This is unrelated to what I do, but something happened to me last night that I must share. Two-part story.
What happens to a man who becomes a soldier? What happens to that same man who experiences combat for the first time on a tour overseas, and endures unimaginable pain when his friends don't return from a mission? What do you tell him when you see him? What words can we use to show just how sorry we are and how emotional we feel over his loss?
From the scrawny little shy kid you knew in high school emerged a born and bred killing machine, who at the same time swears to preserve the peace of our nation and civilians around the world. A 20-something year old kid who had nowhere else to go in life, living with his parents, going in and out of relationships with people who treated him like dirt and people who seemed like they cared. A man who struggled to stand up for himself. He became a brother to me, to put it simply. We could depend on each other to be there when needed. He was like family. The US Army was his last shot at success. He entered the service, he passed basic training, he was molded from a boy into a man. Afghanistan was calling his name...he answered.
I knew where he was, kept contact with his sister-in-law, hoping to hear that he was OK. I worried. I worried for his safety, just what kind of hell those savages in the mountains of Asia would unleash upon him. Out of the blue, from nowhere, I suddenly received a Facebook message at work. Yes I carry my laptop in my ambulance, some days can get quite boring. It was him. He was taking time out to message me that he was OK and was due to come home soon. The contents of that conversation are too long to post here, but some detail included his first combat, hearing the sounds of bullets flying over his head, knowing that somebody was trying to kill him. In a nutshell he said "This is not fun, this is a war we cannot win." He proceeded to tell me that he had funerals to go to, that 3 of his friends were dead, killed by an IED explosion. Several more wounded but he was not on the patrol when it happened. I sat in my ambulance in tears of joy over seeing him respond to me. Finally, my fears were alleviated. How much I didn't know...I felt terrible already when he told me about his losses.
When he came home, I knew it to be so. He had a family, I was second nature, and that I understood. Last night he texted me and suddenly wanted to meet up. Of course I accepted. When he alone knocked on the door of my fire station, and I walked through that door and saw him standing there...that smile and those Irish eyes...pure emotion. His first words to me were "Goddamn I've gotta piss". I wouldn't let him. I latched onto him and embraced him like nobody else I had before. Tears of joy once again flowed down my face. I didn't want to let go. Have any of you felt like that? Sure, he was a guy and so am I, but I didn't give a damn. He ended up dragging me into the bathroom with him, where I finally let go and let him do his business. He was back. It was awesome. It just felt so good to finally see him again. I feared for his life and now there he was in front of me, back from hell, ready to continue on with his life.
Then the conversation about his experiences started....this was where my sorrow for him really took hold...
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