Going back to my youngest son. He returned from Iraq after a year to his family. The wounds he received when his Stryker went over a cliff near Tal Afar have healed, but there are visible scars that he will have the rest of his life. Now he has been called to perform a a task which will take a psycological toll more severe than anything he went through in Mosul. He has been assigned to casuality assistance. Most of the thirteen killed and the many wounded were from Task Force Olympia , were in the dining hall that he once ate. Now he has to help notify the mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, spouses, brothers and sisters of those casualties and help them get the assistance they need in this time of grief.
I just recently lost a very good friend. He was 56; six years my junior. Driving home one Friday evening, he had a major heart attack, went off the road and hit a pole. Not a mark on his body. Autopsy showed he never knew he hit the pole. If I could design a man with the compasion of a saint, love of family and friends without reserve, respect of peers and acquaintances, looks of a greek god, and finese of a perfectionist it would be John. John and I retired at the same time. We both were at the Buick City complex to the end. We hadn't gotten together for a while. 3 days before he died, I was thinking of giving him a call to get together. Moral: don't put anything off that is important. John left his high school sweetheart who he married, 3 beautiful daughters and 7 grandchildren; and me.
