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My Lens Has Been Upgraded
Ah, Thanksgiving, that time of year we slow down to reflect on the multitude of blessings that are bestowed upon us each and every day. I practice gratitude a fair amount — acknowledging often a God and family who love me (a miracle in and of itself). Food, water, shelter, check — life gets pretty crappy, pretty fast if those are in the negative column. The blessing of this country, our freedoms however infringed, and our politics, however seemingly upside down; I firmly believe we are still better off than most.
And then all the little things like hot water delivered at the turn of a handle, illumination at the flip of a switch, easy travel, information at our fingertips, disposable diapers and wipes (yep, I’m an “all in” grandfather, ya know), hot espresso, good rye whiskey, I could go on and on. But this year’s Thanksgiving will be just a little more meaningful, taking less for granted and cherishing my people just a little more.
‘Twas October 4th of this year, I had just gotten home from my daughter’s house conducting Poppa shenanigans with the grandkids. I was surfing through Ricochet in amazement, yet again, of the vast amount of knowledge and thought-out opinions on virtually any subject, when the phone rang. It was a long-time family friend who lives in the area that we don’t see enough.
Quickly through some small talk, then a question.
Friend: You heard from Junior?
My son’s name is not Junior (nobody should be a junior me in any reality) but we’ll call him that for the purposes of this vignette. And the question is totally legit as our families grew up together.
Me: Not recently.
[Pause]
Friend: You watchin’ the news?
An explosion of red lights in my head like a ’70s disco bar gone bad, as if they weren’t bad enough, complete with sirens and bells.
Friend: There was an attack in Niger, they’re saying some SF guys are dead.
What?!
Panic slid up next to me and took a seat. I fat-fingered “Niger” into the search bar and hit enter. To my utter horror, the headline read “3 Special Forces Troops Killed and 2 Are Wounded in an Ambush in Niger.”
No!…no!…no!…no!…no!!…please, no!
Having been in harm’s way in my own Special Forces career you always know this can happen but this isn’t me — it’s my son.
Me: Thanks, I gotta go and I will let you know.
I cannot describe the emotional and cognitive cacophony in my head as my eyes welled up with tears. I rationalized it wasn’t his team despite knowing where he was and roughly his operating area — viscerally I knew better. Then I thought about the notification system and it’s not fast. I could easily find out his status tomorrow as the force is strong in the Special Forces community. But in the near term, I may not be able to find out if he’s OK until the nondescript governmental vehicle pulls up out front with some poor bastard in his class-A uniform who has to inform the family that their loved one is dead.
My wife wasn’t home, thankfully, however, this added to the mental chaos. What if he’s … How do you share news like this with your wife? I can’t do that over the phone. If somebody else tells her about this I swear … I know, I’m going to turn her phone off (I actually considered this). After what seemed like hours but was actually less than 10 minutes, I picked up my cell phone pessimistically looking for the app that my son and I had been keeping in touch with.
I opened it and gloriously, and I mean the clouds parted and the angels sang kinda gloriously, he had just sent a text:
Alone in my house, tears now actually running down my face, I dropped to my knees, looked upward and spoke out loud to God in heaven thanking Him for sparing my son and acknowledging the hollow, tight space in my abdomen for those who would not get that news. I sat staring at the text wondering what had happened, how much he was involved, and cherishing this contact.
I then called my wife, a newly minted insurance adjuster deployed to Florida. She had no idea, again good news. I started with “Junior is OK … but” then told her the news. Silence, then almost to herself, “I thought he was safe because he wasn’t in the war zones but this changes everything.” Followed by more tears as the expanse of what could have been and what is lay before us. We spent the next hour calling family and friends holding back the tide of concern that would be rolling in as the news spread.
Astonishingly, about two hours later, Junior called on the app we had been using. I am sure I looked like the bastard offspring of Flash and Rain Man as I lurched for the phone. We spoke on a stellar connection with a three-second delay making a hard conversation even harder.
Me: Hi son … you OK?
Son: Yeah, pop, I’m alright.
He was clearly shaken but managing.
Me: Was it your team?
Son: It was my team, pop.
He was in the ambush.
Me: What happened?
I could sense him wanting to divulge everything but we just don’t do that. Due to the connection and reluctance to talk about it on the phone, it morphed into short phrases.
Son: They were right there dad, we were way outnumbered…
Me: Then what happened?
Son: The Hand of God … we shouldn’t be here.
More tears.
I spoke to him about his soul, working through this and not stuffing it ‘cause it will come out somewhere and that he was spared for a reason — not to lose sight of that.
If you watched the news at all during the first three weeks of October you know the buffoonery that followed. I am still resistant to talk about it but it’s not even remotely an overstatement to say all of those men who returned are truly fortunate to still be walking this earth.
Life is normalizing after almost two months. We fed his wounded teammates at the hospital in Bethesda, a joyful experience outlined in sorrow. We attended wrenching memorials and funerals trying to comfort in some small way those whose sons and husbands did not come home. And the grind continues for us as we come to our own terms with this event.
So when I look across the table in a few short days and see my son holding our hands as we give thanks, versus a void, empty space where he should be — overwhelming thankfulness. The hollow, tight space in my abdomen remains for those whose places will be vacant this year and the years to come; I continue to pray for the peace that surpasses all understanding for them and others who are suffering through the loss of loved ones.
This year the gratefulness lens of my soul is just a little more clear and focused and I rejoice in this.
Happy Thanksgiving, Ricochet.
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Outstanding post.
Your profound gratitude will be shared at our table.
I can’t even imagine what those 10 minutes felt like.
You made me cry (again), only this time I’m at work. You know where I work. No Bueno. I’m trying to cover it with allergies; not working–people don’t sob during allergy attacks.
I’m getting full-on office ISR all over me right now. I have the sinking feeling that by the end of the day there’ll be a new nickname contest/pool.
Worth it. Still, payback’s a MEDEVAC.
There are not words. Tears of joy for you, and grief for those who have been lost. Thank you for this post, and thank you to your son and all those like him.
Real Men do too cry, and they are allowed. Great post that really inspired gratitude.
Your post is so very relevant this Thanksgiving. I work with many who did not grow up in the USA, and do not know anything about our Thanksgiving. In trying to explain the holiday I said, it is a chance to recognize that the things you should really, really be thankful for are the things you take for granted, like well nourished children, a warm home, your family’s health. ( the culture most of them come from has plenty of people without those blessings, so they understood maybe better than I what I was trying to say.)
It is sad that we so often concentrate on what we don’t have, we want, we ‘need’, and miss the blessings we live every day.
I will add a line of thanks in my Thanksgiving prayer for your sons health, along with the usual thanks for all the service men and women who give so much. These are truly blessings worth thanks giving.
You clarify Thanks-giving, in every way – sacrifice, love, faith, courage, honor, patriotism, humility – hard to type those words through blurry eyeballs – You, your family and all of our military included in our prayers daily. God bless.
We need to be reminded again and again of the risks and sacrifices made by our warriors, and their families, every single day. Our way of life did not, and will not, come cheap. I’m glad your son is OK. I hope he comes home intact in mind and body.
Tears here, too.
When I first read this, only two “likes.” Since Boss Mongo had already posted, I could tell that I was only the third one to read it. Figured #2 hadn’t hit “send” yet on her comment.
The Bible tells us that There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. I am not sure that is true. As a parent, I think that at the very least, equal, is the love needed to let your children go out into the world, the world we know is full of pain, and suffering, and trauma, so that they may choose to make their sacrifice of love for another. The good parent has children knowing the world is as it is, and the good parent hopes and prays their child strives towards the good.
Oh dajoho, my heart was in my throat! I can’t imagine the agony you went through before finding out he was okay. I honor the sacrifice your whole family has made to serve this country. I’m so glad he was okay, too.
Great essay, I for one am thankful that my daughter made a decision to leave police work. It was a bit easier on my wife and I when she became a police officer because of my time spent as a police officer. That did not mean I wanted her to see some of the things I saw, and there is the chance that something could go horribly wrong, and as a parent you know that.
She called me one morning after one of her last shifts and told me I came a pound and a half away from shooting someone yesterday, referring to trigger pull. This was not what I would call a normal father daughter conversation about her work day.
She and another officer had been sent to a park to find someone that had been pointing a gun at people in the park. They found him and my daughter told him, put your hands on top of your head. He reached into his gym bag instead. My daughter drew her Glock and told him to take his hand out of the bag, and if his hand wasn’t empty she would shoot him. He complied with those instructions. She told me that he had two loaded pistols in the gym bag.
I told her that you’re alive, your partner was alive, and the moron was alive, that’s all that matters. After I hung up the phone I took a deep breath and and said to myself just two or so shifts left for her, that’s all I need. I said that to myself, and to St. Michael the Archangel, patron saint of police officers, and soldiers.
Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family. And, “God Bless us, everyone!” (Wrong holiday, but I’m hoping no-one will mind.)
And thank you, and your entire family for your service and for all the sacrifices you’ve made (I’m pretty sure it still is, and has been, a group effort, all along). And Mr She and I join you in prayers for those, and their families, who did not make it through.
Sixty years ago, that part of the world held so much promise and hope. I’m just so sorry that it’s such a threatening mess today, and that such sacrifices are still necessary. I long, and pray, for the day that’s not the case.
Thank you.
No words; blurry screen, splotched glasses…Hoping my keyboard doesn’t get wet…Prayers daily for our troops and families; a Panda Hug to share around your Thanksgiving table – and across the miles, too.
Thanks brother. My allergies still kick in but not as bad as last month where they seemed to erupt spontaneously including the sobs. I got a pass at work but that has probably been rescinded by now and “Bawling Boss Mongo” works.
Wilco on MEDEVAC may you never find your retribution.
Thanks Judithann. One of the thinks I like about Ricochet is that I really did have to think about the words for this and it wasn’t easy but in the end cathartic. I will pass the word of thanks to my son and his comrades, they were prepared to fight until the bitter end.
I met a lot of real men the last 2 months and none of us had an issue with crying! Thanks for the response.
Truth in advertising: I hit publish and then rescinded it as I had not gotten a ‘go’ from my son. I gave him first rights of refusal. Thanks for the response.
Thanks Brian. He’s a good man and now knows without a doubt that there is evil in the world and as a warrior his service is for the good always.
Thanks SQ. The wives & mothers floor me, without a doubt emotionally and spiritually strong of the culture. And for what it’s worth, he’s doing fine.
Thanks Doug. I truly appreciate our Law Enforcement brethren and that service to our communities. I like the pound and a half statement to I will have to put that on my hard drive for future use.
Thanks She! And I don’t mind at all I love that saying, one of my favorites.
Thanks NP, we’ll take the hug and pass it around on Thanksgiving and blessings to all our troops that aren’t home this season.
My agency gave preference points to Vets with an Honorable Discharge. That was done for more than charity. Each precinct had a minimum staffing model for each watch. We knew that Veterans would show up for work. We knew that their Honorable Discharge meant that they had completed training, and could complete our training as well. They were, and are good police officers.
This post, and all the responses, shows what a wonderful group of people we have here on Ricochet. We are fortunate to have each other, every day.
Wow. Ain’t our kids amazing? (Some more than others.)
I’m so glad your boy is safe. I pray for the families who will be missing theirs in the years ahead.
Wow.
Praise God.
How do we thank your son and the men and women who defend our freedoms?
We are so blessed to live in this country and to be surrounded by men like your son.
Praise God and may He continue to bless us abundantly.
Thanks EJH and yes they are. I got unsolicited comments on my boys conduct under fire and he was solid. Thanks for the prayers too for all of us.
And all God’s people said “amen”.
And I think we thank them by being the best people we can be.
Sorry. I couldn’t finish the post and I am not going to read the comments. It’s bad enough I am reading this at work; what possible excuse can I come up with when my boss walks in and finds me crying? “Allergies” is code for hangover ever since election day …
God bless you and yours and Happy Thanksgiving to all. The stars have lined up for me this year and I’ll have all four at home.
#grateful is an inadequate word sometimes.
*tears* *muchas, muchas lágrimas y gracias a Dios*
Thank you, @dajoho. Thank your son and God’s richest blessings on your family. (BTW, think you can add smart phones to your list of small but so valuable things to be thankful for.)
This old Thanksgiving hymn ran through my mind after reading your heartfelt post and comments. In honor of your son and those he lost and lives he mourns:
He chastens and hastens His will to make known;
The wicked oppressing now cease from distressing;
Sing praises to His Name; He forgets not His own.
Ordaining, maintaining His kingdom divine;
So from the beginning the fight we were winning;
Thou, Lord, were at our side, all glory be Thine!
And pray that Thou still our Defender will be;
Let Thy congregation escape tribulation;
Thy Name be ever praised! O Lord, make us free!