The last letter
When men go to war, when it gets real, they often write the last letter home. It’s an “open in case I don’t make it” letter. The men who write them are generally quite young. I was old guy when I wrote it, I was twenty-seven. Of course, twenty-seven isn’t old, but when you lead nineteen and twenty year olds, when you have a wife and children, you are the old guy.
It’s a sober event. What do you say? How do you capture the most important things you want to convey? The last sentiments your loved ones will read. Some guys don’t bother writing. They figure the odds are on their side, or they are superstitious that writing the letter may actually bring about the mortal blow. I’ve seen many men decide to write the letter part of the way through the deployment, when things get bad and you start losing people. When it gets real.
Usually when we lost people there was no poignant last moments like in the movies; holding a comrade’s hand, fading, and saying something significant. No, they generally went quickly and violently doing their job. An unexpected moment, a flash, everything changed…forever.
So, in anticipation, he writes the letter. To Mom and Dad, to his wife and kids. Sometimes a guy doesn’t have family and he leaves a letter for his buddies. Even the ones who have families leave a letter for their buddies, the ones who will pack up his gear and send it home. It’s personal, intimate. Many times, they receive specific instructions to take, actions to shield the families from knowing certain things. They follow these instructions with great loyalty and specificity. It’s a heavy burden for young men. They grow old quickly.
When I wrote the letter, I told my buddies where it was so they could forward it to my wife. My children were young, likely not to remember me. There was one child I hadn’t even met yet. The letters are remarkably brief. There is sentiment, sorrow at loss, and expressions of love. There are also practical recommendations on the way forward in life and with finances. Sometimes there are requests on the funeral, burial, or how to be remembered. I understand now this is not drama or vanity. I think it actually helps the family make decisions in the immediate aftermath of the loss, a time when there must be actions taken. It gives them a sense of honoring their loved ones wishes.
As I remember these are letters written by men so young, some of whom did not come home, I am saddened. Some of my brothers who came home are likewise saddened, to the point that grief hinders them from moving forward. They feel guilty for enjoying life. I felt that way for a while, a long while. I, like many others, then began to sabotage my own life with recklessness. It wasn’t a thought-out response, but it happened. Now that I am past “the angry and thirsty time” I can see things with greater clarity.
I attended a reunion recently with veterans from the rifle company I served with in Iraq. We conducted a unit hike to the grave of one of our fallen Marines and held a memorial service. There I told the Marines in attendance that the ones who we lost, the ones who fell, were like us. They knew the risk, they counted the cost, and they chose to serve. Most in fact wanted to go to combat. They knew they might not come home, and they accepted the fact. Each of them would have rather it had been them, than one of their buddies. I reminded the veterans of this, that our fallen brothers wanted them to live good lives, to enjoy their lives, to not be held back. I told them emphatically “you are released from the guilt that has gripped you…I say again, you are released”.
They needed to hear that. I think that it had to come from one of their own, from one of the “old guys” who served there with them. I am incredibly humbled to have been that guy.
Some of us still have that last letter and can tuck it away in the footlocker. Perhaps it will be useful should our sons or grandsons take up a rifle one day. Others of us can toss or burn it, forever putting those thoughts away, grateful for the long days we have with our families. Grateful that we get to actually become old men.