The Traveling Wall…

We loaded up this morning to drive down to Gainesville, Texas to attend the yearly book signings of the Medal of Honor recipients. We found out also that the traveling memorial was also in Gainesville this weekend. We decided to stop at the monument first. It was at the local high school and they really needed the room. This is not just a memorial for the fallen Vietnam veterans, this has information and dedications from all of the wars that the US military men and woman have been involved in since the country began. There was information spread out over a couple hundred yards of ground. I got pretty overwhelmed rather quickly being surrounded by the names and souls of so many warriors.

We went first to the war on terror panels and names.. there were so many names that I honestly felt pretty bad that I could not just sit there and read them all. I found Micheal’s name, and then looked for a few others who’s fathers or mothers I’ve had contact with over the years. I started reading names and dates and just had to stop after seeing the rows of names and the dates. There were 11 names on one day and I just couldn’t read the names anymore.. I had to take a stroll around the rest of the things there. By this time the place started to fill up rather rapidly. Lots of the motorcycle groups from around the area had motored in and started to view the names.

I had something happen that I didn’t mean to happen and feel pretty bad about it actually. As I approached the panel where Micheal is listed and where my wife and youngest son were standing, a group from one of the motorcycle groups came up and asked of him;”Does he understand what the names here mean”? I (without really thinking about it) replied ” He should, his brother is on this panel right there”. I guess I could have handled that better had I thought about it.. I just kind of blurted it out without thinking. He thankfully didn’t seem to think I was a complete jerk and we shook hands and went our separate ways. I couldn’t talk to him as I was for some reason fighting the emotions I was feeling since I got there had reached my level of containment. I meant to go find him and apologize. but I couldn’t find him again. I hope he understands.

We went from the memorial to the hall where the book signings and meet and greet for the MOH recipients were, this is our third year going there so we knew where to go and what the process was. Most of the gentlemen who were there had been there the previous years we went and visited a bit with them and I noticed that at one of the tables there signing books was no other than Joe Galloway. For those who don’t know, he was the man who survived the now famous battle in the La Drang Valley with Col Hal Moore and the 7th Cav. He co-wrote “We were soldiers once.. and young”. For his actions aiding and rescuing soldiers that day, he is the only civilian who was ever awarded the bronze star for his actions in Vietnam.

He talked a long while with several old veterans who were in line before me. One of them was an on 7th Cav trooper. I got my turn, I thanked him for being there and for all that he has done spreading the word of the bravery of the United States military. I asked him to sign his book and while doing so, my youngest came up to the table. Mr Galloway stopped what he was doing and gave my son a very important lesson about the world and learning and remembering history so we never repeat it. I felt really good that he took the time to personally address a kid.. I have a picture with Mr Galloway (thanks Angelia) and my son. I was an emotionally drained, windblown worn out Dad when I got home..

Something I thought I’d never do

There are special days and weeks that everyone waits for with eagerness and great memories that happen in those times and dates. Speed week, Spring break, the whole holiday season, it’s normal and until a few years ago, I looked forward to some of these same things. That’s part of the whole human experience I guess.

The “new normal” has changed things for all of us “Gold Star” people I guess. I would not really speak for others who all walk the trail but speaking personally there really is no season or days that I really can honestly say that I look forward to like others do. That may be pretty sad for most people, but it’s really the way that I feel.

The week I’m referring to is February 24th – March 4th I guess technically it’s more than a week, but you get the idea. From the knock on the door until my son’s funeral is a period of time that for me doesn’t seem like it will ever get easier. This year was probably tougher than the last as there were a few things happening that never did before.

This week we got interviewed for a PBS special about the whole gold star experience. The two guys who came down to shoot and interview us were top notch and I felt comfortable pretty soon after we started talking. We went out to the cemetery and they shot some footage. I don’t like going to the cemetery because frankly, I don’t really think of my son as being there. Every once in a while I will go out to the grave alone and reflect and focus on things and have more or less some quiet time.
The interview was not too bad, the interviewer asked some questions and the responses were pretty easy as they are all stored where they are easy to get to. There was one question that I had a hard timing finding the answer too… “Name something funny that Micheal did”. I had to really try and separate all of the silly and funny things he did constantly and got a massive “brain cramp” and really couldn’t come up with anything.

The rest of the interview was OK, but I found myself starting to crack when I was describing the day that we got Micheal home. Wow… it is a lot easier to write down than to talk to an interviewer about. If you ever get to see the special, I know you’ll hear it in my voice… the tears in the eyes of the interviewer didn’t really help. (Just kidding interviewer dude)

My wife did the next interview and I had to go out into the back yard and unwind… I didn’t want to distract them and I needed a break. A few adult beverages and a nice chat with one of Micheal’s platoon members. We went back inside and it was his turn in the hot seat. It was great to hear his accounts of my son’s antics, his soldering and of course the account of his last day. They all thought that when Micheal was flown out, he was on his way to get fixed … sadly, by the time they got back to their barracks; all of my son’s effects were gone… I’m sure that was horrible as anything else that day. It was probably not much longer until we got the news that they already knew.

Thank you Ryan, for being there that day… and with us the whole week.

The bunker disturbed

Remember the story about the bunker that I have exiled myself to for going on three years now? Well, the small forays into the world of the new normal have been growing in time and I guess in distance. The bunker however is still there. Lots of things in the bunker have entered, been placed like bricks in the walls and have laid there frozen in time along with me. We decided that it was long overdue to get things moving and continue to make this place livable and even more likable for ourselves. New windows, siding, carpet the things that make a house or even bunker more comfortable.
New carpets means moving things, lots of things… in face EVERYTHING. That in normal houses is probably a large endeavor, in the bunker where things have come a part of the revetments and defenses, this became larger than I ever expected. We had to dig out the corners of things and memories and life from the last three years. I felt rather good about this as it felt like I was really moving, going somewhere. The last few days were near 80 and the sun was shining, sanding painting and patching.

Today I was setting up a computer that has pretty much sat in the corner of the back bedroom for the last few years into my youngest son’s room. I figured that it’s just sitting and gathering dust and he really deserves to have a computer of his own that he can play what he wants when he wants. Part of the process of moving computers of course is moving all the “stuff” that goes with them. I discovered several discs that were well hidden in the bottom shelves..
I had this feeling that they were pictures of the recent past. I found out that they were things that I had seen and had basically forced into the black bag in the back of my skull. The first disc was of the day Micheal came home, the pictures instantly brought it all back The crowds, the motorcycles, private jet the hangar, the line of cars and bikes, the strangers lined up down the streets leading into the town, all of it. The fact is that I was right back there and that day.
The next disc was of my Ft Benning trip, the turning blue, the graduation, the young shiny new infantryman and his new family, me and my old infantry buddy who went on the trip, the pictures of the “welcome home Pokey” banner on the front of the house. It was all there.. the smiles in the pictures from all of in the photos.. it was surreal.
The last disc contained Micheal’s high school graduation. The cap and gown and the checkerboard vans the promise of a new citizen and a soon to be soldier..

The Difference in Deaths?

Is there a difference in death? I can honestly say that I believe so. I got caught off guard the other day and it struck me how different that a death can be. November 30th was the anniversary of my mother’s passing 22 years ago. I had long forgotten this date as the date was never more important that the loss. The loss was I guess ingrained in me as a young man. It is a certainty that at some point in our lives we will lose our parents our elders even our siblings. For my mother this happened far too soon and not in the best manner. She was taken by the beast, Cancer. She fought it off the first time, but as most beasts do, they can sense when you are weak may come back to claim what they missed the first time.

My mother was a damn important person in my life. She was always my mother but we were also great friends we had the type of relationship where nothing really was out-of-bounds. She was someone who I admired for being able to do what she did. When the beast had her for the second time and the battle was near the end, I could tell that she was just tired of fighting and there is no more helpless a feeling that watching someone you love so much, start to lose their battle to live. We talked about it one day and I told her how much I loved her and that if my kids turned out half as good as I feel that I turned out, I would be proud. I told her that when she felt she needed to, that there was nothing wrong with letting go. We would all be OK because of the way she and my dad raised us. We were raised to do the best we could with whatever we had at the time.

No long after that, I got the call one evening that my mother had indeed passed away. I was like everyone upset and mourned for our loss but this was no shock. I could feel better and almost relieved that she was no longer in pain and that for the first time in years could get some peace. I know that my mother is still with me and has never really left the family. There are a lot of examples of this. This brings me to the difference in deaths in our lives. Mt Grandfather passed away while I was stationed in Germany he too was caught by the beast… I gathered my Infantry brothers around, had a drink to him and his life and I moved on as he would have expected. My mother expected the same and I owed that to her. I had a young family to support and raise and all I could do was get after the task of doing that with a few moments of seeking out her silent advice on what to do at various times.. But always moving forward…

The death of my son is completely different and the hour and the date are seemingly forever burned into my soul. I cannot seem to move past this. Where glimpses and thoughts of my mother or grandpa bring me thoughts of happiness and even a smile or two, when something triggers thoughts of my son, there is only feelings of deep remorse and dread. The simplest thing can get me into that mode where I cannot seem to go anywhere but backward, back to the moment, phone call, the news, the wait, the ceremonies and too his loss. There seems to be a difference in seeing what we lost as opposed to what my son lost. I think I mourn more for what he has lost more than what I have lost this time. At this time of year when there is so much electricity in the air, so many past memories of my own childhood and of my own children. I hope someday to meet up with all of my lost loved ones someday in the great hereafter … I hope I’m worthy enough to make this happen. I hope that they all have a Merry Christmas and are out there somewhere enjoying the love that we all had for each other. I love you all and miss you still.

Be wary of those too eager to attend.

I’ve been stewing over this for a few days and today it just came to the point that I had to write some of this down and send it out there for others to either contemplate or scoff at like most other things that they don’t take the time to think over. The story is multi-faceted and of course you’d have to know more about my general feelings on religion, people and the human race in general. After having a few discussions with others about the happenings there.. I just am heartsick over what it appeared to me to be.

We had another fine young man come home to his family via Dover this week He was killed by hostile forces in Afghanistan and he like thousands of others did so to make the world a better place. He volunteered to answer his kinds call.. the same as those who answer this centuries old call do. Humanity is in trouble, his kind have gathered their nerve, joined together and bravely went out to meet this threat while others simply wave off humanity to those who have the nerve and too many damn them for it.

This young man came home to be embraced by his family, his friends and those who touched his life and those who’s lives he touched and to buried in peace and if anyone on earth deserves this right.. it is he and those warriors like him. Instead of peace he was tossed into yet another battle. This battle is ever growing and becoming something that is almost too shameful for words. This man came home to a battle between forces, which have lost sight of what they are supposed to be doing on this earth.

I know that what I’m saying will probably hit some people the wrong way, but for me it has to be said. There is a problem growing between the forces on both ends of these sad events. There are the core, who do what they do for the expressed goals of their organization. The ride captain and the core of the men and women who escorted my son home were and always will be honored and cherished by me. I am very worried that this solemn duty is in trouble of being overrun by those who simply want to “get even” or use this as a tool to get closer to ‘the enemy”.

Over the last few years, and this could be just my ever growing bitterness against the human race but there is a ever growing pack of camp followers and frankly trouble makers who have no desire to do uphold the goals of the mission of these escorts. Far too many of these people have joined to simply be in a place to “get the other guy”. I read the accounts of last Saturday and no matter how much I hate the evil protesters who show up at these warrior’s funerals, I hate what went on at that funeral even more. There was I’m sure the same wall of close protection and respect of the family and the proceedings, but there was also a loud chanting mob to counter the protesters who were just as disruptive and disrespectful as those who were intruding in my opinion. There was also vandalism involved. There was no victory or honor in this at all.

As much as I’d love to see some real harm come to these protesters, There has got to be a better way to keep the high ground these things focused to containment and reverence.

Who’s your team?

I guess it’s the time of year where this matters to a lot of people all over the country more than most everything else in their world. Team sports and professional sports in general have consumed a lot of people here in this country. I guess I have never really caught the bug of professional sports to the level of fanatic. I had one team that I placed all of my hopes, dreams and desires on and this team never even makes the news unless it’s a story that the dirty laundry press loves, A professional sports player gets caught using some banned substance, partaking barbaric levels of animal cruelty or gets caught up in some level of carnal knowledge with someone they shouldn’t have anything to do with… a few million dollars of penance and a few games on the sidelines counting their millions while the flames die down and they are right back in the game being loved, adored and paid the same millions of dollars because they win a game or score points in the land of make believe… a land that doesn’t exist in the real world.

People all over the country spend millions on their teams colors, they spend as much on their teams whether or not they have ever seen them play in front of their own eyes. They wear them and paint their bodies and their possessions their team colors and they speak as though they are taking all the risks and enduring the pain that those actually playing the game do, win, lost or draw, it is always “We”. We played a great game this week, Our car beat out all the others to win, We are world champions again this year. Meanwhile, my team gets hardly a notice, they go out and face real dangers with real consequences and hope only to hear from their fans once in while or to just hear from them. A few cookies, a few pictures from their biggest fans that far too common just aren’t sent often enough.

Professional sports is all the talk and the headlines on newspapers all over the country on Monday morning, meanwhile my team doesn’t get any press if they win, and you might hear a few passing numbers but rarely names on the national news as since the Vietnam war, they simply aren’t allowed to be shown as winning in anything. They answer the call for the team every time they are asked and they have been doing so since the beginning of the time. My team gets no recognition for what they do other than from their own kind, their team and their loved ones who have their hopes and sometimes prayers into. When our players enter the field, it’s sometimes thousands of miles from home, and there are no penalty kicks and the decision of the ultimate judge is definitely final.

My team is the US Military and my favorite all time player has left the field for good. This brothers play on for the same goals and for the same reasons that he did and far too few of them get any type of recognition for the things that they suffer and for the things that they do. We just got word yesterday that we lost several and scores more lives will be affected for REAL for the rest of their lives. Meanwhile tomorrow morning all you will hear is sports scores How about next week, you at least reserve a DAY to acknowledge a team from the US Military? I know that there are only about 1% of the citizens who bother to join the team.. but if you have no one on the team, you have to know someone who is or has a loved one on a team somewhere.. get to know that team and maybe even some of the players, give them a little time and make them special enough to at least think of one day a week.. Hell! How about Wednesday? Not much happens in the middle of the week? Who’s team do you root for?

Dreams

My dreams have returned. Not nightmares! I’ve never really had any of those. I have now started dreaming the same sorts of odd and meaningless dreams that normal people dream. It’s odd and strange, but since we lost Micheal. I have not dreamed or remembered any of them. Sleep has been a non-event really, drift off, fade to black, wake up tired and start another long day. There has only been one dream and it was the exception and the only visit from him where I talked to him, hugged him one last time and then awoke as we pulled away, had a good cry and that was all that there has ever been since. I know that there are those who study these things and insist that it’s impossible not to have dreams and I probably do, but since Micheal was killed I have not had any desires, pleasures or felt the things that make up the substances that creates or causes dreams. I have been alive but honestly, I do not really live anymore I just go through the motions hoping that I’ll snap out of it and start feeling things like I was alive again, I go through the motions, but there is really no extended joy over anything. I try! I honestly do.

I’ve done some things in the last couple of years that now looking back were just a wasted of time and effort, attempts at appearing to be alive, appearing to be getting over things, appearing to enjoying myself. They have all pretty much failed. I bought an old 86 Chevy pick up to fix up, I dropped some money into it and transformed it into something that I wasn’t even looking for, and sold it… I bought a used Suzuki motorcycle seeking to regain some of the solace and pure energy and adrenaline rush that I used to when I was a younger man. I harder I tried, the more forced and synthetic the feelings I got while riding the thing. I rode a few Patriot Guard events and those just were no where to hide either, so it is now on the auction block. I cannot stand to see things thing sit day after day and week after week. I might as well send them out to be used by someone as they were intended to be.

I’ve probably insulted my loved ones in this addition to the blog, that is not the aim at all. What I do need to point out that this is a pure case of everyone having to deal with Micheal’s death on their own terms. There is no cookie cutter, instant and exact way to deal with this and NO ONE can deal with it for you. We have good days and bad days and for me anyway, when I catch myself moving on even a little, it comes with feelings of guilt and angst and varying levels. Hell, If I am on the way to work and find that I have forgotten my ID bracelet, I am overcome with guilt until I get it back on my wrist. There are few things that give me some peace but they are very fleeting and very far away, they may as well be on the moon. I see my wife and children in the various painful and guilt ridden stages of this and am really helpless to do much for them. Any help or even acknowledgment of their struggles comes at a price to them directly. I want to help them all, but suffering the exact same things at different times and at different levels makes it more harmful to them and probably to myself.. This still sucks every single day.

Leaving the gold star on the dresser and in my heart.

It’s been a rather tough couple of months for me I guess. Lots of things are just out of kilter for me and I’m tired of most everything. I posted about the comments that the once supposed ex-military man left on the blog but not the reactions to that post from some others who have opined as to what they feel I am. I don’t think I will other than to say that the guy who posted those words on my blog about the photos of the young dieing Marine, my son and the military in general seem to have a lot more like minded supporters out there than I’d ever thought possible. The reaction to that story and from the direction it came was probably the worst part of all. I’d like to say that this was the first shot fired from that direction and for the same exact reason, but it wasn’t. This just solidifies my decision to drop out even more. This may seem like my version of Richard Nixon’s “Checkers” speech and it probably is more than even I realize. There are a lot of people out there supporting the military for all the greatest reasons in the world, and there are just way too many who are out there for themselves and what this does for them or the company that it places them in.

I’d read recently that a young Lance Corporal was having a homecoming at the airport over the weekend from Afghanistan. We decided to go up and show support for this young man and his family when he walked through the gates. It was as simple as that. I wanted to get out of the house and show support and feel the energy that these events bring. I guess it’s not my place to be, never really has been and I am now feeling bad for even being there. We offered to stand a flag line for the group that was there and we walked into the terminal and set up two columns with the parents and family there in the middle. We were there in the terminal causing general confusion to a lot of the people walking through but all it all it was really kind of fun. I was extremely proud of my youngest son who was standing his first flag line. He did what he was supposed to do and for this boy, that’s asking a lot sometimes. The young Marine walked into view and there was a lot of excitement and photos and tears and laughter of just utter joy.

The family hugged the stuffins out of that young man as anyone would expect, then the broke off and started to thank the entourage of well wishers, walking down the two columns of people shaking hands and offering thanks and of course getting more hugs and handshakes that he was probably even dreaming of. I took my turn thanking him and wishing him well and he passed on by. His father was close behind him shaking hands and thanking the people who where there. I congratulated him and told him what a fine example of a Marine his son was and he too passed on by to get back with the family waiting for them. Dang it felt good to be there! Near the end of the second row, the leader of our group stopped the father and talked to him rather closely. When the person pointed our way and the father started our direction, I knew that the day had just become more emotionally complicated. I could see the change in the fathers face as he approached us he was obviously emotional his eyes were welling with tears and he could barely speak.

It is damn hard to remain composed when this happens. The son also soon was there wanting to know about Micheal and that was probably even tougher. The last thing that I wanted to happen was to dampen a day that was all about the joys of a returning son to his eagerly awaiting family. All too often this is what happens and I just can’t do this anymore. I hate being the reminder of the worst case scenario for these parents, families and troops. I’ve been told by a few people that I’m going to events, places as some sort of personal gain or as some platform to forward some sort “agenda”. After this event, it’s plain that to me anyway, to subject other people to myself or subject myself to the pain this causes is just something that I won’t do anymore. I still support the troops, their mission and their families and will give whatever I have that any of them need. But there is no way to do this and not ruffle feathers of some or to add to the already emotional toll of the parents and families.

Fare the well Brothers

I knew that it was going to happen and in the back of my mind knew that nothing would stop this. I added one of my son’s brothers on facebook only to read that this very day, He is deploying with the Unit that we have followed for so long. This brought back a lot of memories and a lot of feelings both good and bad. We made the journey up to see Micheal off with all the sense of foreboding, angst and pride. I remember watching Micheal and his best friend nervously move about preparing to go. A whole new group practically is going off to fight the same foe, the war continues and the same percentage if not more will not even bother to notice than a brave wonderful group of men are going off to hostile, unfriendly shores to do their best for us. I made that trek up to Fort Campbell to see my son off and to start the agony of the wait, the 24/7 cycles of worry and glee when the phone came alive with my sons voice or a new message would pop up on one of the messengers. A whole new flock of parents have to start that clock and mark those calendars and wait for those phone calls and messages and letters. I feel for them and I know what they are going through and most will never know that there are many people out here who share this weight.

A problem is that for me and I’m sure many more fathers, mothers and everyone down the line, we have our own clocks and calendars and we all watch them in different, private ways. We all send the same person off, but what this person represents is different for each and every one of us. We all just have no way of knowing what the future holds for our loved one. I know that many people held their loved ones just as long and just as tight as I did that night outside the Barracks in the dark. We don’t want to let them go and curse the forces that make it a reality. These fine young men go, because they have answered a call. Men have answered this call since the beginning of time. There is a need for brave young men to go off to another part of the world to fight evil, this evil naps, but it never truly goes away. We older men curse the fact that we could not stop it, just and many of our fathers and their fathers cursed the same evil. The evil is constant and fine young men of every walk of life offer theirs to combat this evil until for a time, it is beaten into slumber once more.

I wish this new band of brothers all of the luck in the world! I hope this is a clean deployment and they make a difference in this war. Most of all, I wish that they all come home safe and sound to their families and friends. If Micheal is out there listening tonight… please watch after these guys and keep them safe.

I miss you Son..

I really don’t know what to say really…

I’ve kind of really been hesitant to blog too much about things going on as “going on” was only a part of this blog for me. I do not blog on too many topics other than my perceptions and feelings on the process, progress and failings to do so on the loss of my son. Occasionally I will read through the blogs just to get back to the last days of spending time with my son. Spending the last days with a flag draped coffin which contains one of the most precious people in your life is just something that cannot be described well or even at all. These days, hours and moments run backwards, the clock tics down and the remnants are gone, the memories and the pain subsides and sometimes bringing the memories back of those moments and days makes the pain return, the pain is real and the pain hurts, but through the pain and in these memories of these times brings me closer to the son I lost. It’s probably not healthy in the least, but it is real. The pictures we gather and collect are of such finite supply that it really gives one time to ponder on how few things there are left to cling to. Everyone through the process of living moves on and I’m very happy for everyone to be able to move on with their lives and their dreams. My son is forever 19, he is forever frozen in time. A huge part of me is stuck there with him. I cannot leave him as a huge part of me died along with him.

I read of the losses in the wars and I grieve for their loss and hope that parents, friends and family seeking some explanations and needing help sharing the loss and the weight of the oppressive grief and depression can find me. Some have and some will later. But I’m here to listen and share. A while back I wrote about the AP’s debauchery of blatantly going against the wishes of a young Marine’s parents to post pictures of their sons last moments. There was no reason other that sensationalism and or political vendetta to post the pictures in the press for people to gawk at. Today I got home to an email from WordPress that a comment had been made on my blog. I clicked the link and was just blown away. Here is the comment that was left on this blog about this young Marine’s abuse at the hands of the “drive by media”.

“Joe Cortina said
05/04/2010 at 12:59 e

The only ‘scumbags’ in this picture were (1)the Marine who was murdering civilians in a nation where he had NO business being and (2) ‘Sec of War Crimes’ – Gates – the sadistic bastard who gets his kicks by having helpless children murdered by the tens and hundreds of thousands by our BRAVE baby killers.

Scum like that Marine have disgraced the uniform I wore with honor before he was even born! The Godless child murdering sadistic mercenary scum in uniform today are no beter than Stalin’s butchers or Mao’s Chi-Com killers.”

I will say that this letter really didn’t piss me off as much as this troll hoped that it would. I call this punk a troll because this is all that they CAN possibly be. Joe (or whatever your name is) you really missed the mark dude. The whole “baby killer” thing went out several decades ago no matter how hard you few hippies want to live the old days. I’m not sure what reaction you were expecting from me but You’re really going to be disappointed. You posted this comment on the blog of a father who lost a son in combat for one three distinct reasons 1. You are a troll who gets off on talking smack anonymously so you and your little clan of misfits can compare flames, 2. You did this to personally hurt me .I’m not sure who you are, but Joe, I’ve suffered one of the biggest blows that a father can take and still live on, did you think that this would make me suffer more? Words Joe? Words? That’s rather pathetic really. And reason #3. You did this to get traffic on your blog. Any and all of these reasons are just a big waste of time to me Joe. I have of course forwarded this to a few select people who may or may not be as accepting of your idiotic comments. Have fun with that Joe.

be.