Inside the mind of America’s (raunchy, foul mouthed, overly opinionated, sexually aggressive, incredibly offensive, fly by the minute, ridiculously absurd, often times erratic, psychologically questionable) Sweetheart.

Chris June 19, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — the108 @ 8:38 pm

His name was Chris and he was outside getting some fresh air with his mother when I met him. He is 27 years old and you can tell that he was a very attractive man before the right half of his head was blown off.

His mother is a nurse, but not in the hospital where we were. In fact, she had made her way there as she does every single day driving the two hours it took her to from where she worked the night shift. She was young and old at the same time and you could see it in her face just how scared and worried and saddened she was of her son.

She had begged him not to go and he lad laughed at her and told her she was worried for nothing, that he wasn’t at much risk for getting hurt. Six months later, he was scrambling around trying to help his fellow soldiers hold their limbs on after they were nailed by an ied and as he crouched over his fallen brothers, a bullet zipped through the air and, despite the kevlar helmet he was wearing, blew half of his head off.

Chris was in a wheelchair and he held tightly to an empty bottle of Mt. Dew which he removed the lid from, put it back on, twisted it off again… over and over as that was all he could do. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t walk and he had had 14 surgeries to try to reconstruct his skull.

He has had no pain medication and you would assume by looking at him that he could really use some, but he is quiet and drooling and his mother doesn’t know if he is in pain or not. He is a vegetable. Why they have bothered to keep him alive is beyond me.

Chris’s mom stood and talked to me for a while that day, pausing frequently to readjust her son who was slowly sliding down in his chair and with his head flopping over. She had tried to jam him in with about a million pillows and straps to secure him, but as he was dead weight, they didn’t do much.

It was awful and I had to bite the insides of my cheeks to keep from crying outright but the tears were welling up regardless of my efforts. The kid was 27 years old.

Chris was not the only soldier I met while there that had been seriously injured in the war. There were a lot of them in wheelchairs, hobbling around, telling me their stories. Each and every one of those stories was insane and I felt like a ghost after hearing them. I could have thrown up.

I’d had no idea that there were so many injured soldiers here at Ft. Lewis. I don’t know why I didn’t even think about it. The truth is… there are SO many and even more of them returning to us dead.

So many that they are no longer getting individual funerals as it become too costly to the military and because there wasn’t enough time to do them all. Now, once a month here at Ft. Lewis, there will be a mass funeral for all of the soldiers who have died. there names simply listed off during an informal ceremony.

This is how bad it is now. This is how much respect our fallen ones are getting. So many have died that they are nothing more than a name recited off of a fucking list.

And Chris’s mom stands there and says to me, “For what??” and all I can do is hang my head.

Please think of Chris and all of our other soldiers and their families.


7 Responses to “Chris”

  1. TopChamp Says:

    That’s horrible. I’ll certainly take a moment to consider them.

  2. Empress Bee (of the High Sea) Says:

    honey i think of them every day of my life. please know i do…

    hugs, bee

  3. Carol Anne Says:

    I teach a college course online, and one of my students is a few weeks away from coming home. I think of him all the time, and all the other guys and gals overseas, wishing that they all come home safe and sound.

  4. Dixiechick Says:

    I have tears in my eyes reading this post.

    I do not need to be reading this stuff as I prepare to send my son off to boot camp. But I can’t help myself. Is this normal for a mom of a future Marine or any future soldier?

    Thank you for sharing this story.

  5. the108 Says:

    TopChamp: That is many, many moments…. sigh.

    Bee: I know you do… just because you and I are on opposite sides politically doesn’t mean that I think we are on opposite sides emotionally. You’re one of the finest Republicans I know… but I won’t tell anyone. Besides, I think you’re really just a democrat in disguise…

    “Oh, no she DIDN’T!!!!”

    Carol Anne: Here’s hoping for a safe return for your student!

    Dixie: I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to upset you…. I didn’t even think.

    And to answer your question…. yes. This is terribly normal. The mother of a marine or soldier or airman or seaman is no different than w ife or child of these people. All you do is worry. It begins with being afraid to hear that they are going over and you will think of nothing else from the minute he leaves until you get the call. After that, they go off and every single time the phone rings you will run to it and every time a car slows down in front of your house, you will stop breathing until they pull away.

    You will be proud and unbelievably scared and angry and sad all at once, but the minute their feet touches back on U.S. soil, you have never been so elated. That is the moment that we family members cling to.

    Mine came home last time. Many don’t. Now, the cycle starts over for me as I sit wondering when the orders will come again and he will be off.

    You will always worry. We all do. And, I can’t tell you not to as I know as well as anyone that it is impossible.

    Very, very normal….

  6. Bond Says:

    A mass funeral once a month????????…

    BULLS**T…total Bulls**t… too expensive????

    This just pisses me the F**k off…

    Please tell me this is not true….


    ( oh and why am I censoring my words here?)

  7. jolie-jordan Says:

    This so saddens me and I know it is just a small part of the big picture. My heart weeps.

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