Friday, September 18, 2009

I've been published. . . sort of

Well I wouldn't have believed it, but indeed I am in a book. Not me as a charictor. ME. The person. I'm even quoted. This strange moment of celebrity is not without some doubt. I'm almost affraid to see what is written about me. See when I was deployed LTC Kauzralich or however you spell his name (we just called him "Killer K") always had this reporter at his hip. Almost always. Some said that he was writting a book to make the col look good so he could get his chickens. Fat chance I thought till I saw in army times that the SOB had actually managed to get promoted. I guess they'll promote anyone in the Army these days.

It's so weird though. There are the words. There is the scene. I remember them. It was a distant memory, long forgotten, and yet reading what David wrote, the words I said came right back to me. Dear God did I really say that? Yes, yes I did. Did I really talk about that? Yes, I did. What do you say to that? There are your words. "I feel sick all the time when we go out. I know we're going to get hit." Its weird. And reading what March said. . . It made me realize that I wasn't the only one that was suffering inside. I especially liked the end of the chapter about us.

"Phill went back to his ambien

Lt Hammel went back to his furnature

Bailey went back to his long loops around the FOB

Wheeler went back to his 'what ifs'

and March went back to his slideshow."

It seems strangly fitting. In the end he didn't talk about chargin down hundreds of insurgents, or saving babies. In the end he seems to suggest that the ultimate act of heroism was simply putting the vest on again and going outside the wire. Does that make me a hero? Does that make me brave? or stupid?

It inspired me to do something to aleviate some guilt. I called the New Haven register. Its time to set the record strait. His family has a right to know. He didn't die becuase he was tired or because he was given a bad mission. He died because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He died because you never see an IED till its too late. Never. I hope that I can convey the sense of loss, that he was loved, and that his loss hurt us too. That we hold on to him each day in our dreams.

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