Those words hit me like a ton of bricks when my husband spoke them over two years ago. "What?" I stammered. "Iwan was killed." He repeated the words again. The air in our home is heavy with shock and then suffocating grief. I feel my knees start to shake so I sit down on the couch. This has to, somehow, be a bad joke. He sits down beside me and we are both quiet. He starts to cry and I reach out to him to hold him. "Iwan was killed....."
Edward Iwan and my husband were classmates at the University of Nebraska’s ROTC "Big Red Battalion." They attended classes together from 1999 until Ed graduated in December 2001. Matt graduated a semester later. The Big Red Battalion is a close-knit group, and you get to know all the cadets even more as they all work their way up to their senior year together. We all used to party together on the weekends. I am ashamed to admit exactly how many brain cells I killed from 1999-2002, but I’ll just estimate it at "a lot," and there are plenty of witnesses to these events should I ever decide to run for public office. On one occasion, Ed lent me one of his tank tops so that my husband could perform a "body shot" that was strategically placed somewhere on my anatomy.
Ahem.
Ed and my husband were similar; they were both prior enlisted Army soldiers who decided to become officers in the U.S. Army. Because of their prior enlisted time, they were not only ROTC cadets, but they were very often called upon to mentor and coach the younger cadets who had no military experience. It was important to both of them that they teach future officers how to learn from, and later lead their troops. After graduation and his commissioning, Ed had chosen to be an Infantry Officer, a leader of soldiers, while my husband decided on the Medical Specialty Corps.
In December 2001, my husband and I attended Ed’s commissioning ceremony and party after he graduated. That was the last time we saw Ed. He left for his Officer Basic Course (OBC) the next month. In the years since graduating, my husband has kept in touch with almost all of his ROTC classmates. Since 2003, it’s been more of a "Hey, is everybody still alive?" roll call than personal correspondence between friends.
So now I again hear "Iwan was killed," come from my husband’s mouth, and I am thinking to myself "Oh shit, this is REAL now." And I am horrified that we have lost not only a good friend, but a good man and a good officer. Then I tell myself that this just has to be some sort of sick joke; because just yesterday, I had read an article in the newspaper where Ed was quoted by an AP journalist who was embedded with his unit in Fallujah. I ask my husband if he’s serious and he hands me the newspaper with the latest identifications. I see Ed’s name there. We are both quiet for a long time, just sitting there hanging on to each other for dear life. Then we go to bed.
As we are lying in our bed waiting for sleep to come and rescue us from our thoughts, Matt turns to me and asks me "Do you think I should go to the funeral?" I tell him that yes, I think he should go. I then hear my husband start to cry, and I start to cry so I reach for him again. I feel my 6’3" husband curl into a fetal position in my arms. This cannot be happening. This has to be a bad dream.
The next few days are a blur as Matt contacts, and is contacted by a lot of his old ROTC friends. Everyone is trying to get back to Albion, Nebraska, where Ed’s service and burial are scheduled for November 22, 2004. Matt’s commanding officer has given him a pass so he can fly back to say his goodbyes. I decide to stay behind in Texas because I feel that this grief is something that my husband needs to experience with his Army buddies. Besides, I have some newly discovered "Army Wife" issues I need time alone to deal with.
The Tuesday after Ed’s funeral, I pick my husband up at the airport. It is quiet in our car during the drive home, and I don’t know what to say to help him stop hurting, to help him stop being afraid, and to help him with his anger over this senseless loss of a friend. I haven’t figured out how to help myself from being afraid, or to rid myself of the sense of rage, doom and powerlessness I feel about this whole Iraq mess. I sense that he is not ready to talk about this yet, and I decide that giving him some space is the best thing I can do right now.
Three days later he breaks and tells me about his trip back to see Ed off. Most of his friends from ROTC, excluding the deployed, had made it back. They all stayed at the same motel and spent the weekend reminiscing about their ROTC days. He goes on, in graphic details I don’t really want to hear, about the circumstances regarding Ed’s death in Fallujah.
Then he tells me about the funeral, and I can see that he’s a little upset at this point. He tells me about the politicians that came to the funeral, and how they demanded front row seats in the church. He tells me how the family had to step in and tell these jackasses with no shame, that the front rows at the church were reserved for Ed’s ROTC and Army friends who were in attendance. Matt proceeds to describe the caravan to the cemetery, and how it seemed that the whole town of Albion was out on the streets with American flags to pay their respects as the funeral procession snaked through the town. He said that was when he and the other men with him in the car, all started to cry. Together.
A few weeks ago, I was cleaning out the desk drawers in our home office. Tucked away, where I’m sure my husband didn’t think I would find them, were boarding passes for the flight back, a dried up flower, and this from Ed’s funeral:
Time has given both my husband and I the ability to now look back on our memories of Ed with happy tears and smiles. I'm sure that where ever he is right now, he knows who is responsible for the Margarita mess in his backyard. I have a sad smile for this memory, it's not one I will forget.
Today, families, friends, and loved ones of Anthony Aguirre received the news that every military family fears. Funerals will need to be planned, journeys home for final farewells need to be coordinated, and those last goodbyes will be tearfully said. Flags in Raymondville, Texas, will be put out, in honor of the local kid who didn't make it home. Their roads to healing will be long and painful.
There are five more pending notifications. And this nightmare continues for us, with no end in sight.
All of the U.S. fatalities can be seen here or here. They all had loved ones, families and friends. The DoD news releases are here.
I Got the News Today is a diary series intended to honor, respect and remind. This series is maintained by i dunno, with the help of Sandy on Signal and monkeybiz.
Click here for the previous diary in this series or click the igtnt tag.