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Warrior, I am your ally. Let us revel in our triumphs and learn from our defeats together. What doesn't kill us will make us stronger.
Warrior, I am your ally. Let us revel in our triumphs and learn from our defeats together. What doesn't kill us will make us stronger.
It's About the Men Next to You
Posted 20th August 2008 at 09:43 AM by John Rogers
I went to a deployment ceremony this afternoon. Of the many taking place this week, it's the only one I'll attend. The ceremony was for the unit I deployed with in 2004.
I've changed units a couple of times and got my third rocker since we got back in early 2005.
When they first came up on an alert order for this mission, they asked me to transfer back. I declined.
It was a difficult decision, opting not to go. But honestly, I'm surprised my wife made it through the last deployment. Her health has really gone to shit, and she doesn't do a very good job of taking care of herself. Especially after we lost our son Dustin to a motorcycle accident two years ago.
Family first, right?
That's what I keep telling myself. And I know I made the right choice. But knowing that doesn't make it any easier.
I missed the start of the ceremony, but was greeted at the door by a couple of old friends who were watching from the hallway. I stood with them and scanned the faces in the first rank of the formation. I didn't recognize many of them. Three years is a long time. People move on.
It felt strange, standing there unshaven and in civvies, on the outside looking in. I couldn't hear any of the speakers, so I just kind of stood there and let the memories of the last deployment wash over me until the ceremony was over.
As the crowd broke up they all headed my direction, so I just remained in place and watched for faces I knew to pass on their way to the door.
God, Wojo looks old. Trocano, a kid I put in boots when I was recruiting was still in the unit. Liufau and Beal and the other Beale who I've worked and been friends with for, hell, twelve years or so were still there. And McBee, the kid we nearly lost on the last trip. McGannon and Pigue and Shriner and Gray and Wiski. I shook hands or embraced each of them and wished them Godspeed.
The VFW laid on a spread of BBQ and salads and who knows what else, but I didn't hang around. I felt out of place.
As I drove home, I thought about what Hoot, the Delta operator said in Black Hawk Down.
"When I go home people'll ask me, "Hey Hoot, why do you do it man? What, you some kinda war junkie?" You know what I'll say? I won't say a goddamn word. Why? They won't understand. They won't understand why we do it. They won't understand that it's about the men next to you, and that's it. That's all it is."
Only, I'm not next to them this time. And I feel empty.
I've changed units a couple of times and got my third rocker since we got back in early 2005.
When they first came up on an alert order for this mission, they asked me to transfer back. I declined.
It was a difficult decision, opting not to go. But honestly, I'm surprised my wife made it through the last deployment. Her health has really gone to shit, and she doesn't do a very good job of taking care of herself. Especially after we lost our son Dustin to a motorcycle accident two years ago.
Family first, right?
That's what I keep telling myself. And I know I made the right choice. But knowing that doesn't make it any easier.
I missed the start of the ceremony, but was greeted at the door by a couple of old friends who were watching from the hallway. I stood with them and scanned the faces in the first rank of the formation. I didn't recognize many of them. Three years is a long time. People move on.
It felt strange, standing there unshaven and in civvies, on the outside looking in. I couldn't hear any of the speakers, so I just kind of stood there and let the memories of the last deployment wash over me until the ceremony was over.
As the crowd broke up they all headed my direction, so I just remained in place and watched for faces I knew to pass on their way to the door.
God, Wojo looks old. Trocano, a kid I put in boots when I was recruiting was still in the unit. Liufau and Beal and the other Beale who I've worked and been friends with for, hell, twelve years or so were still there. And McBee, the kid we nearly lost on the last trip. McGannon and Pigue and Shriner and Gray and Wiski. I shook hands or embraced each of them and wished them Godspeed.
The VFW laid on a spread of BBQ and salads and who knows what else, but I didn't hang around. I felt out of place.
As I drove home, I thought about what Hoot, the Delta operator said in Black Hawk Down.
"When I go home people'll ask me, "Hey Hoot, why do you do it man? What, you some kinda war junkie?" You know what I'll say? I won't say a goddamn word. Why? They won't understand. They won't understand why we do it. They won't understand that it's about the men next to you, and that's it. That's all it is."
Only, I'm not next to them this time. And I feel empty.
Total Comments 5
Comments
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You deserve to put your wife first. You served your country, now it's time to serve at home. Thank you for your service. Please don't tear yourself down because you made the choice to take care of things at home.
I don't expect that anything someone, especially a stranger, could say to you would relieve you of what you're feeling. But I hope it helps a little.Posted 20th August 2008 at 02:46 PM by Dan Sherman
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Thanks Dan. I appreciate your thoughts.Posted 22nd August 2008 at 04:21 PM by John Rogers -
John,
As you know I've walked in the same boots you have. So I know this comes from your heart.
Another Warrior that served before you and I were born made this famous statement:
Old Soldiers Never Die... They Just Fade Away.
General Douglas McArthur
Semper Fidelis John.
Ken
Posted 28th August 2008 at 08:57 PM by Ken Leatherman - Hi John,
I have to admit that I don't know how you all do what you do but I admire the commitment and dedication.
I also believe, like Dan, that there is little we can say to make you feel better. I understand that this was a tough decision but it was also the right one. I know, if you were my husband and I needed you, having you at home would mean the world to me.
My husband is being evaluated for PTSD from Vietnam. He understands that comes from choice and service but it doesn't make it go away. I therefore, have to be there to serve him because he served his country. That is the right decision.
You are a hero. Thank you for serving and also for taking the time to write this post. God bless you.
PamPosted 1st September 2008 at 12:27 AM by PamT - Thanks Ken and Pam.
Pam, please thank your husband for me. And thank you for your support to him.Posted 1st September 2008 at 09:31 AM by John Rogers
