Harsh realities and missing pieces

By this point I'm sure most everyone has heard about the American Chinook helicopter that was shot down last Saturday and the military members (both American and Afghan) that lost their lives.  I've debated what to say, if anything.  There are about 330,000 active duty members of the Navy.  Some days the Navy seems big and faceless, and then there are days that it's unbearably small.  Like when 22 sailors lose their lives and everyone seems to have known one of them.  I subscribe to the Navy Times, and every week they publish the photos of service members (all branches) that have died since the last issue.  There's never a week where there isn't at least one.  Usually it's four or five, maybe six or seven.  Each one of them is a tragic loss to their families and friends.  Each one leaves behind a space, a gap.  A missing piece.


Zac and Paul served on the Port Royal with one of the SEALs that died.  They weren't great friends or anything, but it was one of those, "Hey, I know that guy" moments when his name came up.  Zac will be going to work with some SEALs for the next three years. As I thought about how an entire team of SEALs had vanished, I asked him, "How would you feel if the guys you worked with were killed?  And not just one of them, but all of them?"  Of course it's an impossible question and there is no answer.  As much as I feel for the families of the SEALs that died, I have a great deal of empathy for all of the support personnel that worked with those guys who have to face losing so many of their comrades.  Their job is to keep the SEALs equipped, informed and prepared.  But sometimes even that's not enough.  I hope Zac never has to know what it's like to lose one of his guys on a mission.


One of the other SEALs that died was from Minneapolis.  Turns out Megan and Paul were acquainted with him back in high school.  One of Megan's friends even went on a couple of dates with him, back in the day. I know that they were both shocked to hear his name as one of the casualties.   They remember him as a 17 or 18 year old kid and probably would have never really thought of him again after high school if he hadn't been killed.  It's a strange little world we live in.


In the midst of this sadness, the Monday after news broke of the chopper crash, there was a knock on our door.  One of our neighbors was going around the cul-de-sac getting signatures on a condolence card for the family two doors down for us.  The husband was Army and had been killed a few days earlier while on deployment by an IED.  We signed the card, but knew that nothing we could write would be adequate.  I found myself doing what Zac did when he heard about the SEAL from the Port Royal - I racked my brain, trying to remember more, but I could hardly remember what he looked like.


 Zac and I don't really know most of our neighbors.  The housing community we live in is reserved for people with multiple dependents (i.e. a spouse and at least one child).  We got placed here because there was shortage of housing for what we were entitled to.  So while most of the neighbors' children run around the cul-de-sac and the parents get to know each other, Zac and I mainly keep to ourselves.  All I can remember about the soldier that died a few doors down is him coming and going to work on a few days when I happened to be outside at the same time.  I'm not sure that I ever even waved.  They moved in about six months ago.  They have two little girls.  Maybe four and two years old.  The thing that is most distinct about their family is that the maternal grandparents live with them - I'm guessing they moved in to assist their daughter with childcare since her husband had a, then, upcoming deployment.  Now they're not just helping with childcare, but helping their daughter through the process of grieving for and burying her husband.  What an entirely absurd situation.


I'm not sure that there's any point to this post.  It's all too sad and frustrating and draining.  People can argue policy and strategy all day.  And, truthfully, it's not like service members are the only people that face danger at work or who die before their time (whatever that means) and leave broken families and friends behind.  But they are good, honorable people that are doing what they are told and just want to come home safely.  And amazingly even though they know they might not make it back, they go anyway.  I'm humbled by that.  All I can do is hope that my appreciation for what they do brings at least a sliver of consolation to those who have suffered the loss.