War

We have a new janitor at our church. His name is Joe, and he was in the army with me back in the day. We connected last week, and started catching up. I'd forgotten that my old unit had gone to Iraq with the first wave in. They spent time on the front lines, occasionally in front of the infantry and cavalry.

For those who don't know, the first soldier to die who came from Portland was Brandon Tobler, and he was from my unit up there in North Portland. Joe knew him. A number of guys died in that conflict.

I shared with Joe that I felt like I really wasn't a soldier cause I never got to go to battle. (When I was in, we came within two weeks of being called to Bosnia when for no apparent reason, they took a North Carolina Unit instead.) Joe said he'd felt the same until they went over. But he also talked about how it messed with them. He's in counseling now for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He said when they came home they did nothing but jump at every loud noise. They looked around every corner just in case, and reexamined every car on the side of a road because it might be booby-trapped.

I walked away envious, and a little thankful, and a little bit in awe. Why'd I get pushed out of the military?? Why did I get to escape that and Brandon Tobler didn't? I don't know it all, but that has played with my mind for a day or two.