"It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us-that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion-that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain." - Abraham Lincoln, Gettysburg Address
I stood numb as the helicopter approached. I rubbed his chest and consoled him as he lay in the street. He squeezed my hand acknowledging that I was there with him at this final moment and that I would not give up on him. We left his helmet on as it was the only thing keeping his skull intact. We had already stripped his cammies, only to find more wounds that soon stained the dirt and sand around him. We continued to tend to his wounds, but it was futile. Where was the helicopter? His pupils moved like a pendulum, but I know he could hear me. I knew he was in pain, and I whispered through clenched teeth, "Keep fighting, don't give up, wait for the helicopter, allow us a chance to save your life." He softly squeezed my hand, as his pupil movement slowed. Minutes passed like hours, 19 years of life slipping away on the Iraq soil, as the distant WHOOMP of the helicopter neared. He squeezed my hand again, and I jolted back to reality. I rushed with a team of Marines toward the landing zone. We gently loaded him and everyone pulled back, but as his commander, I stood there one final moment with my Marine. I touched his head for what I knew would be the last time, and thanked him. The clarity in his eyes was waning as I whispered a final prayer, and tied my scapular to his helmet. He was in such pain, but he kept fighting. I assured him we would meet again, and as fast as the helicopter descended, it soared back into the heavens, gone from sight.
Soon after, I would receive news supporting my fear. He passed away. I climbed into the bed of the humvee destined toward base. My mind raced, yet I wasn't really thinking. All I remember is asking God to never, ever let me forget how I felt that day. I vowed then to live my life for the fallen, and dedicate my days to honor them and their sacrifice.
When people find out I am in the military, they respond by thanking me for my service. I am humbled at this gesture and grateful for their intent, but I always think of those who didn't come home. I think of their spouses, parents, siblings, and children. Those still here, who go about their lives, striving for the normalcy of what their life once was, but stricken with the deep loss only others who have experienced it can understand. Please, thank them, not me.
I stood numb as the helicopter approached. I rubbed his chest and consoled him as he lay in the street. He squeezed my hand acknowledging that I was there with him at this final moment and that I would not give up on him. We left his helmet on as it was the only thing keeping his skull intact. We had already stripped his cammies, only to find more wounds that soon stained the dirt and sand around him. We continued to tend to his wounds, but it was futile. Where was the helicopter? His pupils moved like a pendulum, but I know he could hear me. I knew he was in pain, and I whispered through clenched teeth, "Keep fighting, don't give up, wait for the helicopter, allow us a chance to save your life." He softly squeezed my hand, as his pupil movement slowed. Minutes passed like hours, 19 years of life slipping away on the Iraq soil, as the distant WHOOMP of the helicopter neared. He squeezed my hand again, and I jolted back to reality. I rushed with a team of Marines toward the landing zone. We gently loaded him and everyone pulled back, but as his commander, I stood there one final moment with my Marine. I touched his head for what I knew would be the last time, and thanked him. The clarity in his eyes was waning as I whispered a final prayer, and tied my scapular to his helmet. He was in such pain, but he kept fighting. I assured him we would meet again, and as fast as the helicopter descended, it soared back into the heavens, gone from sight.
Soon after, I would receive news supporting my fear. He passed away. I climbed into the bed of the humvee destined toward base. My mind raced, yet I wasn't really thinking. All I remember is asking God to never, ever let me forget how I felt that day. I vowed then to live my life for the fallen, and dedicate my days to honor them and their sacrifice.
When people find out I am in the military, they respond by thanking me for my service. I am humbled at this gesture and grateful for their intent, but I always think of those who didn't come home. I think of their spouses, parents, siblings, and children. Those still here, who go about their lives, striving for the normalcy of what their life once was, but stricken with the deep loss only others who have experienced it can understand. Please, thank them, not me.
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