A Shattered Soul

To all of those who have served in the United States Marine Corps. Semper Fidelis!

Also to Reisae, Becky and Kathy for the overwhelming support and dedication.

Throughout our lives at one point or another, we encounter Loss. All loss is felt on a multitude of levels, the severity being dictated by the root cause. Amongst the various types of Loss, none is more devastating than losing a loved one. Someone who is dear to our heart. It’s an unfortunate fact that no one will travel through life without enduring this deeply wounding heartache.

My personal experience set forth a change in my life that inevitably delivered me to my current state. Directing me down an unexpected path. Followed by the healing process. Working steadily through the grief, in my own time. Emerging a stronger and more heartfelt person. We owe it to ourselves and those we have lost to seek happiness and continue living our lives to the best of our abilities.

It was the summer of 2007, already six months into my first combat deployment. The rigors of the demanding actions and routines did little to sway my nineteen-year-old mind from any other thoughts. Sure I was in a very undesirable place. The day temperatures averaged around a hundred and twenty-five degrees. The weather was little to worry about as opposed to the enemy insurgency. Al-Anbar province was legitimately the most unpleasant place I had ever been to. The area in which we operated was vast. A parchment of the desolate Iraq landscape. Vigilance wasn’t a practice it became a lifestyle.

Luckily enough I wasn’t alone in this trial. While in basic training just a year prior, I met Christian. Just a few months older than me, he was unique in his way. Our respected cultures differed little in values which helped to strengthen our friendship. Marine boot camp gave us the foundation. After earning the title of Marine, we attended the School of Infantry. The two-month long combat introduction course made our bond stronger. As we learned we could depend on each other faithfully. When the time came for us to advance to our main posting we were relieved to find out we were to be sent to the same unit.

Our friendship was not just a product of our profession. During our liberty time, Christian introduced me to southern California. He is a California native from the north, it differed little for him. The tremendous metropolitan cities put me in culture shock. Having come from a small island in Hawaii with a max population of seven thousand people, the concrete jungle was surreal. I learned how to traverse the city, to identify the markers of safe neighborhoods and map the endless pattern of streets. Christian found my mediocrity as amusing as I found his knowledge. His optimism I would learn later was to be unrivaled. Even to this day, I have yet to encounter another human being that possesses that level of positivity. He enjoyed watching talk shows, making comments in Spanish as he watched enthralled. I knew as well as the others in our squad never to bother him while his shows were on. With every passing month, we knew that we drew closer to war. Both of us made a commitment to our families and our country to defend them. It was an oath we aimed to honor.

A week prior to departing San Diego for the Middle East our unit formed a new section. This section was to be comprised of Marines plucked from the four different companies that made up our Unit. Christian was selected and was tasked out with this detail for the duration of our impending deployment. The news did little to affect us as we would still be going together. We just wouldn’t see each other as much as we assumed we would. Christian was excited about his new assignment and so were we in his squad. He was a solid Marine, even for being new to the Corps.

The months passed as our deployment inched by. Being in such a dangerous place in addition to the grueling heat made time seem to pass extremely slowly. Yet my squad got to catch up with Christian frequently. Any day you are still alive was a good day in Iraq. He always made it a point to see us when he had the opportunity and we would do the same. I along with my squad were posted in the city. A place forgotten by the world as the ancient reminders of the past far outnumbered any indication of modern times. Christian operated out of our unit’s main base, five miles to the east on the outskirts of the city. His location was better than ours for a variety of reasons. Not being surrounded by a city full of people wanting to kill you was by far the best attribute.

The location we occupied was an abandoned police compound. Previous units fortified the position making good use of the eight-foot-tall walls of thick concrete. Strategic bunkers were erected to help maximize surveillance of the perimeter. With one road leading into the compound through two checkpoints and a well-made serpentine that ensured to deter any potential attackers.

On the morning of August second, across the city Christian's detail was relayed coordinates from an adjacent unit. Their small mobile group responded promptly to provide additional support. Unaware of the events taking place, I stood guard in one of the four main defensive bunkers in our makeshift fortification. Remaining in a state of constant vigilance. Guard duty was less than ideal, six hours in a box staring at the same area wasn’t enticing. Sometimes when incoming attacks took place it proved to be an adrenaline rush. Nobody had been stupid enough to attack us in weeks, thus guard duty retained its dullness.

After what seemed like an eternity, boredom had burrowed itself into my mind. It was expelled at the sound of footsteps. Having heard the unique sound of boots on sandbag contact, from months of rotating guard duty it was always a welcomed sound. Security was paramount, so I leaned over the armored plated side to confirm the approaching person. As I hoped it was my relief. Lance corporal Jones. He wasn’t nearly as happy as I was as we commenced our brief change over routine. Jones never said a word and had the blankest look on his face. It was peculiar because he was always a lively guy. Having the similar rank was the only trait I had in common with Jones, but I knew him enough to know something was wrong.

I quickly dismissed any doubtful thoughts as I exited the bunker, excited to get a few hours without wearing my eighty pounds of combat gear. Slowly making my way to the main entrance, taking my time to ensure my weapon was unloaded to prevent any accidents. Once I finished clearing my rifle, I removed my Kevlar helmet as to let my head breathe. My helmet was the worst piece of gear in my opinion, so bulky uncomfortable and not sexy in any way.

Approaching the main entrance I was surprised no one was out front except for the other Marines from my squad and my Platoon Sergeant, Staff Sergeant Grimes. Staff Sergeant was a career Marine; he was rugged and tough almost the physical embodiment of the Marine Corps. We all respected him greatly. I drew closer with the thought that one of those idiots in my squad got us in trouble. I tried to gauge the looks of my team members to see if any of their expressions would expose them. All I found were faces blank like Jones’s was or even worse.

Stopping directly in front of Staff Sergeant, I asked him as to what was going on. He placed his hand on my shoulder, which immediately sent alarms going off in my mind. Staff Sergeant was more in nature than nurture man; you should have seen his children. He began to speak, his voice monotone, offering less expression than his facial features. What I was about to learn would immortalize this moment in my mind forever.

He began to detail the actions in which led Christian’s detail to respond to a call. He went on to describe the events to the best of his abilities. Even to the point when they stopped a suspicious truck near their objective. When approaching this truck carrying five military-age males to verify that they were no security threat, the men in the truck opened fire. Staff Sergeant continued with reporting how the firefight between our Marines and the insurgent swine commenced. Slowing his speech he stated that the five insurgents were killed. This made a sense of calm come over me, but that was premature on my end. Staff Sergeant then informed me of that two Marines where severely wounded and one was killed in action. Christian was that unfortunate soul.

As the words hit my ears an instant state of denial was my response. Claiming it was bull shit, I scrounged to get out of my gear as it was taking irritation to a whole new level. My fears were confirmed even more as I look to my squad members. At this point, all had tears in their eyes tinted with anger and hatred. The words replaying in my mind still, my body was flushed with a heat stronger than what the desert summer had ever produced.

I let my helmet fall from my hand as I released my rifle to let it dangle from my cross body sling. I had to free up my hands as to wipe the onslaught of tears I was producing. Christian was honestly the first best friend I had, and after a year of training together he was gone. The memories of all the times we had and things we overcame just made the weeping worst. Thoughts of his family, the mother and younger brother he was leaving behind did not help. Realizing the plans we had to celebrate when we got home we had made would never happen. There was no more reason to celebrate even if I made it home. In the next few weeks that remained of the deployment, I learn to acknowledge that he was gone but I never accepted it.

Actually, it took years to pass before I decided to face my grief. Mustering the strength with the assistance of friends I began to attempt the healing process. In a constant state of anger and depression, the first few months were difficult. Turning alcohol into a crutch really wasn’t the best idea I have had either. Somehow I found it better to feel nothing at all than work through my grief. When I was facing dark days I found that remembering the good times we had shared helped. Especially the laughter, it helped repel the invasion of depression and negativity.

This revelation enabled me to strengthen my foothold and push on in the direction of healing. It inspired my bravery to challenge myself and reclaim my life. It was not an easy process at all; every path has its detours. I found and practiced other techniques that proved to be beneficial in pursuit of healing. These would prove to help tremendously to help me navigate the troubled waters in which I had waded in for far too long.

Heal at Your Own Pace

It took me years to pursue the healing process. Everyone one grieves and deals with loss in their own way. Naturally in our own respected times. There should be no pressure on you and your path towards healing. Travel down the process at your own paste. Allowing yourself to grieve properly is instrumental in beginning to heal. Take your time and move along when you are ready.

Don’t Be Afraid Of the Pain

This is easier said than done, the pain of loss is inevitable and at some times relentless. It will never disappear fully, but it will get easier in time. The initial shock and trauma will subside with the passing days. I found it key that when it began to feel like too much, recalling only the good memories worked for me. Remember the pain will only last so long, and then the healing really begins.

Seek Out Help

There may come times when it may be too much, losing someone we love is one of the worst ordeals, if not the worst we encounter in life. Yet you do not need to pursue the healing process on your own. Actually, I encourage you not too. Find someone you are comfortable with talking to. Sharing and expressing your feelings can alleviate the weight on your heart extensively. This had allowed me to make pivotal progress in my healing process and I am sure that it will help you as well.

Names were changed to respect the privacy of his family as well as to respect the wishes of others involved.