A Little Bit of Luxury Called...a Towel

Well, my old nemesis is back. I am exhausted, running on empty, but my mind won’t settle. I let my mind wander down the labyrinth never knowing which twist or turn I will follow.

Tonight, my mind turns to December of 2009. Shane came home with his meager belongings from Fort Benning. Home. Shane was home for ten days before heading to Fort Campbell to become part of the legacy of the 101^st Airborne Division (Air Assault), “Bushmasters” Bravo Company, 1^st Battalion, 327^th Infantry Regiment.

Shane came home with freshly washed uniforms and linens, but I needed to rewash everything. I needed to send Shane off with uniforms that smelled like home; I know it was silly, but it was important to me.

As I was separating Shane’s articles of clothing (I have no idea why I needed to separate anything because everything was a shade of green), I couldn’t believe my eyes. I picked up a piece of cotton. At first, I thought it was a hand towel, but then I realized that it was Shane’s bath towel. And then my eyes welled up with tears; I couldn’t believe that the Army expected my Shane Michael to dry off with a ratty towel. I would have never kept this towel, it would not have passed muster, even with my rags.

I was offended, I was insulted, I was saddened that was what Shane would have to use to dry himself after a shower. Oh, but wait, back then I still assumed Shane would be in a position that he could shower.

A shower to me is an every day experience. A time to wake up, a time to contemplate, a time to tell myself that everything will be okay.

When Shane was in Afghanistan, a shower was a luxury to the Bushmaster brothers. Maybe, Shane thought that towel was a luxury. I never got a chance to ask Shane about the towel situation, but there are a lot of things I will never get a chance to ask Shane.

So, the next time you are stepping out of the shower and wrapping yourself in the luxury of an Egyptian cotton bath towel, let your mind relax. Take a moment to swaddle your mind with the knowledge that our military personnel make many sacrifices to help maintain and secure our freedom in this land that we call, “the home of the brave.”

Shane, I hope you are swaddled in luxury in the afterlife.

I will continue to “put one foot in front of the other.”

Peace-

Always and forever,

Shane’s Mammy and Beth’s Momma

Leaving on a Jet Plane

“All my bags are packed, I'm ready to go”

Except there were no packed bags, only an Army backpack swung over the shoulder of my son.

Two years ago today, Shane boarded a plane that took him to Fort Benning. A plane ride that would forever alter the course of his life. A plane ride that forever altered our lives. A plane ride that turned Shane from a young man into one tall Soldier.

I am ever so proud of PFC Shane M. Reifert, my son, my Shane Michael, my Moe.

I might stumble today, but I will continue to “put one foot in front of the other.”

Peace-

Always and forever,

Shane’s Mammy and Beth’s Momma

A Package in the Mail

A couple of weeks ago, we received a box from Fort Campbell - priority mail, medium flat rate box. I was not expecting anything so it caught me off guard. The contents of the box entered my mind and heart, which are already overflowing with so many unanswered whys.

Memorial Ceremony

1^st Battalion, 327^th Infantry Regiment

101^st Airborne Division (Air Assault)

FOB BLESSING

1400___________________________________09 NOV 2010

PRELUDE                                    “Leave No Man Behind”

                                                ~Blackhawk Down

INVOCATION                              CHAPLAIN

COMMANDER’S COMMENTS           CPT W.

REMARKS FROM A FRIEND            SPC HAMPTON

MEMORIAL DEDICATION              CHAPLAIN

BENEDICTION                                      CHAPLAIN

LAST ROLL CALL                          1SG R.

FIRING OF THE VOLLEYS

SOUNDING OF TAPS

POSTLUDE                                  “Freedom Theme”

                                                ~Braveheart

*************************************************************************

Almighty God, Father of all mercies and Giver of all comforts, deal graciously with us who mourn, that casting all our cares on You, we may know the comfort of Your love and presence. Make us all aware of the brevity of life and the need to live it with a noble purpose. Keep us in this hour of need and enable us to find your strength sufficient. AMEN.

PFC Reifert was born on 27 October 1987 in Detroit, Michigan. He enlisted as an Infantryman on 05 August 2009 and attended Basic Training at Ft. Benning, Georgia. Upon completion of Infantry training, on 17 December 2009, PFC Reifert was assigned to the “Bushmasters” Bravo Company, 1^st Battalion, 327^th Infantry Regiment.

While serving with the “Bushmasters,” PFC Reifert held various duty positions to include; rifleman, radio telephone operator, and grenadier. Prior to deploying to Afghanistan, PFC Reifert participated in the Company’s pre-deployment training at JRTC.

During the deployment, PFC Reifert participated in four Air Assault Missions which included; Operation Azmary Fury I and II, Operation Strong Eagle II, and Operations Bulldog Bite II A. In addition, PFC Reifert participated in over 100 dismounted and mounted patrols while serving with Bravo Company.

PFC Reifert’s awards and decorations include: The Combat Infantryman’s Badge, Bronze Star Medal, Purple Heart, Army Commendation Medal, National Defense Service Medal, Afghanistan Campaign Medal, Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, and the NATO ISAF Medal.

The program’s back cover is Psalm 23.

Also, included in the box - the flag, certificates, photos, and items that Shane’s Bushmaster Brothers left in his honor. There are dog tags, patches, emblems, coins, and para-cord with a cross and dog tag. My fingers lingered or grasped the items, as if I could gather strength for the upcoming days.

I reached again and again for the para-cord necklace. I closed my eyes and gently placed the cord in the palm of my hand – there rested the cross and dog tag. The cross was worn; it is pitted from wear and tear. The dog tag is marked and scuffed from metals hitting each other. I knew in my heart that this cross was something very special. The dog tag and cross belong to SSG Dustin Campbell.

I emailed or messaged the men that I could give credit for the items. Unfortunately, there are items in the box that are not distinguished by a name. This is my thank you for your thoughtfulness and caring.

I sent Dustin a message thanking him for his gift from the heart. Dustin gave me permission to share his response, which tells the history of the cross.

Kitty,

You are welcome for that, it was just something for me to give after Shane giving so much to us, that cross was worn throughout Vietnam by my dad and through Iraq in my first deployment and then again through Afghanistan. Thank you for all that you have done for our platoon as we are all starting to head in different directions I think that Shane's memory will hold us all together for a lifetime.
Dustin

I told Dustin that I did not feel right keeping the cross – that this cross belongs in his family. I mentioned that I would like to keep the cross for a bit, but then return it to him. I have worn the cross a time or two; hoping for an understanding of this brotherhood of the Bushmasters. 

Some people might say that the package contained fabric, paper, metal, and cord. True, it contained fabric, paper, metal, and cord – but to me, it contained so much more. It contained courage, duty, honor, strength, and this damned thing called the brotherhood of the Bushmasters.

I will forever cherish these gifts – they help me in my dark hours as I continue to “put one foot in front of the other.”

Peace-

Always and forever,

Shane’s Mammy and Beth’s Momma

                                                                            

Determination

It is late, I am tired, but my mind won’t settle for the night. Sleep has become my nemesis, and tonight, I am losing the fight.

Tonight, I am at Shane’s computer, sitting in his chair, typing on his keyboard, and listening to his top 25 most played songs on iTunes. I don’t like Shane’s keyboard, but this is his gaming computer and gaming keyboard. It seems foreign to me, even though, all the keys are in the same place as they were back in typing class in high school.

I stroke the keys and let my thoughts come to the surface, just as the mighty whales rise to breathe.

Determination is what enters my mind; Kurt and I are truly blest to have two very determined children. While Beth and Shane set different courses for their lives, it is a characteristic they both share.

Beth set her goals on education. She was determined to graduate with honors in high school, college, and law school; a goal she accomplished. Tonight, Beth is still studying, cramming her brain preparing to take the bar exam. I marvel at her fortitude and resolve to continue with her purpose in life. Beth is determined to make a difference in this world, and I am ever so proud of her.

If I close my eyes and block out the world around me, I can hear Shane’s determination. Shane was one heck of a guitar player. Shane would spend hours upon hours in his bedroom, amp on full volume, and practice until he got the sound just right. I remember Shane learning how to play “Sweet Child O’ Mine,” by Guns N’ Roses. The opening riff for the song was played again and again and again and again, until it was perfect. I remember complimenting Shane, but he shrugged off the comment and acted like it was no big deal.

Shane carried his determination with him in the Army. Shane was determined to help keep America strong and free. I do not know who to give credit for the photograph, but it captures Shane’s determination. The photo captures the look of a soldier, a soldier who is dirty and tired and determined to do his best. A soldier who is truly missed by his brothers-in-arms, who truly understand this photo. A son who is truly missed by his mother, who strives to understand this determination, but ever so grateful to say Shane is my son.

I will conquer my nemesis. I will continue to “put on foot in front of the other” as I head off to dreamland.

Peace-

Always and forever,

Shane’s Mammy and Beth’s Momma

Dinosaurs Rock!

As the months of summer allow me some much needed freedom of mind, I can’t help but wander back in time. I wish for moments that will never be again, but know deep down in my heart that there are many moments that sustain this broken heart.

Shane loved dinosaurs! When I say loved dinosaurs, this just might be an understatement. Shane, even at a young age, knew the names of the dinosaurs – from the allosaurus to the stegosaurus, to the velociraptor to the triceratops, to the apatosaurus to the brontosaurus, all the way up to the mighty tyrannosaurus rex.

When Beth and Shane were little, one of their favorite movies to watch was The Land Before Time. The movie tells the tale of five orphan dinosaurs, who band together while traveling the land. They form their own little family, while facing the odds of survival, and realize their strengths (individually and as a group). 

Did I mention that Shane loved dinosaurs?

Beth and Shane are three years apart in age. Beth has always played the role of big sister with such responsibility and determination. Beth could even be found playing dinosaurs with Shane, even though she might have enjoyed doing something else.

I can’t recall the exact month, but Beth and Shane were young (five and two years of age). It was late in the afternoon when I realized that it was awfully quiet in the house. I went into the family room; the television was on, but no Beth and no Shane. I wandered down the hall and came upon the partially closed bathroom door. I peeked into the bathroom and couldn’t believe my eyes. There on the bathroom countertop sat the two lovely darlings. Beth was very close to Shane, but I couldn’t see what she was doing. I did notice the huge smile on Shane’s face. And then…I noticed his green arms! Yes, that’s right – Beth was transforming Shane into a dinosaur!!!

Beth had gathered up every green marker she could abscond and was having the time of her life. Shane was in his glory becoming a T-Rex! I can’t believe I didn’t grab my camera and capture that moment on film. Instead, it is one of those magnificent moments that are captured only in my heart and mind.

I believe it took a few hours of soaking in the bathtub (playing with dinosaurs) and many changes of the water before the green disappeared. The T-Rex Shane was slowing fading amongst the bubbles and washcloth. The last of the dinosaur green bath water circled the drain, just a few drops left in the tub.

I will not let Shane’s sense of honor and duty fade, nor will my memories circle the drain. Instead, I will try to do my best on any given day; as I continue to “put one foot in front of the other.”

peace-

Shane’s Mammy and Beth’s Momma

Screaming Eagles

A couple of weeks ago I was driving on the expressway; it was one of those ghastly gray summer days. The clouds hung low like a sheet settling on a bed.  I was in a contemplative mood, listening to one of my “sad” playlists. As I was driving, approaching Selfridge Air National Guard Base, “These Days,” by the Black Keys was filling my mind. Out of the rain clouds, a transport helicopter appeared, and it looked so forlorn, so mystical.  And then tears streamed down my face, and I wasn’t quite sure why. Why did this helicopter upset me? I teach near the base, so it is not uncommon for me to see the various planes and helicopters in the sky.

I forced myself to confront this demon of a helicopter, and then I realized why I was so upset. I was saddened because I knew so little about Shane’s life in Afghanistan. I know he didn’t want me to worry, didn’t want me to lose sleep, didn’t want me to know about… so, he seldom discussed any of his missions. Instead, when we had the opportunity to chat on facebook we would talk about music, the weather, or how my day was going. This was the way Shane wanted it, so I respected his wishes. I always believed that when Shane came home he would write a best selling novel about his experience, and that would be the way that I would hear about his life in a god-forsaken country.

Before I finished my errands, I stopped and sent a message. Doc is one of Shane’s dearest brothers-in-arms; he also is the medic in Shane’s platoon. So, I asked Doc if Shane ever had to repel out of a helicopter. Doc, always gracious, responded that day with the following message.

Doc gave me his permission to share the story on this blog.

“Kitty I want you to know that I would be more than happy to answer any of your questions, anytime. It's funny you should ask that. I was just thinking about our first real mission. Shane and I were selected to be on D.A.R.T. (downed aircraft recovery team). There was a huge resupply going into an area that was real hot and was very low on food and other supplies. So they were sending in 9 Chinook helicopters loaded with supply. Which is quite dangerous because of how long it will take to do this, the enemy could move in and attack. Chinooks are not very quiet. There were only a total of 12 of us on the team. We were only going to get spun up if a chopper went down. Well, we got spun up.....and it was AWESOME! Shane and I sat right across from each other on the Blackhawk, doors wide open, wind blowing through the cabin, pitch black, and about 8000 ft in the air. We would swoop in and out of the valley around ridges. I remember looking over at Shane (remember we are full kit, all our gear, weapon and night vision goggles down on our faces we look like hardcore aliens) and he smiles huge and gives me a thumbs up. I knew exactly what he was thinking because I felt exactly the same. This is why were here! This is what we do! It was an adrenalin rush and feeling like no other. Shane never fast roped out of a bird. But again no one has in Afghanistan because of the terrain. He did do a lot of Air Assault missions where we rush off a bird that touches down for a few seconds. That was how we surprised the enemy. And Kitty I am not just saying this when I say he was one of the best at it.”

Doc’s response filled my heart with pride; a pride that helps mend this slowly healing heart.

Yesterday, I was again out running errands, traveling the same expressway, listening to a different playlist, more upbeat. “Hey, Soul Sister,” by Train was filling the Jeep. This time there were big fluffy pillows dancing in the azure sky. A jet from Selfridge pierced the clouds, a solo jet, demanding control of the sky. I watched with awe and amazement, as the jet angled into one of those big sweeping turns. My eyes did not fill with tears, instead they filled with wonder and deep appreciation for all the sacrifices our military make to keep us safe.

When Shane was passionate about something – he gave it his all. This is the Shane that the Army had – one hell of a soldier. A man so proud to be part of the legacy of the 101^st Airborne Division, 1/327^th, Bravo Company, a Bushmaster! A man that paid the ultimate price to help make the world a safer place. A man that I proudly call, my son, my Shane Michael, my Moe…

As Doc concluded (Doc has a real name, and it is Hector, but he will always be Doc), “Kitty, I also wanted you to know that some of us were sitting around talking, and we realized that we all had the same feeling in our gut. The company is not the same without Shane there. We miss him very much. Some of us find it hard to express ourselves, but believe me we talk about him all the time.”

I believe you, Doc! I talk to Shane and about Shane all the time. I am grateful to have a loving family and wonderful friends that share stories and fond memories of Shane. We have all been truly blest to have had Shane in our lives.

As we continue to live our lives without Shane, remember to “put one foot in front of the other,” as we strive to heal and stay strong.

Peace-

Always and forever,

Shane’s Mammy and Beth’s Momma

4th of July: Independence Day

As the Fourth of July approaches my mind cannot help but wander back to when Beth and Shane were little. We always had our families over for the big holiday; we are fortunate that the Kronners and the Reiferts actually get along and genuinely like one another. Kurt would spend the day cooking on the barbeque, all the kids would swim or play on the swing set or play a game of volleyball, soccer, or wiffle ball or a wicked squirt gun fight. Then the big search for just the right stick to roast marshmallows for s’mores. The day would be filled with love and laughter, that was, until evening approached and the mosquitoes would look for their victims. I would bring out the bug spray and blankets to try and save an itch or two. And then the magic would fill the sky. 

We would sit huddled together to watch the fireworks. Kurt would put on a display of sound and colors. As the fireworks lit up the sky we would ooh and ah and clap with delight. I remember watching Shane and the intensity in his eyes. Maybe he realized at a young age the true meaning of the day – the meaning beyond the picnics and fireworks...

I was blessed to have both my children as students in the classroom. I remember in American literature when we were studying the works from the writers (Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson, and Thomas Paine) of the revolution. Shane’s enthusiasm was apparent – when he was interested in a topic, he truly was interested! I always have quotes on my chalkboard or dry erase board. During this time of study, I placed on the board one of Thomas Paine’s most famous quotes from The Crisis, “These are the times that try men’s souls. The summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of their country; but he that stands by it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman.” And years later, Shane posts part of that same quote on facebook. Only this time – he is with the 101^st Airborne Division, 1/327^th, a Bushmaster.

I went to the cemetery a couple of days ago and read The Crisis, but this time the meaning was much deeper and the sorrow was much greater.

Recently, I met for drinks with some of Shane’s friends. Allie, Mary, and Shane were true friends. Mary, one of my former students, was kind enough to share part of a facebook message that Shane had sent her.  It reads, “I'm very proud to be where I am in life right now. This is by far the hardest thing I've ever done, probably will ever do but none of that matters. I've learned how to survive with nothing, the true meanings of tired and hungry, new tolerances for pain and how to ignore the kind that doesn't get a chance to go away, that I can work under stress with a smile, that I'll do anything for my brothers, but most importantly, I've learned what kind of man I am; and that reason alone makes it all worth it. I know that if I don't come home from Afghanistan, that I'm sure as shit going out standing giving ‘em hell. I know my enemy will breath a well earned sigh of relief should that day come. I have really become someone else when I put my uniform on every day. I walk taller and harder, I speak louder and deeper, I smile less if you believe that, and don a look of seriousness and determination. It’s a lot of responsibility to represent those who have worn that uniform before me, and I won't let them down. Men like me have given us 235 years of freedom, and for that I know the hardships are paid for in full. When I go out in the real world and see some kids or teenagers living care free in the moment, that’s when I know it’s worth it.”

So, as we celebrate this Fourth of July, remember to be truly thankful for sacrifices that our members of the military make for our opportunities of freedom. When I will look to the sky this Independence Day, I will search for that special star. The one that has that special twinkle – the one that guides me in my quest to be strong.

Always and forever,

Shane’s Mammy and Beth’s Momma

Thanks for Nothing, Tax Dollars OR How Not to Honor the Dead

This past Thursday, my immediate family and I attended the State of Michigan's 17th Annual Memorial Day Service, held in Lansing and at the Governor's residence. I didn't really know what to expect from the event. I knew Shane and the other Michigan soldiers who had died within the past year would be honored. Governor Snyder would sign the Gold Star License Plate bills into law. Some people would talk. We would eat some lunch. Maybe we would be sad, maybe we wouldn't.

So we traveled to Lansing. I was on edge that morning. I'm sure my mother knew that it was because the event would make me emotional, but I was not yet aware of that and thought that I would be just fine.

We watched Governor Snyder sign the Gold Star License Plate bill into law. Senator John Pappageorge made a speech before the signing about how people used to live in the front of their houses but now our license plates would serve as the front of our houses, to let people know what had happened to our loved ones, to pay their respects. It was fitting. It was respectful.

Then it was time for the actual presentation. We had received the sort of booklet that one normally receives at events like these. There are probably over a dozen littered around our house from various events. I don't know why we keep things like this; I never look at them again after the event, but there is a feeling that getting rid of them would be slightly sacreligious. That it might take a piece of Shane away. So they are kept and tucked into corners and placed into piles, only to be found months later when cleaning. They do not suffer the fate of old magazines, which are thrown in the trash when a certain amount of time passes. Instead, these pamphlets are saved from the trash heap or recycling bin, for the mere fact that that have a very specific name within their pages.

So we were given booklets. And they had pictures of the Michigan casualties from within the past year, along with some words about the men. Shane's write-up was inaccurate and did not mention that he had received a Bronze Star. It was also partially plagarized, which I will always find to be incredibly lazy and annoying. This stuck me as an indication of sloppiness, hastiness, not quite caring enough-iness.I flipped through the booklet after we had taken our seats and made it all the way up to the first speaker before I started crying. She was a Gold Star Mother, speaking about when two soldiers had come to tell her that her son had been killed. Her words were not touching to me. She was not a great orator. But still, I fled the room and perched myself on a ledge in the bathroom.

My mother followed me, making sure that I was okay. I, apparently, was not. I told her that I didn't understand why I was getting so emotional. That I was tired of being sad all the time. That I was tired of people making me sad. I told her to please go back and sit with my father. That I would not be returning but that I would be fine and mill around the Capitol Building. Finally assured that I was temporarily okay, she went back to her seat. I found my way into the old Michigan Supreme Court courtroom. As I sat in the grand room, marveling at the architecture and intricate designs painted on the walls, I could hear the first speaker still droning on, although I could not hear her actual words. At least fifteen minutes had passed since I had the room. I didn't know how she was still talking, or what she would possibly be talking about that the other Gold Star Families in the room -- who made up a strong majority of the audience -- had not experienced in some form or another themselves. And that's really when it hit me. That I had been crying not because of that woman's story, but because of my family's story. Because my mother had gone through a day when two soldiers came to the door. And my father and I received phone calls from my mother informing us of the terrible news that same day. And that woman behind the podium was bringing all that up, when I had found a way to cope and to manage and to filter through the feelings of everything that had happened since those two soldiers came to our front door. I became angry that I was being brought backward in my grief process. But more than angry, I lacked understanding. I didn't understand why the speaker was telling a story that had already been experienced by her audience. And then I found myself wondering what sort of things I would have been talking about. It would have been about Shane's life. About the sort of person he was. About how I was sure that everyone would love to give back being a Gold Star Family if they could just have a couple of seconds with their loved one. It wouldn't have been about the day the soldiers told my mother Shane was never coming home as a living, breathing person. It wouldn't have been about the funeral. It wouldn't have been about the burial. It wouldn't have been about the aftermath of any of that.

But no one asked me to speak, so I guess I'm speaking here.

After the speaking ceased and the doors opened, I was reunited with my parents. They said it was very touching when Senator Phil Pavlov placed a flag honoring Shane in a basket during some sort of ceremony. My mother said that a little girl had been eating her boogers. This made me smile and become slightly grossed out, as boogers have never sounded appetizing to me. And we piled in the car to head to the Governor's residence.

The residence is in a beautiful neighborhood, with perfectly manicured lawns and old homes. All of the Gold Star Families were made to park in a shoddy lot with cracked cement. This lot was located a fair distance from the actual residence. It was also raining and had been raining for the past few days. We schlepped our way in the rain to the Governor's residence, where we were escorted in. While the original invitation to the event had informed us that the luncheon was to take place outside, I thought that surely this plan had changed, due to the cold and rainy weather. I figured that furniture would have been moved around to accommodate the families or that we would be a basement of some sort.

But I was wrong.

We were shown right on out of the house and into the backyard. To a tent. Without side protection from the rain. Without anything to soak up the rain water that was an inch deep in the cold grass. With rows of chairs and a podium, not round or square tables. With bodies crammed together because of the cold. With people sitting in those rows of chairs with plates of food on their laps.

I was disgusted. I was horrified. I was temporarily stuck thinking that maybe I was at a 4H Fair, but then realized that at 4H Fairs there are always barns to take shelter in when it rains. And then I realized that my feet were soaking wet. I looked at my mother and father. Thankfully, my father was the first to say that it was time to go, taking the words out of mine and my mother's mouths. We walked back through the house and out the front door. We appeared in the driveway and my father pointed out that I had mud all over my leg. I found it fitting.

And so we left.

I'm disgusted that Governor Snyder put on such an abortion of an event for Michigan's Gold Star Families and Veterans. While I'm sure that he did not personally put the event together, someone who works for him did. And it was awful. It was disrespectful. It was in no way, shape, or form an event that CEOs or Representatives or Senators would have been invited to and expected to just accept. I don't know how or why other people stayed standing in that cold rain. Maybe they thought it was lovely. I thought it would have been better to have nothing at all than to have the "luncheon" they were trying to pass off. Luncheons involve tables. They involve small talk. They involve getting to know people and sharing stories. They do not involve rows of chairs in water-soaked grass, listening to someone drone on at a podium while people struggle to eat off of their laps.

So I don't think I'll be attending another one of those types of services. I don't need them. I don't like them. I don't want to hear someone else's version of my and family's experiences. I don't need a ceremony for Shane. I have a ceremony for him every single day. One that doesn't involve being soggy or sitting in uncomfortable chairs or inaccurate information. My ceremony involves love and happy memories and sometimes sad memories and knowing that I will always be carrying a piece of Shane inside of my heart, as will my mother and my father and anyone else who wants to hold Shane dear.

Graduation

Tomorrow, I will graduate from law school. When I began law school, I admittedly had no idea what I was doing or what I had gotten myself into. I knew that it would be tough, but I did not realize that it would change the way I looked at the world, the way I thought, and the way I engaged with others.

Along the way, I read more books and cases and statutes than I ever thought possible. Certain semesters, I spent 14 hour days at school. About once a year, I had horrible moments when I doubted everything about myself and didn't think that I was smart enough to be at law school. I met other people who also want to be lawyers, some of whom will be very bad lawyers, and some of whom will be very good and honest lawyers. Some of those in the latter category became my dearest friends, who I consider to be family and understand me in a way that few people do.

Most importantly, I found myself at law school, and finding myself meant that I know what type of lawyer I want to be, even though job prospects are currently few and far between for my colleagues and myself. I will be hardworking and advocate zealously for my clients, no matter if that client is a multi-million dollar corporation or a single person. I will not be consumed by a need to make money, but instead a need to feel that I am making someone else's life better and to be content with my career. I will be ethical and remember that legal decisions impact real human lives and I must always be able to sleep with myself at night.

I should feel pretty good about myself and about my graduation tomorrow. Instead, I'm weepy and edgy. I don't want to have to put on a cap and gown and hood and smile. I don't want to pose for photographs. I don't want to be involved a ceremony or sit with my fellow graduates or be handed a piece of paper. But mostly, I don't want to look up in the audience only to find that the person I want to be at my graduation the most isn't there, knowing that he should be.

And when I say "should be," I mean that in the literal sense, because Shane would be home from Afghanistan right now. And his leave time would have started. And he would have been sitting in the audience and I would have been able to find him in a sea of faces. And once I had found him I would have waved frantically, and mouthed "Hi, buddy," and grinned like an idiot. And he would've smiled and shaken him head slightly at how goofy I looked and waved back.

The last contact that I ever had with Shane was a text message that I received on November 5, 2010, at 9:33 p.m. my time:


Hey found out we're all supposed to leave here no later than April 18. My leave starts may 13! Love you. Gonna sleep after guard sooo tired

I responded:

That's awesome, buddy! I think I graduate that day! Love you so much! Sweet dreams.

Shane was in an area that's eight or eight and half hours ahead of my time. Meaning he sent that message at either 5:33 or 6:03 a.m. on November 6, 2010. I know now that he didn't go to sleep, even though he was so tired. I'll never know why, and I'll always be a little bit sore at him for not just going to sleep. Instead, as I read later in reports, he went to the gym, and then he became involved in a firefight, during which he was killed.

Within an hour of sending me that message, he was killed. Of course, I didn't find out until the middle of the afternoon my time on November 6, 2010, that Shane had been killed. So I had half a day where I thought that my brother was going to be home for my graduation. Ever since he left for Afghanistan, I had it in my mind that he wouldn't be there. But that half a day of knowing that he would be at the ceremony has made the last week and the upcoming tomorrow torturous for me.

So tomorrow will be tough. I won't be happy like I should be. I might get weepy. But I will go and I will put on a cap and gown and hood and smile. And I will pose for photographs. And I will be involved a ceremony and sit with my fellow graduates and be handed a piece of paper. And I will probably still look up in the audience, knowing that he won't be there but having to look anyways, just in case, for the person I want to be at my graduation the most, not being able to find him, knowing that he should be there. 

Sometimes it amazes me how much Shane can still be at the forefront of my thoughts when I have so many other things on my mind. When Shane first died, I wondered if he would fade from my memory with time. So far, he hasn't. It's been less than 6 months since he was killed, so maybe eventually his memory will fade. But there are so many times that I catch myself thinking that he's still alive. I hear a song and think how I need to tell him about it. I remember something silly from our childhood and want to recollect with him. I'm feeling really anxious and want him to talk to me to remind me to calm down and that everything is okay. And then I'll remember how I can't do any of those things and I feel pained.