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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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Powerful stuff sir. This will be shared with my family.
I arrived outside of New Orleans for Thanksgiving with my son, although he’s only out of Ft Benning for a couple of days, arriving Wednesday night. My brother, my Bernie loving LGBT daughter, my dad( who has seen hundreds of dying soldiers) and stepmother were all discussing war and my son’s possible death, and how much we don’t want that of course. It was a pretty heavy discussion.
I dread being in your shoes but I am most certainly going to be in your shoes. Just being willing to discuss this with you is of great comfort to me. I’d die for any of my kids but cannot fathom one going, but the risk exists for all, much more so with a soldier.
Muchas Gracias Mim526. Wow, the smart phone was one I missed – hallelujah for the smart phone. And thanks for the hymn, got my sobbing allergies going first thing this AM. Feliz día de acción de gracias (all Google, yo hablo muy poquito Espanol)
Thanks Doc. We had months of discussions with our son on this very subject but due to some injuries and an ultra-long training pipeline it lessened in intensity. Anytime you want to talk PM me, I’d be honored to speak to you. Oh and that’s quite a spread – one in Benning becoming an infantryman and your Bernie Loving Daughter (hence forth known as the BLD) – hug them both and Happy Thanksgiving.
Got woken up this morning with a message from my brother in England asking if our son was in the C-2 crash into the Pacific. For an endless shocked moment I felt the dread before realizing I was actually in his house for Thanksgiving and he was for sure in the house too.
Thanksgiving has been a little subdued as we tried not to let ourselves dwell on which of his colleagues might be gone, or awaiting rescue, the cold, the fear….lost at sea.
Maybe it was a passenger, still somebody’s family member though. Now I feel guilty.
We must carry on, keep things as normal as possible for the kids. But the mind keeps going there. Should we call and try to figure out who, why? No, we’re going to have to wait. It’s going to be a long night.
Prayers out for those sailors doulalady. Please let us know.
Yes, prayers. I can’t imagine what your son and your family are going through right now; I am praying for you.
No words. Can’t speak.
Prayers ongoing and Panda Hugs to you, @doulalady!
Thank you @nandapanjandrum, @dajoho, @judithanncampbell, it turns out the aviator was one of the missing guys. It’s always harder when it’s someone you have worked so closely with. These guys live together for six months to a year when they are deployed. And there are so few of them now that they almost see each other more than their families..
I read this post to my family yesterday as a reminder. Well received. I had something in my eyes and throat though as I did it. Must be allergies.
I am so sorry, @doulalady, prayers continuing.
I am truly honored Bryan. I am still getting that eye and throat thing too.
Prayer continues from here. Please tell your son that we are proud of him and his colleagues.
Prayers ongoing from here, too…Even at this far a remove, it hurts. </3
Thankful your son is safe, @doulalady, and able to be with you all for Thanksgiving. Families/loved ones of the three missing guys are in my prayers.
Can you explain what you mean by “there are so few of them now”?
@Mim526, there are only about 50 C2 aviators and even fewer C2s.
Why do you think that is? Are they phasing out the planes, not enough enlist in military, not enough funding? What Congress has done to the military budget using sequestration is appalling, especially considering they’ve apparently not also decreased what our military’s been asked to do.
C-2s are being replaced with the V-22 Osprey.
Thanks, @Percival
@mim526 the C-2 aviators will probably not fly the Osprey which is a “point and shoot” plane. However because they are qualified to fly all the Navy’s planes the current C-2 aviators will likely become instructors for next generation of navy aviators.
Not entirely a thought that inspires confidence, just sayin’…