rich love story that challenges perceptions of relationships in the Middle East. One is left with the impression that Joanna is a complete woman, who knows herself and what she wants in life. She accepts the life she chose, even when it is unpleasant. Hers is a story that should be told and remembered.

That was the book I was going to write about but another grabbed me and wouldn't let go. Paradise General: Riding the Surge at a Combat Hospital in Iraq by Dr. Dave Hnida is a window into the world of military medicine. I completed the book in two days and couldn't put it down. As a reservist who signed up in his late 40s when he heard the military needed doctors, he stumbles a bit with the soldier aspect of his soldier/doctor role. The book mostly covers his second deployment, where he is at a combat support hospital with a team of other doctors and medical personnel. As he shares his war stories, he is part Hawkeye from MASH and part Baghdad ER. It is a look into the lives of the doctors who must treat the horrific injuries that war creates. These experiences bond the men and women who work on our soldiers in a way few can understand. Do we realize what we ask of these doctors and medical personnel? Their dreams are filled with the moans and the wounds of soldiers young enough to be their children. They, along with medics and corpsmen in their twenties fight death all day, every day, but will inevitably lose some. They carry those losses with them forever. Dr. Hnida makes it clear that behind the professionalism, confidence, and calm veneer is an endless second guessing and self criticism after each case, with doctors wondering if they made the right calls.

Each chapter tells a distinct story from his deployment, yet he weaves them together into a smooth, cohesive whole. I particularly enjoyed the chapters "Dante's Infirmary," " Rebels with a Cause," "The Wounded Wore Aftershave," and "A Picture Worth a Thousand Tears."

Favorite passages:
"What about my penance? I felt a duty to those I had failed in the past--the kids of Columbine, my daughter Katie, my own family, and the memory of my father (68)."

"But when done...Jesus. You were forced to watch a mental rerun of your every move and decision, and your movie snack wasn't popcorn, instead an overflowing tub of adrenaline-soaked fear (164)."

"I knew people back home saw and heard about the deaths and the wounds, but a screen or in writing it was all sanitized and sterile. Just numbers...They didn't see, feel, or smell what a broken body is like up close and personal. And they didn't have to make the decisions we did. Save the arm? Save the leg? Save the soldier? (165)."

"We were wounded by what we did and what we saw. But no more than those we cared for. (165)."

"We were leaving the war, but the war couldn't care less. All we could do was feel guilty about leaving the twenty-year olds behind in a war that would not have a Hollywood ending. No war ever does (276)."

As the distance between us and the base continued to grow, we realized we would never really leave. We'd revisit this place often in the years to come, traveling back in sweat-soaked dreams on our darkest nights. I now knew what my father, what every other man and woman who has seen the horrors of war, knew: you may leave the war, but it never leaves you (276)."

Love in Condition Yellow by Sopia Raday

2010-05-06T10:16:00.001-07:00

I stumbled across Sopia Raday's Love in Condition Yellow: A Memoir of an Unlikely Marriage this week and could not put it down.

As the subtitle suggests, it is an unlikely love story. A liberal, Berkeley educated peacenick falls in love with a police officer/West Point graduate/Army Reserve officer, despite her intentions to keep the relationship casual. It is the story of a marriage that bridges the cultural-political divide in this country of left and right.

Above all, it is a beautiful account of learning and growing into a relationship. Of learning to listen and learning to make oneself heard. It is an example of how our differences can ultimately make us stronger when we make the effort to embrace each other as we are.

The writing is spectacular and are phrases that are simply lyrical. It is filled with little life lessons that I know I can take and apply to my own life. There is a depth to Raday's writing that speaks of someone who had done the hard work of discovering her true self.

Love in Condition Yellow is a story of love,war, conflict struggle, success, acceptance, and ultimately joy. It is a book I think I will be rereading in the future.

Favorite passages:
"Perhaps we need to confront our fears in order to find our strength. Perhaps we need the darkness to help us see the stars (196)."

"Maybe true love is not having the same beliefs or even having the same goals, but supporting your mate in striving for his or her best self (196)."

"...completeness is not bestowed upon you by a perfect partner. It does not come from your lover figuring you out and taking perfect care of you. It comes from facing adversity, and through it, discovering your own inner strength and wisdom (198)."

From Tibetan Buddhist Lama Surya Das:
"To loosen my own attachment to opinions, I remind myself that if I really know everything there was to know--past, present, and future--about any particular person, subject or situation, my opinions and feelings about them would be quite different. Since I don't know that much, I have gradually learned to not be so judgmental and invested in my own views, although I certainly do have them."

E.B. Sledge's With the Old Breed

2010-05-03T17:17:00.000-07:00

I am trying to read all the books by the men who are depicted in the HBO series The Pacific. The latest one I finished was With the Old Breed at Peleliu and Okinawa by Eugene Sledge.

It was another powerful account of the war in the Pacific. Again, it makes we wonder why we did not learn these stories in school. I am fairly well versed in both WWI and WWII, but I did not realize I had such a gap in understanding the horrific nature of the island campaigns.

Sledge writes honestly and gives the reader a clear picture of his world with the Marines in combat.

I found that he was particularly insightful in the way he explained the mental aspect of war. He wrote, "fear is not just of being killed or wounded, it is the fear of something even worse- fear of not being able to take it and exhibiting the symptoms of cowardice to an audience of men who have trusted you (xiv)."

Many times he mentions the mental strain on men who were good combat soldiers, they simply had reached capacity for the amount of trauma they could absorb. They had had all that they could take. His stories make it clear that we should treat these men with an abundance of compassion. We cannot truly understand what they went through and should give them the benefit of the doubt in matters related to post-traumatic stress.

Sledge's account of his war is a remarkable one. One cannot read it and not be reminded yet again that the heroes of the Pacific were heroes, but they were also just men.

I have had the great privilege of meeting a Marine, who served in numerous island campaigns with the 1st Marine Division. Sledge's book gave me an even deeper appreciation for the man and his efforts. This humble, gentle, remarkable man was a part of something historic, for both its brutality and its ultimate success. But like Sledge and Leckie, after the war he built a life for himself. Despite a full, successful life, the war remains an ever-present shadow.

Like Leckie, Sledge closes by attempting to figure out what his war means to him. He concludes, "War is brutish, inglorious, and a terrible waste. Combat leaves an indelible mark on those who are forced to endure it. The only redeeming factors were my comrades incredible bravery and their devotion to each other...But it also taught us loyalty to each other--and love (315)."

If there is one thing I have learned about Marines from my family, my best friend, and the incredible men of the Marine veterans group I worked with, it is that Marines know how to love, each other and those they embrace.

Marines are a special breed.

Sledge shows us that the Marines of Peleliu and Okinawa were more special than we could have imagined.

Troops Who Fade

2010-04-27T20:29:00.000-07:00

Bestie has had a tough couple of weeks. If you pray, now is a good time to send up some words to encourage his spirit.

"I'm pretty sure I'm reaching the breaking point emotionally... mentally..."

The things that cross his path, every Marine's path, are things that haunt. Washing the blood out of a Marine brother out of a vehicle. Analyzing the aftermath of a battle in an outpost somewhere. The devastation war brings to the innocents...and the not so innocent. Traveling the roads, limbs pulled close to body armor, like a turtle, waiting...waiting...waiting to be hit. Shoot? Don't shoot? Take a mission? Send a subordinate...what if he is wounded or killed and it should have been me? Saluting the bodies, the flag-covered transfer cases of Marines and ISAF as they begin their final journey home....

All things we would protect our loved ones from if we could. All things, if we are honest, we want to protect ourselves from.

Isn't that why most Americans switch the channel when the war comes on? Can we be bothered to look through the window at their lives?

The Afghan Adventure is moments of terror, ugliness, and fear. Then it is long days, weeks of repetition. Same bad food. Same clothes. Same scenery. Same ache of missing family and home and friends. A roller-coaster of ups and downs. It is the slowly shutting down of emotions and humanity in order to get from one day to the next. To get home.

Wilfred Owen, Eugene Sledge, and a hundred other soldiers have said it..."Compassion for the sufferings of others is a burden to those who have it...those who feel the most for others suffer most in war." E.B. Sledge, With the Old Breed

Insensibility:

I
Happy are men who yet before they are killed
Can let their veins run cold.
Whom no compassion fleers
Or makes their feet
Sore on the alleys cobbled with their brothers.
The front line withers.
But they are troops who fade, not flowers,
II
And some cease feeling
Even themselves or for themselves.
Dullness best solves
The tease and doubt of shelling,
And Chance's strange arithmetic
Comes simpler than the reckoning of their shilling.
They keep no check on armies' decimation.

III
Happy are these who lose imagination:
They have enough to carry with ammunition.

Bestie has compassion in spades...

War is helplessness. There is a nothing a person can do back here for their best friend or their spouse but pray. Send a package. Send a letter. Hope that it raises his spirits. Hope that it eases your own fear for that person. Hope it eases your own desire to take away their pain, their struggle, in some way. Because you cannot see his face, or hear his voice, you cannot tell if he is feeling better after venting, or still struggling. Somehow, you must make peace with the helplessness.

"One of the LCpls is singing the 'Oompa Loompa song from Willy Wonka and the chocolate factory. The movies got the soundtrack all wrong. War isn't rock...war is nursery rhymes, TGIF theme songs, and Nirvana tracks. War is the music from your childhood. " Chris Ayers, War Reporting for Cowards

War is the tv shows that acted as your babysitters. Marines gathered around a laptop watching Boy Meets World, crying when Chet abandons Shawn. Laughing at the cherry bomb episode. Fee-eee-heeneey!!! calls. Back to a time without war, without worry.

"Because war, when it's not making you kill or be killed, turns you into an infant." ..even as it turns you into a man.

3 Months down.

Congratulations and Best Wishes

2010-04-22T09:27:00.000-07:00

I would like to take a moment and say a big CONGRATULATIONS to my friend Maggie.

Maggie is graduating from BMT at Lackland AFB today.

If that's not enough celebration for one week, she is also getting married this weekend.

I am proud of you, Airman Maggie. Way to go!

Leave her some love at Maggie Joins Up.

Bestie's Adventures

2010-04-21T12:01:00.000-07:00

Bestie is now well over two months into his deployment. He has settled into the routine and his responsibilities. I have actually had a chance to talk to him for a couple of lengthy periods of time recently, which was comforting. We talked about the things all best friends talk about-relationships, worries, future plans, our favorite childhood tv show, the current projects of our favorite bands.

Then, as is inevitable, we turned into us. We discussed Lt. Col. Grossman's book On Killing: the Psychological Cost of Learning to Kill in War and Society. It is one of his favorites and I had just finished rereading it. It served as a segue into more serious topics, like "how are you." The answer is, as good as can be expected. He talked about doing missions and standing guard. The potential of orders that could end the lives . He of the responsibilities of his job and its outcomes. He spoke of courage and cowardice. He stated offhandedly that he doesn't feel much of anything out there in the way of emotion, just numb.

Delia Falconer wrote in The Last Thoughts of Soldiers, "There was a part of his soul that would always stay out on the plains. It was so frozen he thought a little bit had been torn off." These are heavy burdens we ask our men and women in the military to shoulder. And we ask them to take them up again and again. Then we ask them do it one more time. To paraphrase Sgt Cruz-- What is a Marine? His uniform? His stature? A Marine is a human being, a man or woman--one asked to do extraordinary things, and then move on from them. Robert Leckie wrote in his WWII memoir, Helmet for My Pillow, " It is to sacrifice that men go to war. They do not go to kill, they go to be killed, to risk their flesh, to insert their precious persons in the path of destruction." What then, do we owe these men who have inserted their precious persons into the mountains and plains of Afghanistan and now risk their flesh on our behalf, on our request? We owe them a debt we cannot pay. We owe them our attention. We listen to their stories with compassion, not judgment. We send the letters and Ring Pops when requested. We take a moment of our day to read or write these dispatches so our friend overseas knows that we remember him. That we love him. That he is not invisible, nor has he disappeared. We read, and write, and send to reassure him that he is still in our hearts and minds. And that we will be there for him when he returns home.

Milestones

2010-04-10T18:26:00.000-07:00

Two months down.

I had a chance to speak pretty extensively with the Bestie this week. It was such a comfort to talk to him, catch up, and in general just have my best friend back for a few moments. We didn't even speak about anything important, just the little things like bands reuniting, news events, and developments in the lives of mutual friends. But for a moment, it was easy to forget that he was far away and in a dangerous place.

Deployment always carries that weight of distance and danger. Yet it is something that you cannot dwell on. There is nothing you can do to change either. Life does not stop just because someone you love goes to war. The world keeps spinning, the days keep passing, and things keep changing. You have to keep moving forward with it and do your best to stay in step with the ones you love who are so far away.

My world changed again today.

I wish I could just call my best friend up and tell him my happy news. I sent an email, but it is just not the same. It is hard to convey the sheer joy (not to mention the squealing and jumping up and down that ensued) in an email.

I know when he reads it that he will be jumping up and down with me.

I have taken a major step forward. It is scary and exhilarating at the same time.

I have achieved another major milestone in my life and I can't wait to share it with the Bestie.

Lt. Steve Zilberman-Remember the Fallen

2010-04-03T16:12:00.000-07:00

I received an email and phone call this week from a lady who attends my church. I organize military support there and we have a big board filled with the names and pictures of all the soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines that we support.

She was calling to ask me to pray for her grandson, who is an E-2C pilot deployed in support of operations in Afghanistan. She said his plane had crashed. Her grandson and two other crew members were ok, but his co-pilot was still missing.

After days of searching, the Navy has called ended search and rescue efforts and declared the co-pilot deceased.

The Navy has also released his name: Lt. Steve Zilberman, Columbus, Ohio.

I have been praying for this man all week and now I pray for his family as they deal with his loss.

I am also praying for J and the rest of his crew. They have lost a brother.

May we never forget.

Fair winds and following seas, Steve.

Gray Land Soldiers on War by Barry Goldstein

2010-04-01T10:34:00.000-07:00

Book of the week this week was Barry Goldstein's Gray Land: Soldiers on War.

The book is a combination of photography and reflections on war by soldiers of the Third Brigade Combat Team, 3ID.

The title comes from Sassoon's poem from the Great War entitled "Dreamers." This is one of my favorite WWI poems and the line borrowed to create the book's title is particularly powerful:

Soldiers are citizens of death's gray land,

Drawing no dividend from time's tomorrows.

In the great hour of destiny they stand,

Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.

Warriors do exist differently from the rest of us. To paraphrase Owen, they have walked along with death and he has become their companion. It is a reminder that no matter the time period, war is still war and warriors remain warriors.

What Goldstein does brilliantly is distill the many experiences and stories of individual soldiers into digestible chunks. He does not tell each man or woman's entire war story. He and they share only pieces that give glimpses into the whole.

He further distills the stories by pulling out profound statements by the soldiers and accompanying them with his photographs of the individuals and their battlefield.

Each story reminds the reader that behind the uniforms are people. The war for each of them is different. Yet, the result is a life changing experience for each of them and those that they love. As Spc. Diacogiannis points out, "That is a lot of people affected by just one person going over there (26)."

There is so much insight that can be gleaned from these interviews. The soldiers talk about the unnatural experience of going from a war zone to home in 24 hours and being expected to flip the switch that quickly. The officers speak of the responsibility that rests on their shoulders and the burden they carry with them each time they lose a soldier. They talk about the toll deployment takes on their families and the bonds they create with each other.

These are all recurring themes in war literature. Yet their stories are also unique to our war. They are important because they help create a history of this war. They also help those of us who work to help soldiers transition back to civilian life identify the major issues they are facing. We cannot know what they have gone through because we were not there with them. But Goldstein's work allows us a window into their world.

Goldstein's book is beautifully collected and arraigned collection of individual stories. It is powerful look at the world through the eyes of the soldiers he followed.

Things to contemplate:

"I wasn't scared of going to Iraq. I was scared that as soon as I left, things [at home] weren't going to be the same (42)."

"I may waiver on it at times, but there is a reason why I'm here, and in some sense it's a privilege and a burden (50)."

"And it's hard to come straight home and look your mom in the eye and give her a big old hug knowing twenty-four hours ago this is what I was doing. It's just a very strange, awkward, unnatural feeling, and it took some time. (32)."

"But what is a soldier? His uniform? His stature? A soldier is human being, one who has made a decision to sacrifice certain rights (15)."

"A soldier has been an integral part of the history of this country. At times soldiers have been invisible (12)."

"Maybe someday I'll take time from grieving (66)."

"But you can get burned out. You know, this is my 34th month in Iraq (76)."

Seven Years

2010-03-27T19:43:00.000-07:00

“For all his attention to my historical education, my father had neglected to tell me that history’s terrible moments were real. I understand now, decades later, that he could have never told me. Only history itself can convince you of the truth. And once you’ve seen the truth — really seen it — you can’t look away.” from The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova pg. 37

Recently, the 7th year of the war in Iraq passed, with some, but little reflection. I have been thinking about it since then.

I have been thinking about how long seven years really is. About how long 9 years in Afghanistan is. I have been thinking about all the things I have done in those years and all the ways I have grown and changed. It occurs to me that we are creeping up on something that is rather disturbing. My country has been at war almost half of my life.

Some people say that our war, the GWOT or OEF/OIF, whatever you want to call it, isn't like past wars. We have a voluntary military and a smaller percentage of people serve. It is true that people perhaps have less of a connection to the military and its actions than in the past. It is true that we, the protected, do not ration our gasoline or produce. It is easier to forget about what is going on far away, if you want to.

But what has struck me the past few weeks is just how much a part of our lives the war has become. Among my peers, it has become woven into the fabric of our lives. Maybe that is abnormal. Perhaps it is more a reflection on small-to-medium town USA. But at least for some, it is the truth.

I was at work when a moment of powerful recognition hit me. I was standing around with my coworkers, most of whom are close to my age. I work with a former high school classmate of mine and we were talking about mutual acquaintances. We started talking about someone we both knew who is serving in Afghanistan. That led to updates on other people we know who are in the service, and where they are and what they are doing. I have a friend in Ramadi and my coworker remarked that they knew someone who spent some time there. About six or seven of our other coworkers wandered into the conversation and we all compared notes on friends and family, high school buddies, and friends of friends who are serving or have served in Iraq or Afghanistan. We talked about those we knew of who had been wounded and those from our hometown who had been killed. Someone mentioned that we needed a memorial for our war, like there is downtown for Vietnam.

Then the conversation drifted to other things like new movies, music, and if the economy would ever get better so we could find better jobs.

The moment of recognition came before that though. It came when we noticed we had an audience. Five of our coworkers, including our two supervisors, had stopped what they were doing, gathered together, and were listening to us talk. They were all older and grew up after Vietnam and before 9/11. They were staring at us kind of funny. One finally said, "You guys say that like it is so normal. You say, M spent some time there, like Iraq is Florida or something. You just transitioned from Iraq and Afghanistan to a show at the place and the merits of the newest Twilight movie without pause. Like it is just another part of your day to discuss which of your friends are over there."

I guess we did. We transitioned from updating each other on friends and family at war to the other general topics you discuss with people you work with. It was just another thing, just another part our lives, to have friends fighting a war someplace sandy. After all, my best friend is on round two-Afghan Style. By now, so many people I know have joined the service, gone overseas, come home, gone back, come home, gone back, come home, got out or reupped that it is kind of normal.

The war is something we have learned to live with.

The idea that some people, somewhere, wish us harm is something that has almost become normal.

There is something sad about that.

There is that old saying, I think it is a curse, "May you live in interesting times." It seems my peers and I do live in interesting times. We have seen life changing moments of history and been changed by them. Some of us have had the course of our lives changed by them.

Sometimes you don't realize the significance of your own history and the realities of what those historical moments have wrought until something happens to make you reflect.

The Losses

2010-03-19T08:07:00.000-07:00

There have been so many fallen Marines (and soldiers) since the offensive began in Afghanistan. My heart breaks for the families of each and every one of them. I cannot help but mourn for each life that ended too soon and the experiences they will not get the have.

Each loss is also a reminder to hold on dearly to the ones that I love. I need to be fully present in each moment, because there is no guarantee of another. My prayers go out in earnest today, for the Bestie, my cousins, and each Marine, soldier, sailor, and airman who serves in harms way.

I am praying for a fellow blogger, who lost her husband, Cpl Jonathan Daniel Porto. They have a little girl, 9 weeks old, who will not get to know her daddy. Rachel, age 23, has lost the love of her life.

Visit her blog and let her know you are thinking of her and will remember the sacrifice her family has made for our nation:
A Little Pink in a World of Camo

Helmet for my Pillow: From Parris Island to the Pacific by Robert Leckie

2010-03-14T15:24:00.000-07:00

In preparation for the HBO miniseries The Pacific, I have been reading all of the accounts the producers used for the film, as well as any others I can get my hands on. I started with Robert Leckie's A Helmet for my Pillow.

My first reaction, after reading the poem that the book takes it's name from is How did I not read this in school? It is amazing what we do not learn. This account of the war in the Pacific is one of the most gripping accounts of any war that I have read.

I have a special love for Marines and the lore of the Marine Corps. Many of my family members are Marines. My best friend is a Marine. I have been taken in and adopted, in a sense, by a local Marine Corps Veterans Association. The first individual I ever wrote to as a volunteer with Soldiers' Angels was a Marine. For that reason, I love the history of the Old Breed as it is presented by Leckie. It is fascinating to read of his time at Parris Island, his time in the fleet, and his time at war. As he says, "The making of Marines...it is a process of surrender."

What makes this book so gripping, is that it could be about Marines today. I recognize so many similarities in the spirit and make up in the Marines, both young and old, that I know today. I can picture his characters as men I know. Hoosier could easily be an old salt I know from the Vets Association who island hopped with the 1st Marine Division. The echoes of Leckie's Parris Island remain in the tales I hear from friends and family during and after recruit training.

Leckie's account of the Pacific campaigns are powerful. Much of what he says is relevant today. There are many passages where I would have to stop reading and ponder what he wrote. He writes about war and the thin line between sanity and madness. I am struck yet again by how much we have to learn from these men. The warriors of the Second World War did their duties and came home to live out their lives. They may have had more recognition from the general public for their service, but they still had to live out the private battles that continued to rage in their minds. Leckie writes, "And there is terror, coming from the interaction of trial and tedium." Our men and women today are fighting wars that are just as terrifying and just as destructive. We should learn what we can from these men who fought in the Pacific and apply it as we help our present day warriors heal from their war.

In my opinion, the last three pages are the most powerful. Here, he struggles to answer the eternal question from the fat, wealthy, protected, ignorant civilian, "What did you get out of it? What were you fighting for?" These are the questions we still ask. These are the questions warriors past and present still use to try and put their experiences into perspective.

Leckie found his answer, or at least found the answer he was willing to share with the world. He writes:

"Now I know. For myself, a memory and the strength of ordeal sustained; for my son, a priceless heritage; for my country, sacrifice. The last is enough for all, for it is sacrifice--the suffering of those who lived, the immolation of those who died...It is to sacrifice that men go to war. They do not go to kill, they go to be killed, to risk their flesh, to insert their precious persons in the path of destruction...But sacrifice says: 'Not the blood of your brother, my friend-your blood'(304)."

"That is why women weep when their men go off to war. They do not weep for their victims, they weep for them as Victim. That is why, with the immemorial insight of mamkind, there are gay songs and colorful bands to send them off to fortify their failing hearts, not to quicken their lust for blood. That is why there are no glorious living, but only glorious dead. Heroes turn traitor, warriors age and grow soft-but a victim is changeless, sacrifice is eternal (305)."

Sacrifice.

Remember the sacrifices, large and small.

Thank you, Mr. Leckie, for sharing your story.

Mr. Douglas

2010-03-03T19:58:00.000-08:00

There are many things I will miss about the job I am being forced to leave.

Mostly, I will miss the people and the relationships I have developed with them.

Of the people I will miss the most, Mr. Douglas ranks the highest.

Mr. Douglas is a sweet, kind, gentle man who answered his nation's call to service during the Second World War. He served in the Navy and has quite a tale to tell if you are willing to listen. He is a man of many varied experiences, each one richer than the last.

Mr. Douglas came into my life about two years ago. We share similar interests in books and historical time periods, so we hit it off right away. We were always friendly, but the turning point came one day, around Veteran's Day. Mr. Douglas was lamenting that once all of the WWII vets are gone, no one will remember what they did and no one will remember their stories. I told Mr. Douglas to tell me, and I'd remember. I shared with him the Veteran's Day programming I was attending that year and the many activities I was involved in to support our military.

From that day on, Mr. Douglas and I had a special connection. Every time he comes in, he tells me a story. Sometimes it is a war story. Sometimes it is a story about life aboard a Navy ship as a young man. Other times he shares with me a story from his days as a traveling salesman, selling ladies dresses door to door. That man still has an eye for print and what will sell, let met tell you. After awhile, he started to share with me the stories of his family, his wife, and his children. He entrusted me with the story of the tragic loss of his son and the importance of organ donation. Mr. Douglas will tell you that even though nothing can take away the pain of his loss, the fact that his son's organs were used to save the lives of 12 people eases it some. Mr. Douglas and I talk of politics, the future, and our life goals each week when he comes to visit. He has become a blessing in my life, and I hope I have become one in his.

I had to tell Mr. Douglas that my time at this job is coming to an end. He told me that he was crushed and that is how I feel as well. Mr. Douglas told me he would miss me, miss me an awful lot. He came around the counter and gave me one of the biggest, warmest hugs I have ever received. Then he pulled me back, gave me a kiss on the cheek, and told me I was a special girl. There were tears in both of our eyes. There were tears in the eyes of most everyone who witnessed it.

He turned to leave and as he hit the door, he turned around and saluted me.

He asked for my contact information and I gave it to him. He says that a little distance isn't an obstacle to a good friendship, but it is inevitable that our relationship will be changed in some way. I hope we stay in touch.

I will miss seeing him every week. I will miss his stories. I will miss the twinkle in his eye and his indomitable spirit.

Mr. Douglas, you have my respect and my loyalty. I will always remember your stories. Thank you for entrusting them into my care. Fair winds and following seas.

I miss my friend

2010-03-01T19:30:00.000-08:00

I miss my best friend.

Funny how things happen when it is most inconvenient.

I could use his perspective tonight.

Oh, the joys of deployment.

Tomorrow, off to find the Grippos.

Time to visit all the lovely people again at my favorite post office.

Good Luck, Maggie!

2010-02-23T19:49:00.000-08:00

My dear friend Maggie joined the Air Force.

Maggie is the reason I am blogging now, as it was her encouragement that made me follow through with starting my own.

It has been a bit of a process for her to get everything ready and her contract straightened out, but everything came together for her. She has had the additional blessing/burden of planning a wedding while preparing herself for Basic.

She left yesterday for BMT.

She was anxious, but she was also ready. I know she will do well and I can't wait to celebrate her graduation with her.

I am praying for her mother, who especially needs a little reassurance that everything will turn out ok. I don't think she expected to have a daughter in the military.

Go wish her well at Maggie Joins Up.

Good Luck Maggie!

D Joins the Corps

2010-02-18T19:43:00.000-08:00

My cousin D is going to be a United States Marine.

Signed the papers for DEP.

Ship date is this summer.

Love ya D.

We are proud of you.

Semper Fi.

Illegitimis non Carborundum

2010-02-17T10:35:00.000-08:00

Well, that happened sooner than I thought it would.

In every deployment, there is a moment when something happens. Whatever it is, it makes you reach for the phone to call the person. Sometimes it is a funny thing, sometimes it is a sad thing, sometimes it is a happy thing.

Yesterday, I lost my job. "Downsized" after 5 years of loyal service. Completely blindsided.

Stunned, upset, and anxious all I wanted to do was call my best friend and talk it out.

But I couldn't do that.

I can't do that.

I'll tell him, at some point, when he is able to communicate. And when the time is right for him to hear it.

But I can't just pick up the phone and be reassured that everything will turn out ok- by the person I turn to when I need to be reassured that everything will be ok.

That's what sucks about deployment.

Yesterday I was stunned. Today I am wallowing. Tomorrow I turn on the determination and figure out my next step.

Miss ya Bestie.

And so it Begins...Again

2010-02-14T16:30:00.000-08:00

"The next 12-14 months of my life will be spent away from my wife, away from my home, and hoping each day to see the next. Someday I will look back on this year to come as a tremendous life experience, where I learned valuable lessons and came away a better man, but I am not yet to that point. Instead, I am only at the point of sorrow for the months that lie ahead, and for the woman and home I leave behind...I'm sorry I must leave, but I must do what is asked of me by my God, my Country, and my Corps..." ~Bestie, USMC

A short time ago, the day that has so hung in our collective consciousness for the past few months-D-Day-arrived.

I essentially began the process of goodbye the when he left home after his last leave. It was the last time I got to hug him, to say the important things. But now the time has come for real. He has said his goodbyes to his wife, the sea bags are packed and loaded, the final phone calls in the United States have been made.

And so it begins. Deployment. Again.

Having been through this with him once before, at least I know what to expect. I can better predict his moods, what to send in care packages, and when he will need cheering up. There is some comfort in that.

But this deployment also has it's unknowns. It is a new country. New, perhaps more volatile, situations will be faced on the ground. And this time, Bestie is plus one. Bestie-in-law wasn't around during the last trip to a foreign land. This time, I get to support the both of them the best I can.

I find that it is still scary to send your best friend to war. There is an uncertainty that is uncomfortable. There is a knowledge that it will be some time before this changes. These deployments are freaking long....

But, I also know they are doable. A weight settles in your heart that doesn't lift until that plane touches down again in the United States. Its time to get comfortable again, with the knot in the stomach, because it will be a constant companion. There will be a lot of growth and change for everyone in the next year, that is inevitable. None of us will be the same people we were before this started. But this purgatory that is a loved one at war will eventually end, no matter how we feel on the bad days.

The tough part is that we do not yet know if the bad days will outnumber the good, or how bad they will be, for us and for him. We can hope for a quiet tour, but there are no guarantees. For Marines in Afghanistan, there are very few guarantees at all.

There is something heartbreaking, about that last call from an airport in the States. There is so much more behind what is said. The call is brief. There is some small talk, some necessary details to pass on, and then all too soon, time is up. There are other people to get a hold of in the time allowed. I end with a simple, travel safe. He says he will. There are emotions hanging in the air that neither of us acknowledge...

And so it begins...again.

My cell phone is now permanently attached to my body and will be answered no matter what the time, or what strange number appears on the screen.

The yellow ribbon has gone up on my door, my parents door, my grandparents door, and even the church's door to show that our Marine is at war once again.

Grandpa prayed especially for him at church today. That he would be protected, that his anxiety, worry, and fears will be eased, that he will have peace of mind, that He will guide Bestie's hands as he does his job to the best of his ability, for the leaders that send him into battle and make the small and large decisions once he is there. It says something about the moment, that Grandpa's voiced cracked, and he emitted a rough, shaking sob, before regaining his composure and praying that Bestie will be returned home physically and mentally whole.

The is nothing to do now but support each other.

Support our Marine.

Take one day at a time.

Pray...

I posted this prayer, by a Rabbi, the last time Bestie went off to the scary places and I will do so again. It articulates what I want to say better than any other:

A Prayer for Our Soldiers
God of love, God of peace, Out of the depths of despair, we call to You. Our ears ring with the words "Do not fear." But our stomachs churn with the acid of doubt. Determined to preserve our shared world from the tyranny of terrorism, we turn to You for answers, for values, for strengths.
We stand before You with respect and concern for those who have been summoned to protect and secure our nation, our world. Give them the courage to meet the chilling stare of death...Return them safely to fulfill dreams unrealized so that they may bless Your name through the lives they live. May their efforts further the cause of peace throughout the world and bring us closer to the day when "Nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn of war anymore." Amen.

Godspeed Bestie.

You make me proud.

Travel safe. Keep your helmet on.

Love you.

Semper Fi.

~Wendy

I'm Still Standing: From Captive U.S. Soldier to Free Citizen- My Journey Home by Shoshana Johnson

2010-02-10T09:28:00.001-08:00

I was excited to come across Shoshana Johnson's book with M.L. Doyle, I'm Still Standing: From Captive U.S. Soldier to Free Citizen- My Journey Home.

I'm glad she decided to share her story, as it is an important piece of the Iraq War POW narrative. So much of what we, the public, have heard about what happened is clouded by DOD gag orders and agendas and media ADD. Even when the official report came out on the 507th Maintenance Company's incident in Nasiriyah, many contributing factors seemed to be missing.

The book itself is a cohesive narrative I couldn't put down. I read it in about a day and half. It alternates between Shoshana's civilian and early Army life and her time in captivity, as she explains how she ended up in the Army, the 507th, Kuwait, Iraq, and finally a POW.

She sheds light on the details of her captivity, on her captors' aggression and moments of kindness. She speaks of the bonds forged with her fellow prisoners and the loss of so many friends in the ambush.

Most importantly, she sheds light on aspects of her captivity and total experience as a POW the media often missed. It becomes apparent how poorly both Shoshana and Jessica Lynch were treated by the Army and the media. Lynch was used exploited by both for ratings and morale and was forced to defend herself against an avalanch of attention she had no part in creating. Shana was given less media attention, saw her injuries rated differently by the Army, and had to deal with insinuations that she was jealous of Jessica Lynch's attention when the truth was that they remained friends.

Shoshana Johnson's story highlights some very important aspects of the POW incident that both the Army and the media should learn from.

For me, the most surprising part has been learning of the backlash many of the POWs faced once they were returned to units stateside. They faced resentment from fellow soldiers and despite attending media events on orders from the Army, that they were receiving undeserved attention.

Instead of taking responsibility for failures that led to the ambush in Nasiriyah, the various Army and media reports left the impression that the 507th were somehow so incompetent and negligent that they bore the blame for their predicament. Johnson rebuts those accusations and spells out the way a series of problems from training, to leadership, to equipment failure, broken procedure, and confusion came together to contribute to the death, injury, and capture of the 507th Maintenance Company.

In the closing chapters, Johnson mentions that the 507th doesn't exist as such anymore, the Army having re-purposed and renamed the unit. She and other OIF POWs aren't invited to many Army POW events anymore, and her speaking engagements have dwindled.

It is important to remember the sacrifices of the 507th Maintenance Company and the OIF prisoners of war. No matter how much some segments of the military may wish to pretend it never happened, it did. There are lessons to be learned to prevent such incidents from occurring in future conflicts.

Above all, each member of the 507th was a volunteer who served their country in a time of war. Many, many members of that unit lost their lives. Others faced injury and captivity and conducted themselves with honor and dignity. They deserve to be remembered. Their stories deserve to be told.

Super Bowl Disappointment

2010-02-07T20:24:00.000-08:00

The bestie and I are both huge, lifelong Colts fans.

He happened to be home on leave the year we won the Super Bowl. He went with me all over town to find one of the few remaining #18 jerseys. It took forever, but we finally found one. Had to get an away jersey because all the home ones were sold out. Went over to his place for the game and enjoyed his dad's entertainment system. Watched the game with his family.

We won and the celebration that erupted was epic.

It was an absolute blast.

It was a memory I hold dear, and it is one that I know he shares and enjoys as well.

I really wanted us to win.

I wanted Peyton to get another ring and shut up the critics.

I wanted to end the season on a positive note, rather the than sour one the regular season left.

I wanted another moment of bliss and celebration.

Mostly I wanted them to win it for him.

I wanted him to have that memory to take with him when he leaves for the scary places.

I wanted him to have one last amazing night to celebrate and be carefree again, before it is time to get serious.

I'm sad we lost. I'm sad we didn't get to all share that joy together.

Maybe next time.

Pre-Deployment Leave

2010-02-02T16:32:00.000-08:00

The bestie is officially on pre-deployment leave.

That kind of makes it real.

The time really is short now, before he heads to Afghanistan to do the Marine thing.

Enjoy your week Bestie.

Love ya.

The Lonely Soldier by Helen Benedict

2010-02-01T09:03:00.000-08:00

Book for last week was The Lonely Soldier: The Private War of Women Serving in Iraq

I wasn't sure what the make of this one at first. The author interviewed women who served in Iraq and discussed their experiences in the military. She focused on five women in particular, three who joined prior to 9/11 and 2 who joined after. All are enlisted soldiers, two are NCOs.

The book discusses an important issue that does not get enough attention, which is sexual harassment and assault within the military. This issue is often swept under the rug by the military and ignored by the media. Despite being a integral part of the armed forces, women still face a hostile institutional structure that can be detrimental to their careers. Despite the gains that have been made, women are still considered inferior to men, as established by law that women cannot serve in combat roles.

Benedict points out that the demeaning language and attitudes towards women begin in boot camp. She also points out the disparity in the images put forth by the Army, noting in their websites and brochures, women are represented in pictures beside Army Values such as loyalty, but not one is included next values like honor, courage, and commitment. Women have to prove themselves as soldiers to the men. In their attempts to do this, the often lose parts of their identity, seeking to be tough, and conducting themselves in a way that will not make them stand out. Benedict quotes all of her interview subjects as being in agreement that men give female soldiers three roles to fill, that of ho, bitch, or dyke. Having to alter their personalities, habits, and even the way they walk to fit into this type of hostile environment makes readjustment to the civilian world particularly difficult for women.

Benedict sites pervasive sexual harassment and assault as reasons why women have higher rates of PTSD in Iraq. Depending on their unit and job, women often find themselves isolated in Iraq, perhaps being the only female among 36, 60, or 100 men. The women she interviews do not find the bond that so many others find amongst their comrades in arms at war. Instead, they found themselves undermined, objectified, and humiliated at almost every turn. They found themselves traumatized not only by the war, but by the very men who were supposed to have their backs. Incidents of sexual assault and rape are not reported nearly as often as in the civilian world, and only about 8% of such crimes are prosecuted, compared to 40% in civilian life.

The stories these women relay are heart wrenching, infuriating, and troubling to say the least.

At this point the data the book uses are a little dated, focusing primarily on the time period between 1999-2006. I have to hope that things have improved in the time since the book was published.

Each of these issues is real- especially those regarding a misogynist military culture- and must be addressed by the military, and if not the military, then by Congress. However, I am left with a few lingering thoughts. It is hard to know if the horrible experiences the 5 women in the book have are as common as Benedict makes it seem. When she briefly discusses where she met women veterans to interview, she discusses finding them at Iraq and Afghanistan Veterans Against the War and Veteran's for Peace meetings. I say that not because these women should be judged for being members of these groups, but because it may have squed Benedict's sample of female veterans.

Benedict does make some great points about what must be done for our women veterans, especially those who have served in Operations Iraqi and Enduring Freedom.

Among those I find to be particularly sound are:

1.) "Women have always been met with hostility when they first tried to enter male domains, whether as voters or police officers, firefighters or politicians, and the answer has never been to give up, but to stay and fight for reform until the culture changes and accepts them (224)."

2.) Stop restricting the jobs women can do in the military. The arguments are antiquated and women have proven in Iraq that they can do the job. Combat support roles have become combat roles as women follow infantry units door to door, search and engage targets, guard prisoners, serve as gunners in ground convoys and in the air, guard checkpoints, and sit in FOBs that are mortared and bombed. Recognize women for the courageous job that they are doing right beside their male counterparts. This will also help female veterans when they return home. No woman who has served should be treated like a second class veteran. No woman should have her war stories denied and ignored because she has a ponytail instead of a high and tight.

3.) End official antipathy toward women (225).

4.) Distribute women more evenly. No women should serve alone with all male platoons, for it leaves them isolated and vulnerable to assault (226).

5.) Improve training in the prevention and understanding of sexual assault for all recruits, enlisted personnel, and officers; Reform military handling of sexual abuse

6.) Provide better services to female veterans returning from war. They have different needs than their male counterparts and should receive the same level of service for them.

I agree with Benedict's closing lines:

"At least 160,500 women have served in Iraq by now, risking their lives, limbs, and well-being, as they will again in future wars. It is wrong for us as a nation to ask women to do this and then treat them as inferior to men."

Halfway

2010-01-29T20:07:00.000-08:00

"You can only go halfway into the darkest forest; then you're coming out the otherside."
~ Chinese Proverb

To Live or Perish Forever

2010-01-27T19:50:00.000-08:00

I just finished reading Nicholas Schmidle's book on Pakistan, To Live or Perish Forever.

Schmidle spent two years wandering around Pakistan, getting the lay of the land, and meeting local political leaders. The book was a quick read, as Schmidle keeps the narrative going smoothly.

Schmidle comes from a military family, one who was serving in Iraq and Afghanistan while he was in Pakistan. Yet he was routinely interviewing Taliban and al-Queda leaders as part of his journalistic effort to discover the soul of Pakistan. Schmidle treats these characters with extreme humanity. Despite his own inner conflict at the idea that many of these people could be organizing attacks that could injure the people he loved, he grew to like some of them, even to the point of considering a few friends.

These high placed contacts, coupled with the people on the street view he gains as he lives, works, and interacts with his neighbors, give true insight into the battle for Pakistan that is playing out.

Will Pakistan be able to hold on to a secular identity in the face of rising Islamist power? Will its many ethnic minorities stay united with Pakistan, or will they seek to control their own fates in nations of their own? Will corrupt intelligence and government institutions ultimately break Pakistan?

These are questions Schmidle doesn't have answers to. But what he does learn makes one point very clear. If peace is to find the region, we must have a greater understanding of the culture, history, and power brokers. We must also think regionally in our strategies. The questions of Afghanistan and Pakistan cannot be solved independently of each other. Gretchen Peters book Seeds of Terror also illustrates this point quite dramatically when analyzing the connections between drugs, money, weapons, and militias that flow through the porous borders.

Good book. Certainly gives you lots to think about.

Remember the Fallen- Cpl. Jamie Lowe, USMC

2010-01-26T19:28:00.000-08:00

A local Marine was recently killed in Afghanistan. He was laid to rest last week. May God be with his friends and family.

Photo Credit: Denny Simmons- Courier Press

Ashbah by Brian Turner

2010-01-26T19:11:00.000-08:00

The ghosts of American soldiers

wander the streets of Balad by night,

unsure of their way home, exhausted,

the desert wind blowing trash

down the narrow alleys as a voice

sounds from the minaret,

a soulfull call

reminding them how alone they are,

how lost. And the Iraqi dead,

they watch in silence from rooftops

as date palms line the shore

in silhouette,

leaning toward Mecca when the dawn wind blows.

Riding in Cars with Boys

2010-01-23T12:58:00.000-08:00

I was thinking about ways war changes people today.

I was hanging out with a buddy recently, who just returned from a year in Iraq. He spent most of that time driving a humvee up and down the crazy roads of in and around Anbar Province.

Anybody else have that first experience of riding in the car, with the boy (or girl) driving--after the deployment?

Things are going along fine, you're deciding where to eat and just catching up. Then all the sudden, out of nowhere, you are on the other side of the road, half in a ditch. The boy is screaming and cursing, reaching for a weapon that isn't there, and you are left trying to figure out what the heck just happened.

In retrospect, it makes sense. The insides of an old cassette tape and a little loose wire running across the road. A discarded bag of fast food trash.

Freaking IEDs.

Needless to say, I drove the rest of the trip.

It has been a few weeks now, and it is a funny incident that we all laugh at, and he pokes fun at himself for.

Thing is, it's really not that funny.

It's the war, in the After.

The Strength in Us All

2010-01-17T18:24:00.001-08:00

I have met some amazing women in my life. This one is for them, they know who they are. The poem was written by Vera Brittain, after the loss of her brother and husband in the Great War. Vera was also an amazing woman, for she also served as a nurse during the war. Then, having lost almost every important man in her life, she rebuilt to become an author and poet. To the Strength in us all....

Perhaps (To R.A.L.)

Perhaps some day the sun will shine again,
And I shall see that still the skies are blue,
And feel once more I do not live in vain,
Although bereft of You.

Perhaps the golden meadows at my feet
Will make the sunny hours of spring seem gay,
And I shall find the white May-blossoms sweet,
Though You have passed away.

Perhaps the summer woods will shimmer bright,
And crimson roses once again be fair,
And autumn harvest fields a rich delight,
Although You are not there.

Perhaps some day I shall not shrink in pain
To see the passing of the dying year,
And listen to Christmas songs again,
Although You cannot hear.'

But though kind Time may many joys renew,
There is one greatest joy I shall not know
Again, because my heart for loss of You
Was broken, long ago.

Go Colts

2010-01-16T14:08:00.000-08:00

Can't wait for the Colts game today.

Talked to the bestie last night. First time I've really gotten to talk to him for any length of time in the past couple of weeks. The Marines are keeping him crazy busy in final prep for the deployment.

But there is always time for football. We are both rabid Colts fans. Hoping they do better than they have in previous playoff games and that the whole resting the starters drama doesn't come back to bite us.

Bestie says to wear the Freeney jersey for this game, so #93 it is.

Go Colts!

Remembering Gunnar

2010-01-13T08:09:00.000-08:00

I wanted to take a moment today to remember Pfc. Gunnar Becker.

Gunnar was from Forestburg, South Dakota. He joined the army after high school, and soon found himself headed off to war.

Two weeks before he was supposed to go home, January 13, 2005, he was killed in Mosul, Iraq. He was just 19 years old.

If you have a moment, please go visit his online memorial page In Memory of PFC Gunnar Becker. There, you can learn Gunnar's story and see what he meant to his family and friends.

Walter M. Schirr, Sr. said "You don't raise heroes, you raise sons." Some people raise sons who become heroes. Gunnar's mom was one of those people. Go visit her blog, leave her a message, and let her know that you remember her son.

Even though he is gone, Gunnar is still touching lives. He is a major influence my decision to pursue my current career path.

God bless the Becker and Senska families on this, and every day. You are in my prayers.

I remember.

We are soldiers.
We are soldiers in the United States Army.
We are trained to be all we can be.

We fight for the freedom of many citizens of the United States.
We are all ready to meet our fates.

We all volunteer to defend the red, white and blue.
Not only the flag, but for the citizens of our great country too.

Since our country's birth for all these years,
we have been trained to be the best on Earth.

Many times we have went to war.
We will be involved in many more.

Generation by generation soldiers continue to enlist.
Some of us will got to war and definitely be missed.

Some soldiers will return and some won't.
Those who do not, we won't forget and we hope you don't.

Many of us are going to Iraq.
Some of us won't be coming back.

We have loved ones we are leaving behind.
They will always be in our prayers, hearts and mind.

If we don't make it home safely at the end of the war,
just remember we died defending the beliefs of those of many more.
Gunnar Becker , 23 Nov. 2003

Local Marine KIA

2010-01-12T19:22:00.000-08:00

A local Marine was killed in Afghanistan Monday.

Cpl. Jamie Lowe, USMC, age 21, was the son of Kevin and Teresa. He was the brother to Cody and Hunter.

Teresa's father was killed in the Vietnam war, now her son has been killed in another war.

Jamie, may you rest safely in the arms of our Father.

Many prayers going out for his family and friends.

The Marines' Hymn

If the Army and the Navy
Ever look on Heaven's scenes;
They will find the streets are guarded
By UNITED STATES MARINES.

Trauma Stewardship by Laura van Dernoot Lipsky

2010-01-10T11:19:00.000-08:00

I have been making decisions about my future. I am taking the steps needed to get into a graduate program to work towards a Masters degree in Social Work.

It is something I have contemplated for awhile, but had to be sure of before I committed. I believe this is my calling in life. Many things have pointed me in this direction, working with military veterans as a career. But after 6 years of doing it as a volunteer, I felt wary. Burned out. Unsure that I had the emotional reserves to do it as a career.

I have spent the past year really examining my heart and praying about what God wants for my life. I have made a conscious effort to examine the events that have stacked up in my volunteer work, to accept them and to process them.

It is not easy to work with military personnel in a time of war. It is not easy to work with Veterans. It is not easy to work with the wounded. It is not easy to work with families. It is not easy to build intense relationships while also knowing these people may be killed in combat. It is not easy when they are. The entire military family has to deal with things like PTSD, catastrophic injuries, worry, fear, stress, anxiety, readjustment issues, and the chaos of multiple deployments.

What I have come to accept is that those who work with these people must also deal with these issues. Each situation is traumatic for the soldier. They are also traumatic for those that love the soldier, and those that stand behind the soldier.

Though we that work with soldiers are very good about pushing awareness of PTSD and urging them to talk about the hard things that happen during their deployments, we rarely consider the effect hearing about these things has on us.

It is easy to understand that a soldier is changed by firing his weapon, killing an enemy, being ambushed, watching a friend be wounded or killed, being hit by an IED, being forced to be constantly alert to the danger in his environment, and being away from his friends and family while their lives continue on.

Less thought is given to the person the soldier calls at 3:00am, sobbing, confessing that he killed a man. Less thought is given to the person who goes about their day knowing the soldier might be hit by an IED at any time, or knows the soldier was on the helo the news reports has crashed. Less thought is given to the person who answers the emails detailing the way the battle buddy went down, the way it feels to wake up to gunfire everyday, the split second decision to fire or not fire on a 12 year old pointing an RPG at the vehicle, how much missing her son's birthday for the 3rd year in a row hurts.

Those of us that work with soldiers do so out of love and good intentions. But rarely is the price spoken of, certainly it isn't mentioned when I first got involved, and even now, it is only spoken of in hushed tones. After all, maybe these things upset us, maybe we notice that we have more anxiety now than we did, maybe feel a little down, but it is nothing. What right do we have to complain, it is the soldiers suffering the real hardships. There is an often unsaid but implied notion that you should just suck it up, tough it out. And so we stay quiet, often until we burn out.

This is something that has been bothering me for years. I didn't know what it was, or what questions to ask, but I had the nagging feeling that something was wrong. I hit the burnout point after 4 years and personally interacting with over 300+ soldiers, sailors, airmen, and Marines. But like a good soldier, I carried on, I found ways to cope. For me, I built walls to protect myself. I tried not to feel so much when I heard a sad story, or found out a soldier I had connections to died. I ignored the feelings of sadness, fatigue and anxiety, but I knew I didn't feel right. I found myself wishing I had someone to talk to about all this, but felt like I didn't deserve to draw any attention to myself. I felt like there had to be a better way to go about things, I just had no idea what that way was, or how to go about finding it.

I have spent the past two years trying to find it.

It started with an undergraduate research project that I eventually took to conference.

Reading Laura van Dernoot Lipsky's Trauma Stewardship: An Everyday Guide to Caring for Self While Caring for Others was the the first time I found a name to what I was experiencing.

It is called secondary or vicarious trauma.

I found myself nodding in agreement to something on just about every page of the first chapter. She inspired me to truly understand the nature of and responses to trauma and how it influences caregivers. This is something I want to continue to research in graduate school, but until I get there, I am learning all I can now.

In the Foreward, Jon R Conte, Ph.D. says "Most of all, trauma stewardship calls on us to remember that it is a gift to be present when people deal with trauma; it reminds us of our responsibility to care and to nurture our capacity to help... she helps us to understand our feelings and behavior as natural responses to that flow from our humanity (xii)."

van Dernoot says that exposure to other people's trauma becomes a part of us, changes us, and changes our view of the world as we absorb it (3).

She also explains her journey creating the book, and as one who deals with the trauma of others. She says, "First, I need to take responsibility for acknowledging the effects of trauma exposure within myself. Second, I had to learn how to make room for my own internal process -- to create space within to heal and to discover what I would need to continue with clarity on my chosen path. I had to find some way to bear witness to trauma without surrendering my ability to live fully (4)." What she discovers is the framework of trauma stewardship.

This is the journey I am on as I set out on the slow path to a new career.

I am learning to acknowledge the effects of trauma exposure within myself and learning my own internal processes as I deal with trauma exposure.

I am excited to be working my way through the book. It isn't always easy, but so far, it has been extremely helpful. Anyone who works with trauma, or who acts as a caregiver in anyway should consider giving this book a try.

Do Not Stand at my Grave and Weep

2010-01-05T10:12:00.000-08:00

When my best friend was in town, we took time to do something I have wanted to do for awhile. We visited the grave of a fallen soldier.

There are many graves of fallen soldiers. What makes this one special is that I knew him.

I knew him as a child. I knew him as a teammate and a competitor. There were days I knew him as a pain in the butt. But I grew to know him as a friend. As a fellow believer. I knew his good heart and genuine spirit. I knew him as a classmate. I did not know him as a soldier.

He was one of those people I lost touch with after graduation. I guess I expected us to fall back into each other's lives at some point, as that's what always happened before. We had too many mutual friends and connections to avoid it. But he was killed by insurgents in Iraq before that had a chance to happen.

I regret we didn't stay closer. I wish the last memory I have of him...wasn't the last memory I have of him. But as last memories go, this one is sort of fitting. It is the end of the year. He is wearing jeans and a white tshirt, standing by an open locker, grinning. He is waving goodbye...have a good summer....see you around. In my mind, it is like this that he disappears into the mist.

I wasn't sure what to expect. I didn't know what I would feel being back there. I wasn't even sure I could find it again. Hadn't been back there since the funeral.

After all, this is the harsh reality of war, isn't it? A young man....simply gone from the world.

The greatest fear for anyone who loves a soldier.

The grave is located in the veterans portion of the cemetery. It is on the top of a hill, rather scenic as spots go. It overlooks the baby cemetery, as if these warriors stand sentry for the innocents, even in death.

It was windy, gloomy, bitterly cold day. Maybe because of that, my first thought was that it seemed lonely.

Compared to the graves around it, Will's still seems new. The grass hasn't filled in all the way yet. The ground is sunken a little bit, as if the ground is still accepting the fact that he now fills it.

There is a bench near it, where one could sit and reflect, on less chilly days. There was as Christmas tree and a wreath, all decorated immaculately. The small offerings left under it were testament to others who had made this holiday pilgrammage to see a friend.

I found that while I was assailed by memories, moved by them even, I wasn't emotional. I knew Will as gone, I saw the body at the funeral, saw them lower him into the ground. This was just where his body rests.

I guess that is what surprised me the most. What I felt was emptiness. It reminded me that according to our faith, the flesh is all that remains. The spirit has gone on to be with our Father. That provides comfort. But the emptiness remains.

What I kept returning to, standing there in the cold, staring at the grave of a fallen friend, were the words of a poem by Mary Elizabeth Frye.

Do Not Stand at My Grave and Weep

Do not stand at my grave and weep
I am not there; I do not sleep.
I am
a thousand winds that blow,
I am the diamond glints on snow,
I am the sun
on ripened grain,
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the
morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling
flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
Do not stand at my grave and
cry,
I am not there; I did not die.

Lament by F.S. Flint

2010-01-03T20:37:00.000-08:00

Lament

The young men of the world
Are condemned to death.
They have been called up to die
For the crime of their fathers.

The young men of the world,
The growing, the ripening fruit,
Have been torn from their branches,
While the memory of the blossom
Is sweet in women's hearts;
They have been cast for a cruel purpose
Into the mashing-press and furnace.

The young men of the world
Look into each other's eyes,
And read there the same words:
Not yet! Not yet!
But soon perhaps, and perhaps certain.

The young men of the world
No longer possess the road:
The road possesses them.
They no longer inherit the earth:
The earth inherits them.
They are no longer the masters of fire:
Fire is their master;
They serve him, he destroys them.
They no longer rule the waters:
The genius of the seas
Has invented a new monster,
And they fly from its teeth.
They no longer breathe freely:
The genius of the air
Has contrived a new terror
That rends them into pieces.

The young men of the world
Are encompassed with death
He is all about them
In a circle of fore and bayonets.

Weep, weep, o women,
And old men break your hearts.

F.S. Flint

The Ticking Clock

2009-12-31T22:46:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year.

I have found a corner away from the celebrating going on at my house...a quiet little place to be in the moment.

Tomorrow, I will wake up and enjoy my day off. I will enjoy my family and laugh with them. But in this moment, I am sad. I have just said goodbye to the best friend and the best friend-in- law. They are leaving early tomorrow to go back to the base across the country.

It is the last time I will see him until 2011.

It was the last time I got to see him, got to hug him, before he goes back to war. Afghan-style this time.

Since he arrived, the clock has been counting down to this moment. Never audible, but always ticking. During every board game, every video game, every movie, every laugh, every toast, every meal, during every moment- the clock was ticking.

There is never enough time to do all that you want to do, to say all the words you want to say...

It has been about 20 minutes since I said goodbye.

I have decided that it wasn't any easier this time than the last time. My heart hurts just the same. I feel a little nauseous. I feel the same pressure behind my eyes from tears that want to fall, if only I would let them. One or two may have snuck out, but I'll never admit to it if you ask. I feel apprehensive and raw. If I was willing to admit it, I'd also say I was feeling a little scared.

War ripples, like a stone dropped in a lake.

I think war has a physical weight you can actually feel if you are paying enough attention. Maybe it is the result of all the stones that gather at the bottom of the lake....

The Marines and Uncle Sam are about to borrow my best friend for a year. He is a lot of things in this world. Among them, he is a husband, a son, a brother, a daddy to a new kitty who he adores, a musician, a gamer, an Operation Iraqi Freedom veteran, a bearer of the title United States Marine.

Each of these things is important, if only a partial list.

But to me, he is the best friend in the whole world. He is the keeper of my secrets, the sharer of my history. He is the ear I borrow when I have a tale to tell. He is my partner in crime and provider of near-death experiences. He is compassionate and reliable when I need him, and also tells me the hard truths when I need to hear those. He listens without judgment. He shares my eclectic taste in music and love for Ring Pop candy. He threatens to (quite possible does) background check my dates, just to be sure. He is the person I call when I am full of excitement. He is the person I call when I am pissed off and need to vent. He is the person I rode my first rollercoaster with.

He is not expendable, nor replaceable.

If it is not too much to ask, USMC, please return him in the condition he was lent...

It would make my heart hurt a whole lot less.

Christmas

2009-12-23T19:05:00.000-08:00

I love Christmas. I love being around family and friends. I love the songs, the smells, and getting cards in the mail. I love the sense of peace it brings me.

This Christmas is one that is spent with the bestie on the eve of deployment. Because of this, each memory is even more precious, even more cherished. It is excitement, tinged with a hint of uncertainty.

It is that hint of uncertainty that reminds me to remember.

After many years of war, there are many homes with an empty spot in their Christmas traditions.

At the bottom of my blog, there is a list of names. In some way, I have a connection to each of them.

So here's to Gunnar, Jessica, Jonathon, James, Chris, Joe, Aaron, Jonathan, and Will. Here's to each of their families. May you have peace this holiday season, your loved ones are not forgotten.

Carl Sandburg

2009-12-17T17:15:00.000-08:00

Killers by Carl Sandburg

I AM singing to you
Soft as a man with a dead child speaks;
Hard as a man in handcuffs,
Held where he cannot move:

Under the sun
Are sixteen million men,
Chosen for shining teeth,
Sharp eyes, hard legs,
And a running of young warm blood in their wrists.

And a red juice runs on the green grass;
And a red juice soaks the dark soil.
And the sixteen million are killing. . . and killing
and killing.

I never forget them day or night:
They beat on my head for memory of them;
They pound on my heart and I cry back to them,
To their homes and women, dreams and games.

I wake in the night and smell the trenches,
And hear the low stir of sleepers in lines--
Sixteen million sleepers and pickets in the dark:
Some of them long sleepers for always,

Some of them tumbling to sleep to-morrow for always,
Fixed in the drag of the world's heartbreak,
Eating and drinking, toiling. . . on a long job of
killing.
Sixteen million men.

Rays of Light

2009-12-12T17:26:00.000-08:00

It is easy to get caught up in the tragedy of war. There is certainly enough to go around. Broken lives, broken bodies, broken minds, broken nations.

But war, at least war as we presently wage it, also presents an opportunity. It is an opportunity to help improve the lives of those citizens of the countries in which we fight. Our soldiers push their guns to the side and embrace humanitarian efforts with the same, if not more, spirit than they do for combat operations.

Recently, an Air Force unit put out a call for school supplies. They were rebuilding schools, but there were few, if any, supplies to fill them. The families of the Airmen were sending some, but they broadened the effort, and sent the word back in mass to the States. I bought supplies, my work and church donated supplies, six boxes in all. Each one filled with folders, scissors, chalk, markers, pencils and sharpeners, just about anything you can think of.

The thing I love about my country is that almost without fail, if people know about a need, and have a direct way to help, they will do so with enormous genorosity.

We sent them with love and well wishes to the Airmen who organized the effort.

The Airmen thanked us in return, and sent us pictures of themselves making supply packets to hand to the children. I looked up pictures of these types of humanitarian efforts in southern Iraq to create a picture of what happened to all those packets.

There is the hope that these types of humanitarian efforts will help. If that means they help stabilize a country, or they mean inspiring one child, maybe change one negative opinion about the American people, it remains to be seen. Maybe they will sow the seeds of peace.

In the midst of the darkness that is war, light can shine through.

These Airmen are those rays of light.

Precious

2009-12-09T11:55:00.000-08:00

I found out yesterday that a Marine from my hometown was wounded in Afghanistan.

He went to the rival high school, graduating not long after I did.

I wish the wounds of war were like the wounds you see on tv. A cop is shot on duty, but its only a deep tissue wound, an FBI agent grazed in the head by a bullet. All wounds easily fixed by next weeks episode.

The thing about war is that nothing about it is easy.

This Marine faces at least two years of reconstructive surgeries and rehab. He has facial wounds that may be permanently disfiguring.

It is a reminder that each moment you have with loved ones in the armed forces is precious. You might not get another one, or the next one you get may be under vastly different circumstances than the last.

I am praying for him and wish him a speedy recovery.

I am praying for all the soldiers and Marines who are headed to Afghanistan in the coming months, and those who are deployed around the world now.

Hug your favorite Marine today, and if you don't have one, hug your favorite soldier, sailor, or airman instead.

Holidays in Afghanistan

2009-12-01T15:47:00.000-08:00

As the President prepares to announce his strategy in Afghanistan, and pundits on cable news argue about numbers and troop increases, it is important to remember the individuals that allow any strategy to be successful.

These individuals fighting in Afghanistan are fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, sons and daughters, aunts and uncles, cousins, and best friends. They are American, British, Polish, Australian, and Canadian- among others. They have favorite movies and post-deployment vacation plans.

Those that will make up a troop "surge" will probably take pre-deployment leave soon. They will visit family and friends, or some exotic locale, and try to make as many memories as possible before they leave. Behind each one of those numbers on the tv screen is a person.

Many members of our military are far from home this holiday season. More soon will be. It is important that we remember them, as well as their families, who face an empty place at the table, and a picture in place of a loved one.

We must also remember the families of the fallen, whose empty seat during the holiday season is permanent.

Remember our troops. Pray for them. Give them the support they have earned.

Remembering

2009-11-30T19:30:00.001-08:00

When you remember me, it means that you have carried something of who I am with you, that I have left some mark of who I am on who you are. You can summon me back to your mind even though countless years and miles may stand between us. It means... that if we meet again, you will know me. It means that even after I die, you can still see my face and hear my voice and speak to me in your heart.-- Frederick Buechner

Heart

2009-11-24T19:51:00.000-08:00

Lead with the heart, your instincts are usually right. The rest ...the cerebral can only be attained once the heart knows what's what.

Warriors

2009-11-22T22:08:00.000-08:00

That's why I want to speak to you now. To say: no person, trying to take responsibility for her or his identity, should have to be so alone. There must be those among whom we can sit down and weep, and still be counted as warriors. I think you thought there was no such place for you, and perhaps there was none then, and perhaps there is none now; but we will have to make it, we who want an end to suffering, who want to change the laws of history, if we are not to give ourselves away.~ Adrienne Rich

USMC Birthday

2009-11-12T18:12:00.000-08:00

Last week I had the opportunity to spend the Marine Corps Birthday with a group of local USMC veterans.

I have had the privilege of developing a relationship with them over the past 4 years and they have really taken me under their wing. I love working with warriors; it doesn't matter the branch of service, but Marines are special to me. This group of old warriors taught me the customs and traditions of the Corps. They taught me their values and their legacy. Most importantly, they trusted me with their stories.

These are the stories I hold dear to my heart. One man fought in the naval campaigns around Guam in WWII. He said that he is getting to the age where he worries that no one will remember what they did there. I told him he could tell me his story, and I would remember. He has, and I do.

The group of Vets that I spent the Birthday with are individually remarkable. Together, they tell the collective history of the Corps. From D, who is a veteran of the Pacific island-hopping campaign of World War II, to C, my personal hero and one of the Chosin Few- who had a bullet graze the top of his head on his 17th birthday- and who later served 3 tours in Vietnam as a Recon Marine, to B, a Vietnam vet with more than a few pages in his service record that remain blacked out, to L, who served in the Desert Storm, and our new, young vets of the GWOT...

Each one of these men are heroes. They will resist the label if you try to attach it to them, but it is the truth. Despite their accomplishments, they are humble. They are the kindest, most compassionate, most loyal, most honorable, most decent group of men I have ever met.

I am proud to call them friends. I am proud to receive their hugs and listen to their stories.

I am thankful that such men live.

Ft. Hood

2009-11-05T19:49:00.000-08:00

My heart is with Ft. Hood tonight. Praying for the wounded, the families of the fallen, and all those on post who have had their sense of security shattered. I have no words.

American Son

2009-10-31T19:36:00.000-07:00

I stumbled onto Nick Cannon's indie film American Son recently. I am always a little skeptical about Iraq war films, as they tend to be politicized or just laughably bad. (Home of the Brave- I'm talking to you.) However, I was surprised by this one.

It was actually pretty good.

The story follows Mike, the main character, a boot Marine on leave before his first deployment to Iraq. He is about as green as he can be, an infantryman who just finished SOI. The film is an intimate look at the mix of emotions that is a young man's last trip home before heading to war. It shows the tension, the melancholy, essentially the shadow that hangs over such visits. Iraq is in the main character's head during everything he does. When he finally reveals to those he cares about that his deployment is emanate, you see how Iraq becomes a part of everyone around him.

The film shows Mike's internal journey, as his last hours at home count down. The film does a good job of showing the very personal journey each warrior must go through on these trips. You know each Marine is trying to fit as much life as possible into the next 96 hours. There are a million things he has always wanted to do, a million people to see one more time, a million conversations that need to be had, a million fears to push away, a million questions to answer. Does he rush a new relationship he doesn't have the luxury to develop slowly? Does he make peace with the family issues from his past that hang over him? Does he explain to his beloved little sister what is about to happen? Does he meet with the young, wounded, wreck of a Marine who lives near his new girl and longs for the camaraderie that was ripped away from him, when her family asks? Can he afford to put those images of the worst case scenario in his head?

The film shows the changes that happen in a Marine that are made evident for the first time when he rejoins his old crew. He is now a little more mature, a little more controlled, a little more somber. He sees his old life in a new light, and must reevaluate his friendships, and himself.

You go on this journey with Mike, gradually coming to realize with him that there simply isn't enough time to resolve all he needs to resolve. The world he left to become a Marine has changed while he was gone, and will continue changing when he leaves again, and he will be left even further behind. Mike, and the audience, must decide if this is a good or bad thing. Maybe it is a little of both.

I found the final 1o minutes particularly moving. He says goodbye to his family, convinces his mother for the first time that he will be alright, then attempts to reconcile with his stepfather as he comes to realize and give voice to the idea that he might not come out of it ok after all.

As his leave comes to an end, he packs up and prepares to say goodbye to his family. The film captures that awkward, heavy, aching moment where one has to choose what to say, when you are essentially saying goodbye. But there are a thousand things left unfinished, undone, and unsaid. The film ends on that uncertainty as Mike finishes his journey home, and begins a journey of a whole other kind.

Really my only complaint involves the special features. Why is it that so many people find the military so complicated, particularly people who make movies? They refer, on many occasions, to scenes on the "Army base," or to "Army guys," or "Army uniform." Specifically, when talking about a shot in the commentary, one of TPTB exclaim, "That's not really an Army base, that's a school." Hello! Your main character is a MARINE! Why would a MARINE be living on, and subsequently leaving an ARMY post?! Does that really make sense in your head!? You refer to the character being stationed at Camp Pendleton. I've been there. Camp Pendleton makes it easy. They put United States Marine Corps on the sign for you, just in case you forget what branch of the service you are dealing with. And how hard is it to hire a military technical advisor that can correct this ignorance? I know you had one, you showed him in the behind the scenes feature! If you can't find the advisor, can't you ask the family whose house you shot the film in who has a son in the Marines? I'm pretty sure they will tell you their son deploys from a Marine Corps base. That is my pet peeve. Stupid things that are easily corrected if the filmmakers were willing to put a little bit of effort into learning about the subject they are making a movie about.

I guess I find it hard to believe there are people in the world that are so disconnected from the military that such a mistake wouldn't seem unfathomable to them.

But other than that, pretty good movie. And they keep the politics out of it, which is such a difficult thing for Hollywood to do.

Hemingway

2009-10-28T22:11:00.000-07:00

Ernest Hemingway wrote to F. Scott Fitzgerald in 1925:

...."war is the best subject of all. It groups the maximum of material and speeds up the action and brings out all sorts of stuff that normally you have to wait a lifetime to get."

Soldiers Angels

2009-10-24T19:22:00.000-07:00

Consider supporting Soldiers Angels. Deployed service personnel need all the support that they can get. I made this video and it reflects my experiences with the organization.

Beirut Barracks Bombing

2009-10-23T08:59:00.000-07:00

Today is the anniversary of the bombing of the Marine Corps Barracks in Beirut, Lebanon.

241 American service personnel were killed, 220 of which were Marines. The blasts led to the withdrawal of the international peacekeeping force from Lebanon, where they had been stationed following the Israeli 1982 Invasion of Lebanon.

A couple of years ago, I was at a campaign event where I met a Marine veteran. As the evening progressed, he began to open up about this time in the service and what his experiences were. Then he told me about his son. He told me about his love for motorcycles and how he followed his father's example and joined the Marine Corps as soon as he was able. The man told me about the deep pride he felt in his son, and about how he turned into such an honorable man. He told me about how his son's smile could light up a room. He told me about the many friends his son had all over the world. I asked if his son was still in the Marine Corps.

He stopped, and his eyes were overtaken by the kind of pain that could only mean one thing. This gruff man cleared his throat a couple of times and told me that his son was no longer with us. He had been killed in Beirut.

He told me the story about how his son's Marine buddies had dug through the rubble, trying to get him out. But it was futile, his son was already gone. He told me about the Marines who cared for his son's broken body until it was returned to him.

He told me that he still goes to see his son, every week, in the place where he is buried.

In honor and memory of this man, and this man's son, I remember the Marines killed in Beirut on this day, in 1983.

The Good Soldiers

2009-10-19T08:24:00.001-07:00

I read David Finkel's The Good Soldiers this weekend.

Finkel's coverage of Battalion 2-16 as they deployed and executed "the surge" strategy is remarkable. He writes with compassion as he captures the personalities of the 2-16. The Ranger Battalion lost 14 men KIA, with many more being wounded. Finkel uses the framework of presidential speeches to compare the macro and micro events in the time period he is with the soldiers of 2-16.

Finkel truly captures the brotherhood these soldiers have. He does not shy away from covering the mental aspect of warfare and how each of the soldiers responds to it differently. He covers PTSD and "survivor guilt" within the unit with honesty and without judgment. He manages to cover both the leadership and the enlisted men without a preference for either one.

Good book, but a tough read. These soldiers were in the thick of it, and have the stories to prove it.

Getting My Feet Under Me

2009-10-18T14:23:00.000-07:00

A week ago, Knapp had broken her long public silence with a statement on her website, saying that she had been "traveling mostly" during her time away from music. She wrote: "My experiences have been both wildly exotic and extraordinarily mundane. But mostly I will say that I have had a chance to get my feet under me. I took that time to discover more about myself and my own faith without the veil of expectations to a cause. Without writing a novel at this point, I'll just say that I'm starting to think that I might actually be a songwriter, musician, or artist of some kind … So, maybe I should do something about it?

One of my favorite music artists recently returned to the stage after a long time away. She spent several years pouring her heart and soul into this thing called the music industry, and then walked away. No one really knew where she went or why she disappeared. I was one who clung to the hope that one day, she might return.

With a statement on her website, she answered a few of the lingering questions. She put into words something that I have spent the last year doing. She describes it as "getting my feet under me." That is what I have been doing. I spent 4 years of high school and 4 years of college trying to do what everyone else expected of me. I worked harder than maybe I should have at that. I worked too many hours at a place that didn't appreciate it, and took what I would call challenging (others call insane) course load at the university. I succeeded at it too. Kicked academic butt.

I poured my soul into volunteer efforts that I felt were worthwhile. I gave up too much of myself until I hit empty. But I learned a lot about life.

I left college, degree with honors in hand, completely and totally spent. I had no idea who I was anymore, or what I wanted to do with myself. I worked a job that was everything I never want to be. I'm at a better place now, but not somewhere with the word career attached to it. I get tired of the questions, and the vaguely disappointed stares. I get tired of the accusation that I am not putting my "incredible potential" to good use.

It has taken me over a year to feel like I have any gas in the tank to give. I have spent that year trying to find myself. It has meant trips to southern California and campouts in the woods where I can just sit with nature and try to listen to myself for once. I am trying to rediscover the fire, the passion, and self confidence that used to define me and is still in there somewhere. I'm not sure when I lost it but I did.

It has meant deep conversations with close friends and mentors. It has meant questioning everything I have ever believed to be true. A lot of people have hung in there with me, but there are some voices I have learned I don't have to listen to anymore. It has meant discovering the voices that affirm me when my belief in myself wanes.

It has meant drudging up the buried, dark places, and holding them up to the light. There are many people who would claim that "our perfect Wendy" doesn't have any darkness. To you, I'd say maybe that says something about how well you know me. Can anyone who deals intimately with those who deal with the darkest of human darkness-war-ever come away unscathed? Can anyone who has seen the Church fail come away with their faith untarnished?

It has meant healing.

It is easy to put a smile on your face, make up some BS life plan, and say that you are fine. Truth is, I'm not quite done with my sabbatical yet. Given that I've never taken one in my life, I think it is justified. I'm at the point where I am "starting to think I might be a _____." I'm not there yet. But I'm getting there.

I will be at the "maybe I should start doing something about it" stage soon enough.

Pfc. Steven, USMC

2009-10-15T20:56:00.000-07:00

Congratulations to my cousin Steven on his completion of USMC Basic Combat Training. He has earned the title of Marine. Way to go Steven! We are proud of you!

"THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS... is over 225 years of romping, stomping, hell, death and destruction. The finest fighting machine the world has ever seen. We were born in a Bomb Crater, Our Mother was an M-16 & Our Father was the Devil. Each moment that I live is an additional threat upon your life. I am a rough looking, roving soldier of the sea. I am cocky, self-centered, overbearing, and do not know the meaning of fear, for I am fear itself. I am a green amphibious monster, made of blood and guts, who arose from the sea, feasting on anti-Americans throughout the globe. Whenever it may arise, and when my time comes, I will die a glorious death on the battlefield, giving my life for Mom, the Corps, and the American Flag. We stole the eagle from the Air Force, the anchor from the Navy, and the rope from the Army. On the 7th day, while God rested, we over-ran his perimeter and stole the globe, and we've been running the show ever since. We live like soldiers and talk like sailors and slap the Hell out of both of them. Marine by day, lover by night, drunkard by choice, MARINE BY GOD!!! OORAH!!!"

"Marines are about the most peculiar breed of human beings I have ever witnessed. They treat their service as if it were some kind of cult, plastering their emblem on almost everything they own, making themselves up to look like insane fanatics with haircuts ungentlemanly short, worshiping their Commandant almost as if he were a god, and making weird animal noises like a band of savages. They will fight like rabid dogs at the drop of a hat just for the sake of a little action and are the cockiest SOB's I have ever known. Most have the foulest mouths and drink well beyond a man's normal limits. But, their high spirits and sense of brotherhood set them apart and generally speaking the United States Marines I have come in contact with are the most professional soldiers and the finest men I have had the pleasure to meet." Anonymous Canadian Citizen 1969.