Ways of Exiting

I ended up remaining in Rustamiyah a week longer than intended. Just as my days there were coming to a close, a young soldier from another unit committed suicide. From what I heard he was a soldier who was looking forward to a future. He showed no signs of wanting to leave this world. What we do know is that he just gotten off the phone with a girlfriend back home that broke up with him. The military folks speak of suicide as “the permanent solution to a temporary problem.” Late teens, early twenty-somethings don’t have the perspective of time and experience. So much for them is all or nothing. This is one of the reasons that they can be combat soldiers. They can more easily face being in the position of risking everything.

I decided to attend the memorial service because I felt it was my duty. I felt it was my duty as a chaplain and as another human who has known the demon that draws the mind and soul toward “the easy fix.” It was a sad occasion. In situations as these, command does not want “full military honors” given. Nor do they invite higher ranking to attend. It is mostly a closed affair for the unit. The memorial was attended by forty or more soldiers. During his reflection, a brave soldier said the words that I had wished I had heard for the memorial of SPC Carlson—“I loved him.” The sermon included the Army’s mantra…”we will continue the mission.”

Instead of the usual flags and symbols of a fallen soldier, the front stage of the room was bare except for a recently painted portrait. Local Iraqi artists will paint portraits from photographs. These seem to be popular as mementos, sending to sweethearts and families. What made this scene hard was the fact that when the service ended, soldiers didn’t know what to do. (Usually military honors are given at the end of the service and the soldiers will march out after saluting the helmet upon the upright M-16 with boots in front.) Some soldiers stood and simply walked out. Others sat on the bench for a long while stunned and consoling each other. Some stood in front of the portrait. And a few saluted the portrait. We grope in the face of such losses. Some military folks find these to be “dishonorable” deaths. I don’t agree. The soldier was overcome by an enemy.

The day that CH Keough was to return from RR, a team of soldiers had a couple of missions in the city including going to the airport to pick CH K and the CSM up. On their way, one of the vehicles was hit by a devastating “platter charge” which blew a hole the size of a basketball in the side of the up-armored vehicle. The projectile instantaneously killed SSG Contreras the TC (trip commander) seated in the front passenger’s seat. All others in the vehicle were fine. The female gunner was hit in the leg by some blunt object; very likely the TC’s Kevlar helmet. She seemed fine other than some bruising and emotional trauma. CH K’s Chaplain’s Assistant, SPC Miller was seated right behind the TC. He caught a tiny piece of shrapnel to the hand.

CH W, CH K and I decided that my remaining in Rustamiyah another week through the memorial service made sense. The Ramp Ceremony was a solemn event. Soldiers gathered in ranks and waited for a helicopter to arrive. Once SSG C’s remains were unloaded from an ambulance all soldiers stood at attention and gave a salute. We remained in this position until the helicopter was loaded and flew off.

SSG Contreras was a no-nonsense mission focused soldier who was beloved by many. He was warm hearted and loved to nap. He was about to go on leave to see his mother and daughter. He was a few days away from a birthday. (In fact, the July birthdays were celebrated a couple days before the memorial service.) SSG Contreras’ memorial service included full military honors and was attended by many visiting officers and unit representatives. A slide show played on a loop prior to the service showing SGT Contreras “doing his thing” among his soldiers. At the close of the service all in attendance in the filled-beyond-capacity chapel gave a final salute. Many laid small tokens (coins and other items) at the place where SSG Contreras’ empty boots stood. To either side were the posthumous awards of Purple Heart and Bronze Star.

Because of the unforeseen circumstances, my goodbyes to the 519 MP’s got prolonged. No sooner had the commander presented me with a desk plaque in thanks, the meeting was interrupted by the news of the attack. The plaque sat on a chair for a couple of days before I could pick it up again. Right before the memorial service, several of the MP’s were socializing in CH K’s office. One of the Sergeant Majors asked me if I got my coin. He instructed a soldier to get one from his desk. The Viper coin is by far one of the most impressive military coins that I have seen. The individually registered coins are shaped like a Viper’s head about to strike. CH K gave me a t-shirt with a silly looking snake on the front. I was honored. What did I do that no other person in my place wouldn’t have done? The draw to belong is very powerful in the military, especially during wartime.

The ministry allows me to belong more than what I feel I deserve and yet allows me to say goodbye as best as I can when the time has come.

A mentor once said to me that two of the most important things one will ever do is say “hello” and say “goodbye.” She said that how we do these things says a great deal of who we are as people. Every time I do either one of these two, I remember that I am still learning how until the day when--whether I am ready or not--I will do it for the final time. We are always saying “hello” and “goodbye”, “goodbye” and “hello.”