War Wounds

"And you know what the worst part was? He was one of the Army guys who just got back [from Iraq on Tuesday]." 

My brother's voice reverberated in my head as I drove through the back roads and geological wonders of central Oregon, racing towards my first home. My weekend plans for a run with my BFF in Bend, shopping, and picking up our anniversary project from the ceramic shop cut short by a 7 am phone call. A night in the ER, seven stitches total, missing teeth, possible jaw fracture. The Flag didn't drop to the ground and neither did he.

The story I had heard played over in my head, despite Safe Haven audiobook on level 15 volume trying to drown out my sobs. A night with friends, two beers, visiting with the bartender who used to be our neighbor, leaving at 1 am for home. Hearing a crack as he left, turning the corner to see what was going on. Then it happened.

My brother, full of righteous anger, grabbed the Flag from the ground, drenched in urine, started folding it, and asked the guy who the f *ck he thought he was pissing on the American flag. The "kid" rose to the challenge and asked Bobby what he knew about the damn flag. My brother told him he was a Marine for six years, fought for the flag, had friends that died for the flag, that he almost died for it, so who the hell was he. He was one of the Army guys, young, just returned from Iraq. Then the kid charged.

My heart caught in my throat again as I remembered that part of the story. "You know what the worst part was? He was one of the Army guys who just got back." My brother and I had started sobbing three hundred some miles apart. "I couldn't hit him. He was my brother. He was wrong, but he was my brother. I took three to the face like a champ, never hit the ground, and had a death grip on the flag. I should have killed him, and I would have gone to prison and I'd be okay with that, but I couldn't even hit him back."

At first, in the confusion, the crowd had held my brother back, but when the fourth punch landed they realized there was only one aggressor in that "fight." The kid walked away and Bobby went back inside to wash his hands. Then he caught his reflection.

Three missing teeth, one barely hanging on, seven stitches total, possible jaw fracture and oral surgery, liquid diet. And one heck of a swollen lip. He never raised a hand to the kid who obviously had war demons of his own. The Flag didn't hit the ground and neither did he.

***

Author's Note: I wrote this post a number of ways on my four hour drive on Sunday from Bend to Baker. I cried a lot and I cried more remembering the pain in my brother's voice as he told his story. In the end, I decided to leave out the commentary in my head on lack of veteran support and reintegration and tell the story simply as it played in my head. What struck me the most on the drive home was until this point my brother's war scars had been mental. Now, a civilian for a month, he received some very physical war wounds on the street of his hometown, from a fellow soldier and veteran. That is the part that hurts all of us the most.

We Interrupt This Program...

I don't make a secret of my disgust for what passes as news these days. I am single handedly trying to bring down the Jersey Shore by refusing to click on any links, read any magazine/newspaper articles, or mention the names The Situation or Snooki. Likewise, I will flip the channel if they happen to pop on the screen. I am merely one person, but I like to think my lack of acceptance could help turn the tide. I have been exercising the same restraints in regard to the Charlie Sheen fiasco. This has been harder considering he is literally on every station and I can't control the gym television so I know a little more about the situation than I would care to admit.

So, you can imagine my horror when I logged onto Facebook today and my mother-in-law's status stated this: Charlie Sheen 47, is all over the news because he's a celebrity drug addict while Andrew Wilfahrt 31, Brian Tabada 21, Rudolph Hizon 22, Chauncy May 25, are soldiers who gave their lives this week with no media mention. Please honor them by posting this as your status for a little while. May these heroes rest in peace!

Really, America? This is a disgrace and we should be ashamed. Here is my tribute, so at least my readers and myself will know their names and faces.

Photo Courtesy of Jeff Wilfahrt

Cpl. Andrew Wilfahrt, 31, of Rosemount, Minn., was killed Sunday, Feb. 27, 2011 by a bomb while on patrol in Afghanistan. His mother described him as a gentle soul who was very learned without going to traditional school. He joined the military because he was seeking structure, which was ironic as he had rebelled against structure preferring to do things his own way.

He was kind, he was compassionate, he was loved by his unit, friends, and family. (Source.)

Brian Tabada 21, of Las Vegas; assigned to 1st Battalion, 327th Infantry Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 101st Airborne Division (Air Assault), Fort Campbell, Ky.; died Feb. 27 in Konar province, Afghanistan, of wounds sustained when insurgents attacked his unit using small-arms fire and a rocket-propelled grenade.

He joined the Army in August 2008 and arrived at Fort Campbell in January 2009. He is survived by his father, Muncko Kruize of Honolulu, Hawaii, and Leinette Mahan of Las Vegas.  (Source)

U.S. Army SPC Rudolph R. Hizon was assigned to Task Force Patriot soldiers from 4th Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division.  Hizon, a 22-year-old Los Angeles native assigned to Company B, 2nd Battalion, 30th Infantry Regiment’s Task Force Storm out of Fort Polk, LA. 

His comrades remember him for his easy smile - the kind of smile that makes everyone else in the room smile, cheerful disposition, and friendly support. (Source)

Spc. Rudolph R. Hizon 22, of Los Angeles, Calif., died Feb. 28, in Logar province, Afghanistan, of wounds suffered when insurgents attacked his unit using an improvised explosive device.  (Source)

Chauncy Mays, a 25-year-old native of Cookville, Texas, was assigned to 63rd EOD Bn, 20th Support Command and attached to 4th Brigade Combat Team, 10th Mountain Division’s Task Force Patriot based at Fort Polk, La.,

He was assigned to 705th Explosive Ordnance Disposal Company in the Tangi area. Mays was working out of Combat Outpost Tangi in support of 2nd Battalion, 4th Infantry Regiment, while deployed in Afghanistan.

Always careful, never fearful, Mays' comrades respected him and state he saved countless lives and the world is a lesser place without him. 

A decorated soldier, Mays died while in the Wardack province, Afghanistan. He is survived by his wife, Katherine, and daughters Chesnee and Kiley.  (Source)

Alongside Chauncy Mays, U.S. Army Spc. Christopher G. Stark, 22, died during an improvised explosive device attack while on a dismounted patrol in the Tangi area. Stark was working out of Combat Outpost Tangi in support of 2nd Battalion, 4th Infantry Regiment, while deployed in Afghanistan.

Several Soldiers said Stark was an outstanding team member and a great EOD technician. Stark’s comrades said he was always willing to help others and made everything he did fun for himself and for those around him. (Source)

A moment of silence and the playing of Taps... 

Memories of Shadows, Ink on the Page

I promise I'll write a real post soon. There's a lot going on right now and I hardly have a moment at the computer. My brother shared this song on Facebook and I find it hauntingly beautiful. He said it's something that's been on his mind a lot lately and I really felt the lyrics for reasons different than his, but I think we've all had those moments of loneliness and feeling abandoned - even though we're not. 

Week 18: A Record and a Tribute

Running is difficult for me. I want it to be fun and I want it to be easy, but right now it is not. I do know, however, it will get easier as long as I stick with it.

When my dad started running last year and was having really difficult days he told me he started thinking about our soldiers overseas and how they're sweating in the sandbox with all their gear and at least when he runs no one's shooting at him. (He, of course, said this all more eloquently than I'm remembering it.) So, when it was hard he ran harder for them and recognized all the sacrifices they are making and suddenly a 6 mile run around down in 85-degree weather didn't seem so bad.

Recently we started talking about marathon possibilities. (It's all about the goals.) In the midst of that conversation, Dad sent me this article about former Marine Sgt. Jeremy Soles, who ran the Marine Corps marathon in November and broke the Guinness Book of World Records for running with a gas mask. While I was floored by his accomplishment - I've tried those things on - I was moved by his reason for doing it.

Sgt. Soles, founder of  Team X-T.R.E.M.E., ran this record setting marathon in honor of  Marine Cpl. John Michael Peck who despite having suffered from a traumatic brain injury (TBI) insisted on returning to the battlefield.

"A lot of times, people ask why we run in a gas mask," Soles said. "Well, we use the gas mask to symbolize what we do. People often ask how difficult it is, and our first thing to tell them is it's not nearly as difficult as overcoming traumatic brain injury, which he did, not nearly as difficult as overcoming post-traumatic stress disorder, learning how to walk again with prosthetic limbs -- and people see the parallel."

Running for a cause. Running for those who can't. Running to honor. What better motivation could there be?

Worldess Wednesday: Happy Birthday, US Marines

Go Get My Skirt On

I don't talk a lot about running on here, mainly because I'm disappointed in my current performance, but it is becoming a rather large part of my life. Know what I like best about running? Gadgets. That's right, I'm my father's daughter. Running skirts, hats, reflective gear, and Garmins make my heart go pitter-patter.

I've been drooling over RunningSkirts.com for a month or so now. It's kinda like a mecca for me, but I'm still pretty cheap when it comes to buying gear. Except shoes. I won't skimp on shoes.

Today I received an e-mail titled "Just in time for Army10-miler & Marine Corps' Marathon." Inside? The SkirtCamp Camo collection. (Unfortunately I don't have a link to the collection cause it's being unveiled at the Army10-miler.) Ya'll know I love my military and any chance to support them. Here's an opportunity to make a purchase to boost my running gear and support our injured warriors. It's a win-win!

Watch the video and go visit RunningSkirts.com. Worth it.

**Note: RunningSkirts is based in California and internationally affiliated. The video is for a fundraiser they did for a Canadian-based foundation, Soldier On. US donations go to Marines Helping Marines.***

Remembering the Fallen

It's Memorial Day 2010. This day has always held a special place in my family's traditions. For as far back as I can remember we always attended a Memorial Day service at the cemetery in the veteran's section. The area lined with white headstones depicting rank and service dates of the fallen. It has always been a special time of honoring our veterans and remembering the ones who didn't come home.


When I reached middle school, Dad began taking me to the cemetery with him before the morning light to help set up the Avenue of Flags.  There are few things I have found more moving that taking the flags one by one, reading the names on the tags, hoisting them onto the pole, unfurling, then saluting. There is nothing more beautiful than seeing more than 500 flags flapping in the breeze as the sun rises over Baker Valley.

Four years have passed since I last helped ready Mt. Hope Cemetery for the Memorial Day services. Every Memorial Day that has passed since has left me feeling like something is missing. I guess some traditions are so fully ingrained we truly miss them when we don't participate.

What has not left me is my love and appreciation for our veterans. We may never know the sacrifices some have made or the burdens they carry now. Today, I honor you who have served and bow my head in respect for those who didn't come home. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

A new flag comes home to Mt. Hope Cemetery, 2008

RIP Donald David Wroe - Special Forces, 1950-1952, Korea