I think it was two days ago last year that I hung my khakis up, turned the lights out and walked out into the world. There are a number of things you miss – a great number – and a few you don’t. I don’t miss getting the 0200 phone call notifying me that a plane had gone missing. I don’t miss the series of phone calls to follow, some professional, some deeply personal.
But since my new gig is a kind of halfway house for transitioning naval officers and aviators, and because we’re all so closely tied together, I get to see some of the latter anyway.
One of my co-workers was a helicopter pilot stationed out of North Island – the flag there was at half mast yesterday – and she knew people from HS-6. Knew their families. Knew what they were going through while the Navy was trying to find and notify “next of kin.” She left work to stay with the friend that she was closest with as the phones started to ring.
When an FA-18 goes down at sea, the pilot could have come from any one of four squadrons. But there’s only the one helicopter squadron on an aircraft carrier, and when five crewmen go missing, a lot of lives get touched.
There’s an official notification system, and then there’s the unoffical system. As soon as the word gets out a little, the unofficial system springs into action, and the phones lines catch fire. “Have you heard?”, “Who was it?” “Her husband was flying last night.” “My husband got word to me, it wasn’t him.”
In a process of elimination, eventually everyone knows who is accounted for, and who is not. The loved ones of the former feel overwhelming relief when they get the word, and then grief, and eventually even guilt. As the network forms and stabilizes, the phones of the latter set stop ringing. They are then left to wait for the knock on the door that will change their ordered lives to chaos.
An then the old process of communal grief-sharing, caring and comforting begins.
We had a memorial service shortly after my own personal “worst day ever.” There were prayers, a missing man fly-by, and then we all got together at the CO’s house and shared our grief. We’d all had a bit to drink, and one of the senior officer’s wives hugged me tightly before whispering into my ear “I’m so glad it wasn’t you.”
I guess I understood it: I was married with two young children, and Terry was a bachelor.
But I don’t know if I ever quite forgave her for saying that.
Or maybe I couldn’t quite forgive myself.
Lex, for what it’s worth, please know and express to your co-worker(s) that whenever notices of military losses are given, whether through accidents or as a result of combat operations, most of us in the public share the sadness at the losses – and maybe some guilt, too, knowing that those lost were doing ‘for us’ what killed them.
Today the military is insulated from the larger public, sadly, because it is too often set apart from the public it serves by geography, or in more recent times by the divide fostered during the Vietnam years and the years that followed resulting in fewer uniforms seen in public away from cities like San Diego. Nonetheless, every time I and others, I’m certain, see aircraft, ships, or even the busloads of young people being ferried from the Recruit Depot to Camp Pendleton and back, we think of what is being done and the risks. It’s not fair that the few take on the risks and the fewer have to suffer the losses. What you and the others have done and are doing is greatly appreciated even though we cannot be there to express it.
Lex, for what it’s worth, please know and express to your co-worker(s) that whenever notices of military losses are given, whether through accidents or as a result of combat operations, most of us in the public share the sadness at the losses – and maybe some guilt, too, knowing that those lost were doing ‘for us’ what killed them.
Ditto. I couldn’t say it better. And this, too:
Nonetheless, every time I and others, I’m certain, see aircraft, ships, or even the busloads of young people being ferried from the Recruit Depot to Camp Pendleton and back, we think of what is being done and the risks. It’s not fair that the few take on the risks and the fewer have to suffer the losses.
And Lex, I so wish you could find a way to forgive yourself (I cede the argument that there’s nothing to forgive, as I know I won’t win that one even if I’m right). *hugs*
My heart goes out to the families of those that were lost.
Thanks Lex for giving us insight into feelings we can barely imagine, let alone describe as well as you do. This balanced with your commentary is why I will continue to read your blog for as long as the good lord allows.
I don’t know if it is from being deployed, boots on ground, deep in Afghanistan or just the proximity to several accidents picking up burned fuselage pieces… but either way this kind of story, especially from your pen, Lex, hits me really hard. I have seen the unofficial phone chain and the grief of a squadron in full blast. Folks, this is the really hard part of all of this. We (the Navy) have now lost or killed 10 people since October 2008 (4-civilians in the December San Diego F-18 crash) Aviation always has been unforgiving of any mistake, error or malfunction exacting a huge price for those failures.
The worst part I have seen is that in about three months people will want to forget the pain of the loss and that will make the widows feel unwelcome in the squadron spaces. They will get lost in the system and find it hard to get help. It is so hard on everyone, no blame here, just sadness. When you have trained, possibly even fought, along side a guy or gal, getting a call from their family just begging for help or answers can be too much for some. No one can answer the most common question: “Why”
I pray God gives them as much comfort as possible so they can shoulder the burden.
The ‘grapevine’ informal and formal, are both important. We have been getting the test calls and test emails from my Son’s (SN2) Battalion FRS as they prepare to deploy to Astan (today, maybe tomorrow). My wife’s Marines Mom network is all a buzz as well and I saw how quick and accurate last year when SN2 was deployed. An incident like this gets you to thinking about being the NOK and especially not wanting to ever get that visit.
BT: Jimmy T sends.
I used to call Mrs. Nose, if I got her on the phone, I’d say “Look at your watch, I just called to say hi.” If I got her voicemail, I’d say “The time is ____ and I just called to tell you hi.”
It was our signal. Something bad had happened, and it wasn’t me.
When we lost the VAW-126 plane in 92, I was in the Med. We had just come back to fleet landing after a big night out and one of the Tomcat guys who was Shore Patrol told us about it. One of my best friends was in the squadron and all I could think was “Please don’t let it be Mac.” It wasn’t Mac, but it was another guy I knew well and went through flight school with. I felt like an ass.
That guilt is all too well known around here.
Prayers are said from the moment word gets out that an aircraft has gone down. Then the waiting begins. A split second after saying a prayer of thanks that it wasn’t MacGyver, the guilt over it *not* being MacGyver sets in. And a new round of prayers ensues.
Like SteveC said, our family shares in the sadness of the families whose loved ones were lost. And some of the guilt as well.
An unfortunate “Band of Brothers” occupational hazard. First deep sadness, then relief, quickly followed by pangs of guilt. The human condition. It will always be so…the acceptance and acknowledgement of which, however, still does little in the present tense to ease the pain and unease….
Only with the passage of time are such things dulled–but never really forgotten.
I still remember the face and the sound of their voice of every MIA/KIA I personally knew, as well as every one who died in peace-time ops–whether they were my close friends, personal enemies or just casual acquaintenences….
One of the odd things about the worst day was that Terry was supposed to go on leave the next day with some of the guys on the road up at Homestead. In one sense it sort of felt like that, like Terry just left for the Bahamas and never came back. But those guys he was supposed to go with never recovered, so far as I saw. They were already leaving to go to the airlines, but it seemed to me as if they drew a curtain around themselves, began sniveling out of a lot of hops. Fast, pointy-nose aircraft no longer seemed to hold anything for them. They were single guys, too, and you wonder where their anchors were–you had the wonderful M and SN1. I’ve never come across them again in my travels, but I hope that they, too, found some way to make peace with it. I’m not trivializing what you said–it hit me hard, months later, in ways I never expected, and I’m no pilot–but I saw a lot of grief and guilt in the months that followed. You weren’t alone.
Lex, well said. The emotions don’t become easier to bear with age. I wrote some of the same thoughts today, while thinking about those who will never leave our hearts.
…my close friends, personal enemies…
Enemies? VX? You?
Little gallows humor. Flying (well, in the early days, not so much towards the end) one of the safest CV aircraft, I never was in a sqd that lost someone (unless you count being a RAG student, when we lost four — not close enough for it to really hurt). I can’t identify with the feelings of personal guilt.
But where I will feel it is if something befalls the PFC (coming tonight for a 96). He so wants to get to the jungle, and see the elephant, and I wouldn’t ever try to deny him that, for I would be no different. However, I will always wonder, in the back of my mind, if he would be down that road if he wasn’t, at some level, seeking my confirmation, my approval. If he comes to harm, and I convince myself that all I had to do, was to do something different, it will be then that those avoided pangs of guilt will rack my body in ways the loss of a squadron mate could never.
I know my God will never send me anything I can’t handle. I am putting him on notice…..
As if.
SCOTT/
On a lighter note, speaking of elephants, ever hear the band “Cage the Elephant?”
Hit their web site and listen to their hit “Ain’t No Rest For The Wicked.” Catchy song–thinking of making it my theme song even at this late date….
Plus they’re from my old Kentucky stompin’ grounds not all that far from Louisville down at Bowling Green….
I think what sums it up for me the phrase…”"There But for the Grace of God go I”….(not orgional, James Bamford 1500′s).
Deepest sympathies to the families affected by this tragedy. To all military families that grapple with injury and loss – their sacrifices humble me.
You don’t get over these things, you just get used to them.
At least that’s what “they” say.
Worst feeling in the world came as I was making the phonecalls to try and locate our folks post-strike on the Pentagon and I finally reached one of the homes. Now mind you, we had no idea who was lost in the Navy Command Center and who was just stuck in traffic on the way home (forget cellphones at this point, all circuits were jammed), plus you need to remain neutral/non-commital – but when the person at the other end answers and softly says “He’s not coming home – is he…?” it rips your heart out and sends it sliding across the floor. So you stay on the phone with them until the team arrives and just let them talk – and pray…
God Bless the crews and their loved ones in HS-6.
- SJS
I did the same thing. One of the guys forgot his cell at home and I got his wife. Spent some time reassuring her that they were safe, we were inside a couple corridors and no way plane got all the way into IP. Same hope that I had till later than night.
The whole thing was a little different. We’ve all lost friends, but usually in training or war, or riding a motorcycle on Virginias back roads, hair going 100mph, doing what they loved most of the time, but Pentagon was different because they were sitting at their desks, keeping an eye on the big picture. 8 years later, still doesn’t get easier.
claudio
Over the years I lost some friends – one reason I couldn’t face going to the Vietnam Veterans Memorial until 2000. I only ever lost one subordinate. It tore me up writing The Letter and packing up his belongings. The fact that it happened on liberty and was his own damn fault didn’t help in the least.
74, I never thought that the Wall would affect me as it does. It is just a wall, right?
One of the reasons I try to visit the Wall at least once a year is to remember, and to honor, those who are no longer here.
I just cannot imagine….
I just cannot begin to know the feelings described here. But I can and do feel a deep sense of appreciation for the sacrifices made by those who pay the ultimate price but also the lingering ones of those who serve(d) alongside.
In our society today where so few serve these sorts of things are so far removed from the daily conscience of most of us even as the availability of the details are only a mouse click away.
Like I said I cannot truly imagine what it must be like to experience such loss. But I do appreciate the service and sacrifice of all who wear the uniform and those family members who bear the stress of wondering if their loved one will come home.
I appreciate those of you who freely share your feelings and have my own feelings of guilt and disappointment for never being there beside you in uniform.
No words can add to what you have done, the few enabling the many to enjoy the fruits of freedom so taken for granted everyday.
You have my respect and eternal gratitude and wish each of you that the weight of grief, guilt, and whatever scars remain from the tragedies you have endured, may be lifted from your hearts.
You all engage or did engage in extremely dangerous actions to keep us safe and free.
Thanks for being the servants you truly are.
What OT6Flyer said… May God bless all of you and the families and friends of those lost. I’m forever grateful to you all… and so thankful my son came home!
Having spent a few years (23+) in the search and rescue business, I have lost more helo crewmember friends than I care to remember. Many’s the night as onscene commander coordinating an offshore hoist, I sat comfortably in orbit watching the lights of the rescue below. After the helo AC comes up on the radio and advises he will be offline for the hoist, I monitor guard hoping …no praying, that I don’t hear the beeper activate. It’s always a relief when he comes back up for a vector to the beach with a successful lift. Helo guys don’t get paid near enough.
Scoring a life saved is a tremendous feeling, but those memories will fade after time……those that are lost stay with you forever.
“That Others May Live”
I share the same sentiments that others here have spoken. It’s always a terrible time when any of our servicemembers have lost their lives while performing their duties. I wish that none of them, and certainly not their families would never have to have this happen, but it is a dangerous duty, and it always will happen.
What got to me, and took me this long to respond, was Lex’s reaction when he lost Terry. My stomach literally turned, I could damn near feel it myself.
“There but for the grace of God” indeed.
All of this reminds me of a wonderful article that Herman Wouk, the writer, wrote about the losss of an A-6 pilot in a training accident. It was an essay about how those who give their lives in the every day training environment, also serve. And so they do.
I have had the misfortune to watch a few shipmates die in mishaps while I survived my one close call with death.
My son, who is in EOD, had to watch as a team member, and a person he considered his little brother, was blown up by a hidden mine during his deployment to Faluja a few years ago. I have experienced the same sense of guilt as has Lex. My son has also. It is a strange sensation, yet very real.
The edit function does not work. Sorry for the mispellings, etc.
CAPT..I just wanted to remind anyone in LA area.each Memorial Day at the Aviation Museum at Palm Springs Airport..we have B-25 do a low level pass over the crowd, at about 500 feet..and they drop out 3000 red and white carnations for our fallen..my wife and I weep each year it is very emotional..and respectful..once you attend..you swear never to miss another one..the next one is this Monday..
My prayers to the HS-6 families.
For those that may not be familar with the Episcopal service we do Prayers of the People during the service. This sunday I am the POP reader and with our Pastor’s concurrance I will be inserting this offering:
Heavenly Father, on this day before Memorial Day let us remember the men and women who have served our nation’s military that are no longer with us.
We ask you to provide comfort and relief for the families of service members that have entered the fields of conflict that have not returned and are missing.
Lord, we are especially grateful for those Soldiers, Sailors, Airment, Marines and Guardsmen that while in our country’s service have given of themselves the ultimate gift to protect and defend the freedoms and rights we so richly cherish. As Your Son said “Greater love has no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends”
On this day we pray for thsoe that have served, gone missing and died for our country.
We offer special Prayers for (insert petitions)
Lord in Your Mercy
Hear our Prayers