It’s interesting to me the way outsiders see our
lives. There are so many uncomfortable
questions asked, and our answers never seem to quench the interests of the
inquisitors. We have all formulated our
responses in advance to deflect the attention and hopefully be able to continue
pushing our grocery cart through Target.
There are also answers that the general public doesn’t really want to
hear. It would be too unsettling for
them. Every now and again, I feel like handing them what they asked for. There
is one question in particular that makes me cringe and I’m likely to answer it
truthfully. It certainly will shut a person up, and possibly haunt them for a
while. They won’t ask a military family
member again, “Aren’t you afraid he’ll die”?
That one’s a doozey. Personally,
this question has only been presented to me twice, but I hear from fellow
military families that they hear it often from family, old friends and even
strangers. Let me address this question
and its apparent lack of thoughtfulness on the questioner’s part.
Yes, we are afraid that our loved ones will
die. We are also afraid that his best
friend will die or that one of his soldiers will die. I take every loss personally. Whether it is a soldier I have not met, or a marine
I hear about on the news, a little piece of my heart dies. Every helicopter that comes crashing to the
ground cradling allied forces knocks the wind out of me. I am afraid that he will die. I have also cultured an understanding that dying isn’t the worst thing that can happen to a soldier. I have seen what burns look like. I spoke with an NCO several years ago who
survived an IED attack, but sustained third degree burns on 80% of his
body. His fingers were stubs. His nose was gone along with his eyelids. Where his ears had been remained only
holes. He was active duty,
non-deployable, but still very much an asset to our Army. His experience is invaluable. Although he was
grateful for his life, he believed he had survived a sentence far more morbid
than death. I have to agree with
him.
In a world where unspeakable
horrors are just part of the job, death has lost a bit of its sting. Many of us realize that death comes with the territory.
We are hoping that our soldiers come home in one piece. Many soldiers leave only fragments behind
for their families to bury. There will
be no closure for the grieving. There
will be no last viewing. In a casket somewhere,
sits a vacant dress uniform pinned with medals. To the dead, it doesn’t matter. To the living, it is a gaping wound that will
never heal. Their wives or fiancés or
siblings went to Afghanistan and will never return home. If you ask a military mother or wife this
silly, inconsiderate question, I hope their answer sounds like this, “Die? Well, sure I’m afraid he will die. I’m more afraid that he will come home in
pieces or that his remains will not be distinguishable from the other soldiers
who are blown apart with him, or that he will come home physically but have left
his battered spirit to die over there”.
Chris has been home
from Afghanistan for 11 months. He returned without any injuries and to our
great relief all of our close friends also returned from Afghanistan
unharmed. My baby brother was not so
fortunate, but he is healing from the IED attack last July. In a conversation I had with him today, he
told me he is only using his cane when he is really tired or hurting. His left leg was broken into bits during the
explosion. With divine intervention, or more likely because the surgeon paid attention during medical school, or just chalk it up to
dumb luck, that doctor was able to piece him back together. It will take a lot of effort and pain but he
will recover. As an Army family we have watched so many soldier's lives be
shattered by the last decade of war.
Divorces, broken bodies and severed spirits have littered our military
life. We have watched as soldiers were
laid to rest after giving their lives for this under-appreciated and
misunderstood institution. Yes, U.S.
soldiers fight bravely for our nation, but at the end of a battle you will find
it was their battle buddies for which they sacrificed. It is the wives and children and fathers and
sisters and childhood friends of those battle buddies that each soldier
considers when marching into bullets. No
Army officer or NCO or private wants to think about returning home without one
of their own sitting tightly packed into a C-130 next to them. It will happen though. It has happened, far more than I ever
imagined.
Twelve years ago, when our
president dispatched the first units into Afghanistan, I thought it would be a
quick in and out, precise operation. Our
superior forces would land, collect the enemy, then try and execute the bastard
for what he did. In my collections of
memories concerning international conflicts there was only the Cold War (which felt more like impending doom than war) and the Gulf War. One hundred days of tanks and tents and
surrendering Iraqi soldiers set the precedent for which I thought all wars
would be fought. We are the United
States of America and we can take care of anything. That was my mind set. I am ashamed to admit it but I could not have
pointed to Afghanistan on a map prior to 9-11.
Now, I can label every country in the Middle East. I can tell you their
long and violent histories. I can tell
you the valleys and gulches scattered throughout a country that even a fictional god has
forsaken. I can estimate how many clicks east one location is from the other
based on where my friend's husbands, sisters and sons are stationed. I am able to tell you who is at the top of
our most wanted list, who has recently been killed by a drone strike, and who
is left to eradicate.
I have an opinion
about the rebuilding of this country.
Afghanistan is a country where outside governments pay Afghan citizens to clean their own sewage from their homes in their own villages. This is a country in
which its citizens have completely wiped out timber in a rush for easy
cash. This is a country that allows its
women to die during childbirth rather than allow a male doctor to treat
her because an archaic book tells them so. This is a country where after a man
is blown apart by U.S. forces for launching an RPG at an allied building or
vehicle, he then comes to ask for surgery.
Afghanistan is a country in which men's hands are skillfully removed for
what is believed to be petty theft, by an illiterate man who cannot read his
holy book, and will sentence his daughter to death if she is raped. This is a
country lost to war and blind religious faith.
It isn't the U.S. that broke this country. It is a country that has been riddled with
sorrow for so long that I believe they miss the chaos during the calm. This is a country we are best to forget
about, at least for now. Much like my
brother's recovery, Afghanistan is going to have to learn to stand on it's
crippled legs at some point. All the
canes, walkers and therapy won't do any good if the people who populate this
country refuse to take a deep breath, roll up their sleeves and work for the
betterment of all its own citizens rather than an easy payday, no matter how
painful change is. So, I say, let Afghanistan
learn to walk. Sometimes the best way to
teach a person to be independent is to stop supporting their wobbling legs and
allow them to walk or fall on their own.
