I didn’t die
My son was four years old, playing with his toys in the bath. I was sitting there as he told me about last week.
Son: Mommy took us to the park the other day.
Me: That’s cool.
Son: Yeah, it’s called Felix Field. Felix was in the war. He died…but you didn’t die, you just got shot.
I sure am glad.
Me: Yeah…me too son.
Tears welled in my eyes as I sat there. My thoughts and emotions swirled. His narrative was to the point, and matter of fact.
Felix Field is an athletic field aboard the Marine Base in 29 Palms, CA. It is named after a young Marine who died during the Gulf War. My son has always been inquisitive, he asked what the sign said, then asked who Felix was. My wife had given him simple, straight forward answers. I was a Platoon Sergeant with Kilo Company, 3rd Battalion, 7th Marines. While my wife and children were at the park, I was in Al Qa’im, Iraq. A few days later I was medevac’d with a gunshot wound to the leg, and shrapnel in my arm. After spending a week in Germany, I found myself at home with my wife, son, and daughter. My wife was about seven months pregnant. Kilo was still in Al Q’aim.
I was incredibly grateful to be home with my family, I loved them deeply; but something was pulling me back to Iraq. It was Kilo.
No one made me go back, but I went. I was home less than 90 days. The gunshot wound in my hamstring was a “through and through” shot, it only hit muscle. Later I would tattoo an arrow through the bullet holes. My arm was still stiff with a dime-sized piece of shrapnel below my bicep, but scar tissue was forming around it. I impressed upon the medical officer that I was fit for duty. I told the Remain Behind Element at Regiment that I was the priority for next flight out. I’m not sure why they believed that. The day I flew out I received word that Kilo had been hit. Three Marines had been killed. They were all from Third Platoon, my platoon. I made it back to the battalion the day before we held a memorial service. I spoke.
I assumed my post as Third Platoon Sergeant. I was back with Kilo. A few weeks later my wife gave birth to our second daughter. A few days after that my Company Gunny was killed; the same guy who came running up with an aid and litter team the day I was hit. I believed at the time that God had given me a chance to go home, see my family one more time, to tell them goodbye; and that I would be killed on the tail end of that deployment. I accepted it, and it made me sad.
But I didn’t die.
I just got shot.
I sure am glad.