I have had a few friends ask me about the amount comedy, cursing and sarcasm that one is exposed to after they had read one of my previous blog post. I think they just wanted to hear a few stories about some of the crazy shit that is said and done. Telling a good story might get a laugh or two but that is not my intention with this blog.
Storytelling might give people a peak at the characters that are willing to defend their country but a story has the potential to be skin deep. However, it also has the capability of introducing us to an entirely different understanding of the human condition if told in the right pretext. Some stories only tell us of the day to day actions of a person. What is usually left to the imagination are the most important details. I want people to understand who we are and why we do what we do. The world needs to know that we struggle with what we do. We never pray for war but if we do not serve, who will?
As I share our story with you, I hope that you will begin to understand not just who we are but that we are no different than you. We just chose to stand between you and the things that go bump in the night. I only wish that I am capable of conveying that image to you in my writing. You will begin to see what it is like to be in an INFANTRY battalion.
Infantry, let's think about that word for a minute. The word infantry is a license to say and do some of the most insulting, politically incorrect things when around other grunts and know that everyone is going to laugh. Nothing is off limits: sex, gender, race, religion or anything in between. Imagine placing Will Ferrell, Vince Vaughn, Stephen Colbert, Conan O'Brien, Larry the Cable Guy, Kat Williams, Jack Black, Jim Carry, and Steve Carell in a room with an infinite amount of alcohol, a get out of jail card, a handful of strippers, a few guns, a couple hundred thousand dollars, a gay guy, a goat, and three midgets. Just sit back an watch what happens. These are the things that bring us together as brothers. This level of camaraderie can never be experienced by those who have never donned the uniform.
It also means that we have families that we leave behind when we are called to duty. People outside the military bubble do not understand that when we deploy so do our friends and family. They never step foot into a combat zone but they are right there with us every step of they way. They worry about what might happen on the next patrol just as much as we do.
Infantry also means that there are moral and ethical dilemmas that are fought as we walk the battlefields of our mind. We question every mistake and ask ourselves were we erred. Mistakes in our business are not measured in dollars.
Comedy is not the only possible signature of the personality. Stress, anger, frustration, loyalty, duty, honor, respect, and motivation are a few of the factors that play keys roles in how each and everyone of us is defined as a person. Comedy just happens to be the tool of choice to fend off stress and fatigue. The fact of the matter is that a person could not do what we do without having a sense of humor. It nullifies all the bullshit we put ourselves through.
As the soldiers of or battalion embark on this journey, I only wish to show you all the emotions, sweat, anger, pain, tears, joy, sadness, loneliness, frustration, compassion, and all the moments that make us human.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
Here is an article about how our upcoming deployment is affecting soldiers jobs. I am glad to see this topic covered in the media. (Thank you Lindsay Wise!)
I have seen a couple of my buddies "laid-off" but we all know that all the extra military duties we have taken on in the past few months is part of the reason they have been cut loose. A few others have mentioned that their employers are looking for reasons to let them go because we are called away by the Guard so often. The state of the economy makes it easier for employers to mask the reason why these guys are let go. The sad thing is that these employers do not realize that if soldiers do not fight they would not have a business to run.
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/headline/metro/6547577.html
P.S. Those you you who left comments arguing that the Guard is not meant to be deployed oversees...go read up on your military history.
I have seen a couple of my buddies "laid-off" but we all know that all the extra military duties we have taken on in the past few months is part of the reason they have been cut loose. A few others have mentioned that their employers are looking for reasons to let them go because we are called away by the Guard so often. The state of the economy makes it easier for employers to mask the reason why these guys are let go. The sad thing is that these employers do not realize that if soldiers do not fight they would not have a business to run.
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/headline/metro/6547577.html
P.S. Those you you who left comments arguing that the Guard is not meant to be deployed oversees...go read up on your military history.
Monday, July 27, 2009
My buddy and I were driving back home this weekend from our last "real" drill . We have one more drill in the chute but it will be dominated by a family readiness event. We were both sleep deprived and extremely exhausted. He was driving the first leg in route to Houston via I-10 while I tried to get some shut eye. The only thing I could think of was what the passengers of passing vehicles were thinking when they saw me wearing huge black ballistic goggles and ear plugs. The thought of it made me laugh a little; I had to block out the sunlight and music right?
As I shut my eyes I began to realize that the monkey that had been following me around all year had finally climbed onto my back. I occurred to me that we had one last road trip to and from drill. The unit will be hitting our second annual train-up soon with the mobilization immediately following that. Up until now, the thought of the upcoming mobilization has felt a little fake. There has been nothing that has given me any indication that the reality of the situation had finally caught up with the one constant in everyone lives, time. One minute, one hour, one day, one week; it doesn't matter what the measure of it is, it the same to us all. For the first time all year I realized that the monkey on my back was a biter; reality set its teeth deep into my back.
There were several other insignificant events that played out over the weekend that contributed to that bite mark on my back. One occurred when I was sitting outside the company orderly room waiting on another solider when one of the guys on the rear detachment came over to shoot the shit. He had been in the sandbox while on active duty and came into the Guard a few months back. He is on stabilization orders and cannot be deployed oversees until those orders expire.
"The operational tempo needs to slow the fuck down, this is the Guard," he said while swinging his arms and legs around as if he were playing the mythical drums of war.
"You guys are going to get there and end up guarding the chow hall."
We both started laughing our asses off. The one thing that I love about being with all the Joes is the amount of sarcasm, comedy and cursing that takes place. It is more than an art form, it is the signature of the personality. There was a little truth in what he said, we were so busy over those last four days that the guys in my section were averaging four hours of sleep a night.
I tried to sleep but the DVD player in my head replayed that moment and I knew that the operational tempo was what we should expect in country. Your always told to train like you fight.
The second came when I pulled a PFC in our section aside and had to play Daddy. He had failed to complete a task I had assigned. In addition to the failed task he had showed up late to our first formation. I was upset with him because he is a smart kid, very young, right out of high school,and very intelligent. Over the last few months I had come to the conclusion that some of the guys that hadn't been deployed to a combat zone were suffering from what I like to call Hollywood syndrome. These guys thought they were going to a Hollywood film shoot; reality hadn't set it. I've never been deployed but I didn't lose the 45 IQ points your required to lose when joining the ranks of the grunts. OK, so that was a joke that only a grunt will get, deal with it. Anyhow, I am aware of the situation we are putting ourselves into, he was not.
We began our conversation by talking about how the decisions he makes effects more people than he could ever imagine.
"When you first joined the army how many people did you think your decision affected," I asked.
"Me," he said as he shrugged his shoulders.
"Now that we are leaving, how many people has that decision touched."
"Everybody," he said as his smile faded and the severity of the situation set it.
I had burst his bubble, and that is an understatement. I could tell by the way he would look at the floor while he was thinking that I had flipped the right switch. That moment made me realize we were in this together. I had asked him those questions because I had struggled with them myself in one of those self analytical moments and I knew the effect they would have. He understood that soon his decisions could potentially have dire consequences.
The final moment came when I was standing out at the M-4 qualification range waiting to go through night qualification. I began to visit with an NCO that was in the same firing order as I when he mentioned the packing list for the deployment. I had never met the guy before but when I told him I had never deployed he began offering advice on what to pack.
"Bring your personal bed linens and pillows, maybe a laptop with some movies and books to keep you entertained while our gear catches up to us," he said.
Have a few hundred dollars at the ready when we get there because the guys we will be replacing will sell you all the stuff they can't pack. T.V., mini fridge, DVD player, video game consoles, if they cannot pack it and you want it, they'll sell it."
He went on explaining how some T.V. sets had changed hands four or five time because there is no point in bringing them back when you can help your replacement out by selling it to him dirt cheap. He said the army would not be happy if troops are bringing back large plasma televisions in army planes. I went on to ask him about smuggling my acoustic guitar into the combat zone.
"You can probably buy one too, if not have someone mail you yours. Make packages to yourself and number them. Keep a list of those numbered packages and their contents with you and when you call home you can ask to have a specific package sent to you."
I walk away form the conversation and went in sat in my Humvee and started making a list of items I would take and items I would have mailed to me. The only item I had on my mailing list; my guitar.
I was going to a far away land for a long time and all I want is my guitar. Playing guitar is my escape from life here, I am sure it will serve the same purpose overseas. It's the only thing that can remove me from time.
As I shut my eyes I began to realize that the monkey that had been following me around all year had finally climbed onto my back. I occurred to me that we had one last road trip to and from drill. The unit will be hitting our second annual train-up soon with the mobilization immediately following that. Up until now, the thought of the upcoming mobilization has felt a little fake. There has been nothing that has given me any indication that the reality of the situation had finally caught up with the one constant in everyone lives, time. One minute, one hour, one day, one week; it doesn't matter what the measure of it is, it the same to us all. For the first time all year I realized that the monkey on my back was a biter; reality set its teeth deep into my back.
There were several other insignificant events that played out over the weekend that contributed to that bite mark on my back. One occurred when I was sitting outside the company orderly room waiting on another solider when one of the guys on the rear detachment came over to shoot the shit. He had been in the sandbox while on active duty and came into the Guard a few months back. He is on stabilization orders and cannot be deployed oversees until those orders expire.
"The operational tempo needs to slow the fuck down, this is the Guard," he said while swinging his arms and legs around as if he were playing the mythical drums of war.
"You guys are going to get there and end up guarding the chow hall."
We both started laughing our asses off. The one thing that I love about being with all the Joes is the amount of sarcasm, comedy and cursing that takes place. It is more than an art form, it is the signature of the personality. There was a little truth in what he said, we were so busy over those last four days that the guys in my section were averaging four hours of sleep a night.
I tried to sleep but the DVD player in my head replayed that moment and I knew that the operational tempo was what we should expect in country. Your always told to train like you fight.
The second came when I pulled a PFC in our section aside and had to play Daddy. He had failed to complete a task I had assigned. In addition to the failed task he had showed up late to our first formation. I was upset with him because he is a smart kid, very young, right out of high school,and very intelligent. Over the last few months I had come to the conclusion that some of the guys that hadn't been deployed to a combat zone were suffering from what I like to call Hollywood syndrome. These guys thought they were going to a Hollywood film shoot; reality hadn't set it. I've never been deployed but I didn't lose the 45 IQ points your required to lose when joining the ranks of the grunts. OK, so that was a joke that only a grunt will get, deal with it. Anyhow, I am aware of the situation we are putting ourselves into, he was not.
We began our conversation by talking about how the decisions he makes effects more people than he could ever imagine.
"When you first joined the army how many people did you think your decision affected," I asked.
"Me," he said as he shrugged his shoulders.
"Now that we are leaving, how many people has that decision touched."
"Everybody," he said as his smile faded and the severity of the situation set it.
I had burst his bubble, and that is an understatement. I could tell by the way he would look at the floor while he was thinking that I had flipped the right switch. That moment made me realize we were in this together. I had asked him those questions because I had struggled with them myself in one of those self analytical moments and I knew the effect they would have. He understood that soon his decisions could potentially have dire consequences.
The final moment came when I was standing out at the M-4 qualification range waiting to go through night qualification. I began to visit with an NCO that was in the same firing order as I when he mentioned the packing list for the deployment. I had never met the guy before but when I told him I had never deployed he began offering advice on what to pack.
"Bring your personal bed linens and pillows, maybe a laptop with some movies and books to keep you entertained while our gear catches up to us," he said.
Have a few hundred dollars at the ready when we get there because the guys we will be replacing will sell you all the stuff they can't pack. T.V., mini fridge, DVD player, video game consoles, if they cannot pack it and you want it, they'll sell it."
He went on explaining how some T.V. sets had changed hands four or five time because there is no point in bringing them back when you can help your replacement out by selling it to him dirt cheap. He said the army would not be happy if troops are bringing back large plasma televisions in army planes. I went on to ask him about smuggling my acoustic guitar into the combat zone.
"You can probably buy one too, if not have someone mail you yours. Make packages to yourself and number them. Keep a list of those numbered packages and their contents with you and when you call home you can ask to have a specific package sent to you."
I walk away form the conversation and went in sat in my Humvee and started making a list of items I would take and items I would have mailed to me. The only item I had on my mailing list; my guitar.
I was going to a far away land for a long time and all I want is my guitar. Playing guitar is my escape from life here, I am sure it will serve the same purpose overseas. It's the only thing that can remove me from time.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
God's message to me.
I read somewhere that only men at peace with themselves could go to war for the sake of others. I wish I could remember the source or the exact quote but that concept has haunted me for the past few weeks. Every grunt experiences the moral dilemmas unique to the experience of war. Every grunt also contemplates the many scenarios that may unfold in his presence while deployed in a combat zone. He begins to question his ability to react to situations that endanger himself and his fellow soldiers. All of these thoughts had been constantly flying through the grey matter between my ears until Friday June 19th, 2009.
I had gladly volunteer to drive to San Antonio to pick up the middle child of a family that treats me as one of their own. About an hour and a half into the trip, a car about half a mile ahead of me suddenly veered off the interstate and flipped three times. The only reason I realized an accident was occurring was the swerving of the big rigs up ahead. I drove up on the accident scene a few minutes later and I saw a few guys pulling a man from the wreckage. I knew this was not the way to move a man with potential life threatening injuries. As I drove by, the casualty was laying down with everyone standing around not sure what to do next. I decided to pull over and offer the limited medical knowledge I learned in Combat Lifesaver Course, more commonly known as CLS. A few others had already begun to manage traffic but I the injured man needed help. As I ran up to the guy and took control of his care, I issued a few orders to the bystanders, and they surprisingly complied. I told the man to remain still and asked the bystanders to help me find something to immobilize his neck. I then began asking the guy questions to check for a head injury. Not more than a few minutes had elapsed when a nurse and a doctor, who did not know each other and were traveling in different directions, stopped and offered assistance. Without saying a word, I deferred control to them and assisted in keeping the man calm. It soon became clear to us that the man was going to be fine; he was scratched up and battered, but he would probably walk away from it all after a thorough checkout at the ER thanks to everybody that pulled over to help.
Now I told you this story because of the manner in which I reacted, I was calm, collected, unphased and almost methodical in my actions. I never raised my voice, didn't feel any nerves fraying and kept my cool. As soon as the man was loaded into the ambulance I began a ARR or After Action Review to analyze my actions. ARR's are used in the military to critique the outcome of missions at every level, from the lowly fire team to the brigade command. I took my time walking back to the Suburban and began to compare my response to this situation to one that occurred a few months earlier.
In mid April I was returning to my unit headquarters from a military school that had ended that day when the person directly in front of me swerved to miss a braking car. The lady behind the wheel over corrected and began skidding all over the road. We just happened to be on a bridge and she bounced between the guardrails like a super ball being thrown across the room. I was just glad to be far enough behind to avoid getting hit but I wasn't phased by the danger. This time I was the first to stop and as approached the car I realized she was out cold. I went to open her door and nothing. It was locked. At that instant my legs began shaking uncontrollably, I began to yell at her through the window hoping she would stir. I quickly ran around the vehicle and checked all the doors while growing more desperate. I decided to smash one of the rear windows to get to her. I was about to swing at the rear driver side window with my elbow when I heard the unmistakable click of the power locks. She was beginning to stir. My nerves, however, were taking over. I could feel my body trembling and I could not seem to control the volume of my voice. Once I gained entry to the vehicle, another driver had stopped to give a hand and I was glad he did. He was more collected and began to speak to the lady, whom was still semi-unconscious. I on the other hand was mumbling whatever came to mind as my heart raced; I was still panicking. We must have been just minutes away from a fire station; not more that two or three minutes had passed before the first responders arrived and I was very relieved, the medics could now take over. After answering a few questions for the investigating officers, I jumped in my truck and began my ARR. In my self analysis I concluded that I felt powerless to help the lady once I realized the SUV was locked. I knew why I reacted the way I did. I had felt similar to this once before but it was not someone else I was trying to help.
On September 11th, 2008, I was over at my cousin's house, back in my hometown, helping him repair his sub flooring when the unthinkable happened. I was about to nail down a new sheet of decking material when I fell through the floor and put my arm through a window. The glass cut though my left forearm and severed everything until it hit bone. I had only seen arterial bleeding in the medical training video's during our CLS course but now I had a a front row seat to the taping.
After seeing my mangled arm my heart damm near torn through my chest. I could feel every beat pound against my chest so hard I thought a heavy metal band had booked a concert in my chest and the drummer had replaced his bass drum with my heart. I immediately knew that I was going to need a tourniquet but first I was going to apply a pressure dressing to the wound. My two cousins had run out the front door in a panic. I that point I realized that I needed to keep my head on straight or I was going to bleed to death. Retrospectively, I don't blame them, I would have shit myself too. I got up and walked to the front door to get my cousins' attention. Once I did I instructed them to remove my shirt an proceeded to instruct them to apply the makeshift pressure bandage. My cousins were afraid to hurt me and could not find it in them to tighten the dressing tight enough to stop the bleeding. I immediately began searching for something to use as a tourniquet. At this point, I was scared, but I was in control, issuing order's and maintaining situational awareness. That military training always seems to kick in without letting me know. I began to apply direct pressure to the wound with my one good arm right after I gave my cell phone to one of my cousins and instructing him to call 911. At this point I realized I was wearing a belt! Why hadn't I thought of it sooner? I had not worn a belt all week because it was packed somewhere in one of my bags and I could not find it. That morning however, I found it inside a laundry bag so I put it on. We were already in a bad situation, we were in a small town about 20 miles of country road away from the nearest hospital but what happen next made me lose my cool. My cousin turns to me and tells me he cannot figure out how to dial 911 on my blackberry. My cousins tell me I was yelling commands at them the entire time; I was probably just using my command voice, but at this point I knew I was yelling. Once we were in the truck and in motion, I dialed 911 while holding the end of the belt between my shoulder and chin, the way you would a telephone, to keep the belt tight around my arm. With that out of the way my next concern was getting a hold of myself. My heart was racing, my legs were shaking uncontrollably and my body had pumped itself so full of adrenaline that I could not feel the pain that should have been ripping through my arm. It also didn't help that we broke countless traffic laws several times over. I could feel my body shutting itself off. First I became extremely thirsty and my skin looked like a sheet of white copier paper. Once I started feeling sleepy, I turned to my cousin in the driver's seat a told him to pull the belt tight if I passed out. Then, a wall of white, my vision began to phase between a mild fogginess to a cloudy white. Retrospectively, If God was watching over me, he could not have picked a better day. It was at this moment that that my cousin first spotted the ambulance that was dispatched to meet us half way. For brevity's sake I'll cut the story short, but if you haven't figured it out yet I'm still kicking.
This experience on Sept. 11 was the catalyst. It turned the key to the engine that runs deepest darkest regions of my head. This is when I started analyzing life and death. It was at this instant that I knew I had taken for granted the delicate existence we call life. At first I could not understand why God would let me go through something so traumatic. God and I always had our differences; let's just say we never really saw each other eye to eye, but this time I was furious.
I could have died that day. Why was I spared? What if I had died. How many people would have attended my funeral? What would the world be like if I had died? Was my purpose on this plain of existence my fulfilled? These were only a few of the hamsters spinning the wheel in my head.
My initial thoughts brushed all these incidents aside as coincidences but then someone hit the light switch. There wasn't even a thought process involved. It was one of those moments where you figured out it was easier to peel the stickers off the Rubik's cube and place them on corresponding sides instead of finishing the puzzle. I realized that if I had died that September afternoon, I would not have been there to help those two people and I would not be here to deploy to the middle east. That day, as I continued my little trek to San Antonio, it dawned on me that God had intervened in all three experiences because he wanted me to be prepared. I cannot explain how this connection came to fruition but it was one of those eureka moments.
He was preparing me for something; he was helping my actions and reactions under extreme stress to evolve. He was giving me the courage and fortitude I needed to deal with what lies ahead. I do not mean to imply that God is preparing me for war. I would like to think that an omnipotent being would discount the very notion of war, although he allows if because it negates free will. I am merely stating that he is tending his flock. I realized that he wants me to be ready for something that is going to test my mettle. Whatever lies ahead is one of those unknowns that can drive a man insane, but at least I'll be ready for it.
This revelation has in turn subdued many of the dilemmas that I have contemplated over the last few months. A few remain but I am sure I will act accordingly when they present themselves. God had a strange why of shuffling the deck, he may have pocket aces and I do not think I can bluff myself out if this one.
I had gladly volunteer to drive to San Antonio to pick up the middle child of a family that treats me as one of their own. About an hour and a half into the trip, a car about half a mile ahead of me suddenly veered off the interstate and flipped three times. The only reason I realized an accident was occurring was the swerving of the big rigs up ahead. I drove up on the accident scene a few minutes later and I saw a few guys pulling a man from the wreckage. I knew this was not the way to move a man with potential life threatening injuries. As I drove by, the casualty was laying down with everyone standing around not sure what to do next. I decided to pull over and offer the limited medical knowledge I learned in Combat Lifesaver Course, more commonly known as CLS. A few others had already begun to manage traffic but I the injured man needed help. As I ran up to the guy and took control of his care, I issued a few orders to the bystanders, and they surprisingly complied. I told the man to remain still and asked the bystanders to help me find something to immobilize his neck. I then began asking the guy questions to check for a head injury. Not more than a few minutes had elapsed when a nurse and a doctor, who did not know each other and were traveling in different directions, stopped and offered assistance. Without saying a word, I deferred control to them and assisted in keeping the man calm. It soon became clear to us that the man was going to be fine; he was scratched up and battered, but he would probably walk away from it all after a thorough checkout at the ER thanks to everybody that pulled over to help.
Now I told you this story because of the manner in which I reacted, I was calm, collected, unphased and almost methodical in my actions. I never raised my voice, didn't feel any nerves fraying and kept my cool. As soon as the man was loaded into the ambulance I began a ARR or After Action Review to analyze my actions. ARR's are used in the military to critique the outcome of missions at every level, from the lowly fire team to the brigade command. I took my time walking back to the Suburban and began to compare my response to this situation to one that occurred a few months earlier.
In mid April I was returning to my unit headquarters from a military school that had ended that day when the person directly in front of me swerved to miss a braking car. The lady behind the wheel over corrected and began skidding all over the road. We just happened to be on a bridge and she bounced between the guardrails like a super ball being thrown across the room. I was just glad to be far enough behind to avoid getting hit but I wasn't phased by the danger. This time I was the first to stop and as approached the car I realized she was out cold. I went to open her door and nothing. It was locked. At that instant my legs began shaking uncontrollably, I began to yell at her through the window hoping she would stir. I quickly ran around the vehicle and checked all the doors while growing more desperate. I decided to smash one of the rear windows to get to her. I was about to swing at the rear driver side window with my elbow when I heard the unmistakable click of the power locks. She was beginning to stir. My nerves, however, were taking over. I could feel my body trembling and I could not seem to control the volume of my voice. Once I gained entry to the vehicle, another driver had stopped to give a hand and I was glad he did. He was more collected and began to speak to the lady, whom was still semi-unconscious. I on the other hand was mumbling whatever came to mind as my heart raced; I was still panicking. We must have been just minutes away from a fire station; not more that two or three minutes had passed before the first responders arrived and I was very relieved, the medics could now take over. After answering a few questions for the investigating officers, I jumped in my truck and began my ARR. In my self analysis I concluded that I felt powerless to help the lady once I realized the SUV was locked. I knew why I reacted the way I did. I had felt similar to this once before but it was not someone else I was trying to help.
On September 11th, 2008, I was over at my cousin's house, back in my hometown, helping him repair his sub flooring when the unthinkable happened. I was about to nail down a new sheet of decking material when I fell through the floor and put my arm through a window. The glass cut though my left forearm and severed everything until it hit bone. I had only seen arterial bleeding in the medical training video's during our CLS course but now I had a a front row seat to the taping.
After seeing my mangled arm my heart damm near torn through my chest. I could feel every beat pound against my chest so hard I thought a heavy metal band had booked a concert in my chest and the drummer had replaced his bass drum with my heart. I immediately knew that I was going to need a tourniquet but first I was going to apply a pressure dressing to the wound. My two cousins had run out the front door in a panic. I that point I realized that I needed to keep my head on straight or I was going to bleed to death. Retrospectively, I don't blame them, I would have shit myself too. I got up and walked to the front door to get my cousins' attention. Once I did I instructed them to remove my shirt an proceeded to instruct them to apply the makeshift pressure bandage. My cousins were afraid to hurt me and could not find it in them to tighten the dressing tight enough to stop the bleeding. I immediately began searching for something to use as a tourniquet. At this point, I was scared, but I was in control, issuing order's and maintaining situational awareness. That military training always seems to kick in without letting me know. I began to apply direct pressure to the wound with my one good arm right after I gave my cell phone to one of my cousins and instructing him to call 911. At this point I realized I was wearing a belt! Why hadn't I thought of it sooner? I had not worn a belt all week because it was packed somewhere in one of my bags and I could not find it. That morning however, I found it inside a laundry bag so I put it on. We were already in a bad situation, we were in a small town about 20 miles of country road away from the nearest hospital but what happen next made me lose my cool. My cousin turns to me and tells me he cannot figure out how to dial 911 on my blackberry. My cousins tell me I was yelling commands at them the entire time; I was probably just using my command voice, but at this point I knew I was yelling. Once we were in the truck and in motion, I dialed 911 while holding the end of the belt between my shoulder and chin, the way you would a telephone, to keep the belt tight around my arm. With that out of the way my next concern was getting a hold of myself. My heart was racing, my legs were shaking uncontrollably and my body had pumped itself so full of adrenaline that I could not feel the pain that should have been ripping through my arm. It also didn't help that we broke countless traffic laws several times over. I could feel my body shutting itself off. First I became extremely thirsty and my skin looked like a sheet of white copier paper. Once I started feeling sleepy, I turned to my cousin in the driver's seat a told him to pull the belt tight if I passed out. Then, a wall of white, my vision began to phase between a mild fogginess to a cloudy white. Retrospectively, If God was watching over me, he could not have picked a better day. It was at this moment that that my cousin first spotted the ambulance that was dispatched to meet us half way. For brevity's sake I'll cut the story short, but if you haven't figured it out yet I'm still kicking.
This experience on Sept. 11 was the catalyst. It turned the key to the engine that runs deepest darkest regions of my head. This is when I started analyzing life and death. It was at this instant that I knew I had taken for granted the delicate existence we call life. At first I could not understand why God would let me go through something so traumatic. God and I always had our differences; let's just say we never really saw each other eye to eye, but this time I was furious.
I could have died that day. Why was I spared? What if I had died. How many people would have attended my funeral? What would the world be like if I had died? Was my purpose on this plain of existence my fulfilled? These were only a few of the hamsters spinning the wheel in my head.
My initial thoughts brushed all these incidents aside as coincidences but then someone hit the light switch. There wasn't even a thought process involved. It was one of those moments where you figured out it was easier to peel the stickers off the Rubik's cube and place them on corresponding sides instead of finishing the puzzle. I realized that if I had died that September afternoon, I would not have been there to help those two people and I would not be here to deploy to the middle east. That day, as I continued my little trek to San Antonio, it dawned on me that God had intervened in all three experiences because he wanted me to be prepared. I cannot explain how this connection came to fruition but it was one of those eureka moments.
He was preparing me for something; he was helping my actions and reactions under extreme stress to evolve. He was giving me the courage and fortitude I needed to deal with what lies ahead. I do not mean to imply that God is preparing me for war. I would like to think that an omnipotent being would discount the very notion of war, although he allows if because it negates free will. I am merely stating that he is tending his flock. I realized that he wants me to be ready for something that is going to test my mettle. Whatever lies ahead is one of those unknowns that can drive a man insane, but at least I'll be ready for it.
This revelation has in turn subdued many of the dilemmas that I have contemplated over the last few months. A few remain but I am sure I will act accordingly when they present themselves. God had a strange why of shuffling the deck, he may have pocket aces and I do not think I can bluff myself out if this one.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
HERE WE GO!
Well, if anyone had any hopes of the deployment being scratched, do not read the link to article. Those of you that have been relying in the RUMOR INTELLIGENCE, you need to read this. HAHA!!!
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/metropolitan/6501078.html
http://www.chron.com/disp/story.mpl/metropolitan/6501078.html
Are there Ghost in Iraq?
Well, operating under my insatiable need for information, I have been reading every Iraqistan war book I can get my hands on. I need to prepare myself for what is ahead, right? Well the book I just finished reading was Paul Rieckoff's Chasing Ghost. This man is a true Patriot. The are no words that can describe the intensity and sincerity of his beliefs.
His accounts of the fire fights and raids he and his men took part in were so realistic I could almost see myself running along side his men or riding in one of the SUV's they had to commandeer. The most incomprehensible issues presented was the constant lack of supplies and the clusterfuck his chain of command called communication. I do not want to ruin the book for those of you that have not read it so I'll stop there. The book is a must read for anyone trying to understand what a soldier goes through and where the war when wrong.
Other books I recommend are: My War: Killing time in Irag-Colby Buzzell, Fiasco-Thomas Ricks, The Mission, The Men, and Me-Pete Blaber, The Unforgiving Minute,-Craig m. Mullaney, Two Wars,-Nate Self
His accounts of the fire fights and raids he and his men took part in were so realistic I could almost see myself running along side his men or riding in one of the SUV's they had to commandeer. The most incomprehensible issues presented was the constant lack of supplies and the clusterfuck his chain of command called communication. I do not want to ruin the book for those of you that have not read it so I'll stop there. The book is a must read for anyone trying to understand what a soldier goes through and where the war when wrong.
Other books I recommend are: My War: Killing time in Irag-Colby Buzzell, Fiasco-Thomas Ricks, The Mission, The Men, and Me-Pete Blaber, The Unforgiving Minute,-Craig m. Mullaney, Two Wars,-Nate Self
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Unkowns
Emotions are a bitch. One of the toughest things I've endured over the last few weeks is the feeling on uncertainty. When are we going? Where we going? What happens if one of us gets shot? How will I react if I get shot or hit by an IED. Will I pull the trigger when I am staring down the barrel of a Russian made AK-47. How will I react, that's the million dollar question. I am not scared of doing my duty, but I am petrified of the unknown. Not knowing how I am going to react the first time I am getting shot at is tearing me up inside. I would like to think that I am a going to keep a cool head, execute some fancy tactic that I am trained to execute and move on to complete the mission, but not knowing is a bitch. I do know that I don't want to be the idiot that pisses his pants. The number one thing I have learned in the military is to embrace the unknown.
I do know I love serving my country. I do know I don't want to die doing it. I do not want to be another name on a wall somewhere. I want to return to the States and life a happy life. I know I want to get married someday, I know I want kids, a nice job and a big house. I do not even know if I'll be back in one piece, physically and mentally. My buddies that have been to Iraqistan tell me PTSD is a bitch.
Preparing to go to war is the emotional. Emotional unknowns are the most difficult to deal with. How will I feel after after I've been shot at or after I have pulled the trigger myself. Lately I've been experiencing the full spectrum of human emotion and I haven't even left the States yet. I don't need my shitfaced buddies telling me, "Hey man don't go over and try to be a hero." Fuck them, I know what I got myself into, I love serving my country. They can stay home play video games, get up every morning drink their coffee and go to their job, if they still even have one. I will defend every one's right to call me a fucking baby killer, even after my buddy just lost his job because he has missed to much work due to military obligations. His employer can go fuck himself too. I don't need my mom telling me how she does not want to lose me. Fuck, I do not need to think about these things, I just want to live my life as I see fit. I do not need everyone questioning why I live the life I lead.
It's a powerful burden to carry but someone has to carry it.
I do know I love serving my country. I do know I don't want to die doing it. I do not want to be another name on a wall somewhere. I want to return to the States and life a happy life. I know I want to get married someday, I know I want kids, a nice job and a big house. I do not even know if I'll be back in one piece, physically and mentally. My buddies that have been to Iraqistan tell me PTSD is a bitch.
Preparing to go to war is the emotional. Emotional unknowns are the most difficult to deal with. How will I feel after after I've been shot at or after I have pulled the trigger myself. Lately I've been experiencing the full spectrum of human emotion and I haven't even left the States yet. I don't need my shitfaced buddies telling me, "Hey man don't go over and try to be a hero." Fuck them, I know what I got myself into, I love serving my country. They can stay home play video games, get up every morning drink their coffee and go to their job, if they still even have one. I will defend every one's right to call me a fucking baby killer, even after my buddy just lost his job because he has missed to much work due to military obligations. His employer can go fuck himself too. I don't need my mom telling me how she does not want to lose me. Fuck, I do not need to think about these things, I just want to live my life as I see fit. I do not need everyone questioning why I live the life I lead.
It's a powerful burden to carry but someone has to carry it.
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