Understanding Soldiers From Iraq
Floor 5. Neuroscience Wing. As we step out of the elevator at Washington's Walter Reed Army Medical Center, I try to imagine what that sign might predict. Head injuries? Spinal cord injuries? Paralysis? A sergeant escorts us down the hall to a closed door, double checks the room number against the list in his hand, and knocks on the door. “Come in!” Our escort opens the door and asks if they would welcome some visitors.
Spc. Ken Comstock, 23, is sitting on his bed, smiling, while his eyes look at us intently, trying to understand who is entering his room. Trying to understand. We are also trying to understand. All our senses are in overdrive, absorbing every detail. My friends and I greet Ken, welcoming him home from Iraq, and meet his mother, who is sitting next to his bed, looking rather exhausted but grateful that someone is interested in her son.
Almost immediately Ken and his mom tell us of that fateful day, August 20, 2004, when the Humvee he was riding in hit a roadside bomb near Samarra, Iraq. Ken was serving with Company C, 2nd Battalion of the 108th Infantry, a New York National Guard unit attached to the 1st Infantry Division. His forehead was broken into 500 pieces, doctors said.
“Ken actually was dead four times,” his mom says. “He flat-lined four times on them before they could get him to Germany. They had to fly especially low because he kept dying on them.”
“I was in a coma for ten days,” Ken tells us, “and my mom sat by my side the whole time till I woke up. It’s a miracle I’m alive at all. Miracles still happen!”
Again I find myself trying to understand. Looking at Ken I can see what he's talking about. A gigantic scar runs jaggedly across his head like a mountain range from one ear to the other. His forehead is a spider web of scars. Ken points above both eyes and tells us he has bone there but nothing in between. His hand is bandaged and splinted due to the shrapnel still imbedded in it.
Ken is a brave young soldier. I am amazed at his faith and courage despite his condition and all that has happened. But his fiercest battles may still lie ahead: rehab, then back for skull reconstruction surgery, then plastic surgery, physical therapy, and re-entry into “normal” civilian life. And which will heal first—his marred and fractured body or his traumatized soul? I’m trying hard to understand. I think Ken’s mother sees this because she hands me a poem Ken wrote just a week before “it happenedd."
Spc. Ken Comstock, 23, is sitting on his bed, smiling, while his eyes look at us intently, trying to understand who is entering his room. Trying to understand. We are also trying to understand. All our senses are in overdrive, absorbing every detail. My friends and I greet Ken, welcoming him home from Iraq, and meet his mother, who is sitting next to his bed, looking rather exhausted but grateful that someone is interested in her son.
Almost immediately Ken and his mom tell us of that fateful day, August 20, 2004, when the Humvee he was riding in hit a roadside bomb near Samarra, Iraq. Ken was serving with Company C, 2nd Battalion of the 108th Infantry, a New York National Guard unit attached to the 1st Infantry Division. His forehead was broken into 500 pieces, doctors said.
“Ken actually was dead four times,” his mom says. “He flat-lined four times on them before they could get him to Germany. They had to fly especially low because he kept dying on them.”
“I was in a coma for ten days,” Ken tells us, “and my mom sat by my side the whole time till I woke up. It’s a miracle I’m alive at all. Miracles still happen!”
Again I find myself trying to understand. Looking at Ken I can see what he's talking about. A gigantic scar runs jaggedly across his head like a mountain range from one ear to the other. His forehead is a spider web of scars. Ken points above both eyes and tells us he has bone there but nothing in between. His hand is bandaged and splinted due to the shrapnel still imbedded in it.
Ken is a brave young soldier. I am amazed at his faith and courage despite his condition and all that has happened. But his fiercest battles may still lie ahead: rehab, then back for skull reconstruction surgery, then plastic surgery, physical therapy, and re-entry into “normal” civilian life. And which will heal first—his marred and fractured body or his traumatized soul? I’m trying hard to understand. I think Ken’s mother sees this because she hands me a poem Ken wrote just a week before “it happenedd."
Understanding Soldiers from Iraq
People think they understand
(but they really have no clue)
the life of a soldier
and what it is we have to go through:
Crying families, crying children,
“Daddy, please don’t go away!”
Smiling, you say, “Things will be fine,”
while inside you’re crying, praying to see another day,
fighting for those who cannot
and for those who burn what you swore to defend,
constantly questioning life’s purpose,
hoping it will all make sense in the end.
There’s no one to talk to
except the angels that guide us through the fire,
frozen in a silent scream,
being led by God’s divine power.
I have nothing to do
but wonder why I am here.
Is it out of pure patriotism,
or is it strictly out of fear,
the reasons why I do this?
For faith, sacrifice and love,
and to defend our nation?
When push comes to shove—
hunger, homesickness, anger, sadness, fear,
thirst, exhaustion, loneliness, and disgust—
sometimes I feel small, helpless, and alone,
in a world hard of finding trust,
with nothing to dobut wait for another day.
God is my refuge,and to him I always pray.
We are soldiers; men of honor
holding steadfast and strong without fear.
Even though most of us soldiers
are not yet old enough to have a beer.
Even so, we will be haunted
by the images left in our heads,
by the phantoms, the ghosts
and the nightmares we will have in our beds.
You will look upon us as a child,
but men we are—more so than some,
and we will continue to grow
even when the fighting is done.
Always being asked:
“Why put yourself through that?”
If only I had an explanation;
If only they could think back
to a time long ago
when a Man suffered for all our sins…
Are we as soldiersany different from Him?
Maybe then
their understanding may begin.
And then I realize that the only way this can ever make sense—for Ken, for me, for enemy insurgents, and for all the nightmares of this haunted war—is to remember that Man whose scars and suffering are the source of all healing.
I loved this story when I came across it I thought why not share it with all of you. Now here are some really nice links to help out those soldiers wounded or not..I LOVE ALL OF YOU AND MAY YOU ALL MAKE IT HOME SAFE AN SOUND... GOD BLESS OUR TROOPS!!!
And Finally this one is a tribute, if you click this be sure to grab some tissue and turn your speakers up, big tear jearker!!!
posted by Anonymous at 11:14 AM
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