November 7
Forgive me if I've told this story before.
I relive it every year, at least a few times.
Ten years ago today my morning started early with a phone call from a panicked spouse. At the time I was one of the FRG leaders for our unit and so my number was associated with information. If people had questions about just about anything they would call me or one of the other leaders.
However, at 6:30 that morning I had no information.
The woman on the other end of the phone line told me a Blackhawk had been shot down in Tikrit and it was ours.
I was confused.
Our unit was running operations in Mosul not Tikrit. Why did she think it was our unit?
She said the news was reporting the aircraft belonged to 101st airborne. Although there were over 200 aircraft in theatre that belonged to the Screaming Eagles, I knew she was right, it was our company, it was one of us. The 101st was operating out of Mosul, but our company, B. Co. Lancers, were rotating in and out of Tikrit to assist with another ground unit there.
Eli was just a little over a year old. For some reason that day he was unbelievably good. I can picture a million images in my mind from that day, but not a single one includes him.
Hours passed. I watched every single minute of every news report possible. Waiting. Praying. Hoping.
By noon nobody had knocked on my door in uniform.
I finally decided it was safe to take a shower.
I decided it couldn't be Matt, too much time had passed without notification. I thought that maybe the news was wrong, I hadn't heard a thing yet so maybe it wasn't our company.
I called the woman back who had awakened me earlier. I wanted to let her know that I still didn't know anything and that was why I hadn't called back yet.
The phone rang a few times.
She answered.
I apologized for not calling back until now and explained that I still didn't know anything.
Her words shoot through my heart to this day.
"It's mine".
"What? What are you talking about?"
"They are here right now"
She passed the phone over to a mutual friend who told me the names of those who died that day.
I called Mika, who had been over earlier waiting with me, and another friend of mine Sara. Both arrived at my house moments later.
I was asked to go to the house of another deceased soldier and wait with his girlfriend and son.
Everything after that is kind of a blur. There were tears, a lot of tears.
Hours later I returned home, Mika and Sara were still there. I shared the information I had gathered through the day, and we sat there numbly taking in the events.
Mika stayed with Eli and I that night. Neither of us knew what to do with ourselves.
Early the next morning my phone rang...the voice on the other end was my husband.
It was by far the most difficult conversation he and I have ever had.
After a few minutes Tom got on the phone and I had a chance to talk with him for a few seconds before handing the phone off to Mika.
The sweetness of hearing the voice of a loved one in a difficult time is immeasurable.
Over the next few days I had the opportunity to visit each of the widows. There were a lot of tears, and there was a lot of love and support. We each shared our stories.
Through those difficult days we were all bonded together like never before and not again since. We celebrated life, mourned the death, and prayed that the rest of the soldiers would soon return home.
A year later we gathered at the memorial dedication for the crew of the aircraft that was shot down. We looked into the faces of spouses, children, and parents. We gathered together and laughed and cried. We remembered those few who gave their lives and cherished those who survived.
November 7th is a day I'll never forget. Today is a day that Matt relives every year. The names of those crew members, Scott, Kyran, Ben, and Paul, will never erase from our memory.
Today Matt and I will open up an old treasured bottle of Jack Daniels reserved for just this occasion, raise a glass to the fallen, say a prayer for the survivors, and take a moment to remember these few who paid the ultimate sacrifice for this nation.
All gave some, some gave all. 431. Gone but not forgotten. Prost.
I relive it every year, at least a few times.
Ten years ago today my morning started early with a phone call from a panicked spouse. At the time I was one of the FRG leaders for our unit and so my number was associated with information. If people had questions about just about anything they would call me or one of the other leaders.
However, at 6:30 that morning I had no information.
The woman on the other end of the phone line told me a Blackhawk had been shot down in Tikrit and it was ours.
I was confused.
Our unit was running operations in Mosul not Tikrit. Why did she think it was our unit?
She said the news was reporting the aircraft belonged to 101st airborne. Although there were over 200 aircraft in theatre that belonged to the Screaming Eagles, I knew she was right, it was our company, it was one of us. The 101st was operating out of Mosul, but our company, B. Co. Lancers, were rotating in and out of Tikrit to assist with another ground unit there.
Eli was just a little over a year old. For some reason that day he was unbelievably good. I can picture a million images in my mind from that day, but not a single one includes him.
Hours passed. I watched every single minute of every news report possible. Waiting. Praying. Hoping.
By noon nobody had knocked on my door in uniform.
I finally decided it was safe to take a shower.
I decided it couldn't be Matt, too much time had passed without notification. I thought that maybe the news was wrong, I hadn't heard a thing yet so maybe it wasn't our company.
I called the woman back who had awakened me earlier. I wanted to let her know that I still didn't know anything and that was why I hadn't called back yet.
The phone rang a few times.
She answered.
I apologized for not calling back until now and explained that I still didn't know anything.
Her words shoot through my heart to this day.
"It's mine".
"What? What are you talking about?"
"They are here right now"
She passed the phone over to a mutual friend who told me the names of those who died that day.
I called Mika, who had been over earlier waiting with me, and another friend of mine Sara. Both arrived at my house moments later.
I was asked to go to the house of another deceased soldier and wait with his girlfriend and son.
Everything after that is kind of a blur. There were tears, a lot of tears.
Hours later I returned home, Mika and Sara were still there. I shared the information I had gathered through the day, and we sat there numbly taking in the events.
Mika stayed with Eli and I that night. Neither of us knew what to do with ourselves.
Early the next morning my phone rang...the voice on the other end was my husband.
It was by far the most difficult conversation he and I have ever had.
After a few minutes Tom got on the phone and I had a chance to talk with him for a few seconds before handing the phone off to Mika.
The sweetness of hearing the voice of a loved one in a difficult time is immeasurable.
Over the next few days I had the opportunity to visit each of the widows. There were a lot of tears, and there was a lot of love and support. We each shared our stories.
Through those difficult days we were all bonded together like never before and not again since. We celebrated life, mourned the death, and prayed that the rest of the soldiers would soon return home.
A year later we gathered at the memorial dedication for the crew of the aircraft that was shot down. We looked into the faces of spouses, children, and parents. We gathered together and laughed and cried. We remembered those few who gave their lives and cherished those who survived.
November 7th is a day I'll never forget. Today is a day that Matt relives every year. The names of those crew members, Scott, Kyran, Ben, and Paul, will never erase from our memory.
Today Matt and I will open up an old treasured bottle of Jack Daniels reserved for just this occasion, raise a glass to the fallen, say a prayer for the survivors, and take a moment to remember these few who paid the ultimate sacrifice for this nation.
All gave some, some gave all. 431. Gone but not forgotten. Prost.
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